Icy waters, nail-biting heights and free-falling weren’t on my agenda when I arrived in the quiet city of Dalat, Vietnam. But agreeing to go on a canyoning trip with my new travel friend is what’s made me decide that this outdoor adrenaline-fuelled activity, filled with abseiling, waterfall sliding, swimming, climbing and cliff jumping in a gorge, needs to be on everybody's bucket list.
Rule number one: listen to the experts.
Shuffling to the edge of the 12-metre drop into the ravine, I peered over to the dark red-hued swirling pool below. Fat raindrops pelted against my back, making me shiver.
‘That looks cold,’ I blurted to my new travel buddy. It didn’t look cold; it just looked like water. But the goosebumps on my face and trembling legs could sense the chilly impact that was moments away.
‘I’m going to pass,’ my friend laughed through her chattering teeth. ‘See you down there.’
Don’t overthink it, just jump, I thought to myself. It’s your own fault you’re so cold; you’re the one who refused a wetsuit.
We’d been out in a stormy jungle in Dalat, Vietnam, for four hours already. The unpredictability of the weather in April hadn’t crossed my mind when I refused the extra layer that we were repeatedly told by the guides to put on.
There are plenty of tour groups in Vietnam that offer this excursion, who you can either ring up or book online. We chose Viet Challenge Tours. And even though my story starts in Vietnam, there are plenty of Canyoning spots all over the world for you to cross this one off the bucket list.
‘It’s boiling,’ my mate said to me before we started our day. ‘We’ll be fine without a wetsuit.’
Agreeing with her, with clear skies above us and the sun beating down, we confidently set off in our shorts and t-shirts with a life jacket and helmet each. We were ready for a day of canyoning.
Sweeping through the jungle, I was in awe of the vibrant, thriving plants around me. Vines gripped onto the tallest trees and danced their way down the trunks. Healthy new sprouts burst through the damp soil underneath my feet. Squawking, buzzing, humming and chirping came together to create a special symphony. Mesmerising Blue Admiral butterflies caught the sunlight on their shimmering wings as they hovered above us. But when we reached the gorge, I remembered that I wasn’t there to enjoy a curious stroll through nature; this was actually going to be a challenge.
Just lean back
It wasn’t the safe, purpose-built abseiling walls I was used to. There were loose jagged rocks around me, and other than the two guides, no one was nearby to help if we got into any kind of trouble.
But none of this bothered me because I was standing on the edge of a largely untouched, natural playground in the heart of Vietnam. I’d fallen head over heels for the place. But there wasn’t time for standing around feeling lovestruck. It was time to edge myself backwards over the 18-metre drop we were standing next to.
‘Who’s first?’ the guide cackled. My body tensed and I casually took interest in something over there.
What an interesting rock, the expression on my face must have read.
Don’t make eye contact, I thought.
Thankfully, the hero of the day swooped in, attached himself to the rope and vanished into the depths of the ravine without a moment of hesitation. He made it look so easy that it reminded me that I’d be fine — I’d abseiled many times before. And then there I was, leaning over the edge, trusting the ropes and bouncing down to the ground. My friend came down after me and I gave her a double eyebrow raise to acknowledge how badass we both were.
‘Well, this is exciting!’ I grinned.
Next up, my first ever water abseil. The rappel was similar to the one I’d just done, but the addition of the loud and incredibly powerful waterfall to my right, and the flowing water I was going to land in, made it seem a lot more intense. Side by side with the tumbling falls, I pushed myself off the slippery rock face and eventually landed in the river up to my thighs.
We waded deeper, our arms flapping around as we tried not to lose balance on the assortment of boulders beneath us. I bumped my shins a couple of times and could feel the bruises brewing. Ignoring the pain, I was finally deep enough to swim.
There won’t be any crocodiles in here, I tried to reassure myself.
Arriving further down the gorge, we pulled ourselves up onto the next ledge for another wet rappel. Following this was my first waterfall slide.
‘Cross your arms over your body, lie flat and keep your head up slightly, so you don’t hit it on the rocks underneath you on your way down,’ the instructor told us.
Doing exactly that, I slid down with ease — the rocks were smooth and not particularly steep, but I shot down extremely fast. It was the kind of water slide you dream of as a kid.
Welcome to the jungle
As the hours passed, I soon felt at one with my surroundings and confident in the equipment. Then it got really interesting when we were out of the water for a short time, hiking to the bigger waterfalls, when I heard a crack of thunder. The added element of danger, as the sky turned black and the merciless rain pounded down on us, made me feel surprisingly euphoric. It felt like now I was having the raw, authentic experience of a Vietnam jungle.
My body temperature began to drop significantly. After more swimming and climbing, we reached the 12-metre waterfall to jump off — by which point I was shivering all over. As soon as my friend left to climb down the dry alternative route, I threw myself off the ledge. The feeling you get when you drive quickly over a humpback bridge where your stomach feels like it’s flown up into your oesophagus, that’s the sensation I felt. Waggling my little feet as they wondered where the heck the floor had gone, I immediately regretted the decision for a split second. Plunging deep into the water, I was disorientated.
‘Damn, that was fun!’ I yelled as I resurfaced.
The adrenaline warmed me up a bit and I was on a high. It felt like the perfect end to a day I’d never forget. But there was still one more big boy to come.
The washing machine
Now it was time for the abseil known to the local guides as ‘the washing machine.’ How it gained this enticing name was soon made very clear to me.
I lowered myself towards a waterfall that was crashing beneath me, wondering how I would be able to breathe when I was in there. Looking down from 13 metres up, I could see the rope flailing around from the force of the water between the cracks in the rocks that I was going to go down into.
Remember to release from the rope when I get to the bottom, were the words from the guide I relayed in my head.
Controlling my breathing, I knew that I needed to be ready to hold my breath as I was taken into the waterfall. Bouncing down, suddenly my feet couldn’t reach the rock face anymore and the force from the falls span me around on the rope. Releasing myself further, I held my breath and was pulled into the water. The weight pounding down on my helmet and shoulders was immense and it rapidly forced me deeper into the chasm. There I was, inside the waterfall, holding my breath, not able to hear or see a thing, spinning and thrashing around like a fish on a line. I could feel in my hand that I was nearly at the end of the rope, so I let go and the force from above pushed me deep underwater. Frantically swimming to get away from the force above me, my lifejacket was finally strong enough to lift me back up to the surface.
Gasping for air, another instructor yanked me to safety on a big boulder. Spinning around to look at the beast that I’d just thrown myself into, I realised that I was a good 10 feet away from the base of the waterfall. The speed of the water coming down had pushed me that far. And that’s why it’s called the washing machine. You’re chewed up, spun around and spat back out again feeling disorientated and wet. But would I do it again? In a heartbeat.
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