Page 34 of Wandering Wild

I realize my mistake immediately, since Hawke’s focus returns to me, and I can tell he’s about to ask a slew of fan-related questions that I’ll have to channel Ember’s energy to answer. But before he can utter a word, we step out of the trees to find a rock wall rising high above our heads, continuing to the left and right as far as we can see. It’s covered in forest growth—moss and lichen and sprouting ferns—with the rock itself sculpted in a combination of jagged edges and smooth waves.

My insides knot as I wait for Hawke to pull another rope from his pack and say it’s time for us to climb, but he doesn’t do that, just continues following the stream parallel to the rock face.

“Did you know that the Blue Mountains boast Australia’s largest known number of slot canyons? There are around one thousand in this park alone,” Hawke tells us—or perhaps tells the audience, since his gaze flicks to Bentley’s camera. “Some are dry, some are wet, many of them travel deep into underground caves, and all were carved over eons from rivers cutting through the sandstone, limestone, and even metamorphosed quartz.” He trails his hand along the mossy wall. “They’re as beautiful as they are deadly, claiming the lives of numerous people each year.” His eyes shift to Zander and me. “Any guesses why?”

“Flash floods,” I answer as we reach a fissure in the rock and the water turns on an angle to enter the narrow, dark space.

We halt there and look inside the opening, finding the boulder-strewn riverbed dappled with shadows from the sun peeking through the top of the canyon. The stream remains shallow as it curves in deeper and out of sight, barely flowing, but I’ve seen too many tragic headlines to believe it always stays that way.

“If you’ve never experienced a flash flood for yourself, then it’s impossible to fathom how dangerous they are,” Hawke says. “But in a place like this”—he indicates the otherworldly view before us—“once it starts to rain, the rock acts like a funnel and the water rises at an impossible speed. You can be swept away in a matter of minutes, never to be seen again. Even on the sunniest of days, it’s best not to linger in slot canyons, since there are other dangers as well: falling rocks, unstable ground, labyrinthine passages, and that’s not factoring in the local wildlife.” He makes sure we’re paying attention before he adds, “Keep an eye out for snakes in here, since these damp, sheltered environments create the perfect habitat for them.”

“Snakes?” Zander repeats warily as he squints into the shadows. “Are we talking harmless tree snakes or... something else?”

Hawke adjusts his backpack. “How about I answer that once we’re out the other side?”

Zander sighs. “Guess there’s no need to now.”

Like any sane person, I’d also like to avoid a venomous encounter, so I make loud splashing noises as I follow Hawke and Zander into the fissure with Bentley behind me, the path through the canyon small enough that we can only traverse it by walking along the stream. My boots are weatherproof so they keep my feet dry, but the rocks are slippery, and it takes all of my concentration to avoid tumbling into the water.

“This is obviously one of the wet canyons,” Hawke says as we navigate our way through the fissure, “but it’s nothing compared to some of the others in the park, where there are tiered waterfalls cascading into them year-round, and pools deep enough that it’s almost impossible to find the bottom.”

I shiver at the thought, since I’ve always had an irrational fear of what might be swimming beneath me in water where I can’t touch the ground.

“Tourists actually visit the Blue Mountains specifically to go on canyoning expeditions,” Hawke continues. “They rappel down waterfalls and explore the cave systems, all under the watchful eyes of professional guides.” He throws a grin over his shoulder. “You’re getting your own advanced class, free of charge.”

“I would have been happy starting as a beginner,” I mutter, slipping yet again, and saved only by Bentley reaching forward to steady me—for the hundredth time. “Or preferably, watching someone else do it on Netflix.”

We’re deep in the canyon now, having turned around enough bends that the entrance is well out of sight. The walls keep shifting inward and outward, sometimes becoming scarily narrow, soon reaching the point where the rock tapers in so close that it appears we’ve hit a dead end.

Hawke, however, has a different opinion.

“Backpacks off,” he says. “Are either of you claustrophobic?”

Zander shakes his head while I peer into the alarmingly small gap, my pulse kicking up speed as I try to imagine how any of us will fit through there. “If I say yes, will we turn around and go back to the hotel?”

Hawke chuckles. “There’s no time for that, I’m afraid. It’ll be sunset soon—we need to get out of here and set up camp somewhere safe.”

The idea of night falling while we’re in the canyon has goose bumps breaking out on my skin. “Then I guess I’ll suck it up,” I say. Eyeing the gap again, I amend, “Or suck it in.”

It’s a good thing I’m not actually claustrophobic, or I wouldn’t make it more than one inch into the ant-sized space without following in Zander’s earlier footsteps by having my own panic attack. I keep a close watch on him as we all scramble sideways through the minuscule gap, but he doesn’t show any signs of anxiety, supporting my theory that it wasn’t the adrenaline-inducing task that triggered him last time. My curiosity is piqued, but since I doubt he’ll ever reveal what set him off, I resign myself to letting it go.

We continue shuffling through the hairline fracture between the rock walls, my hand beginning to ache from holding my pack, my legs cramping from the uncoordinated crab-walk. I’m the smallest in our group, and I hate every second, so I can’t imagine how the others are feeling. Especially Zander with his broad shoulders and lean muscles and?—

Stop, I scold myself, my face flushing in the shadowed gloom.

“How’re we all doing?” Hawke asks from up ahead. We’re in the same order as earlier, with Zander directly behind him, then me, then Bentley and his camera bringing up the rear, as always. “Charlie, you okay?”

“Loving every second,” I say through gritted teeth as I bang my elbow on the rock for the third time in as many minutes.

“There’s a crawl space coming,” Hawke informs us, “so we’ll have to get down on all fours to pass through. It might be a tight squeeze, but it should open again quickly, and we’ll be able to move freely after that.”

Hawke’s warning causes my stomach to flip-flop, since it’salreadya tight squeeze. It’s one thing to shuffle sideways through the canyon, but another entirely to have such limited room that we can’t remain upright. I try to peer past Zander for a glimpse of what we’ll be facing, but the sunlight is barely penetrating this narrow crevice, and it’s difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. I can’t even witness Hawke lower himself into the crawl space, but I do watch when it’s Zander’s turn, my blood freezing as he folds his six-foot-something body into a crack hardly large enough for a toddler.

“Oh, hell no,” I whisper, moving instinctively away, nearly crashing into Bentley.

“You’re doing great, Zander,” Hawke encourages from somewhere beyond the nightmarish hole in the rock wall, his voice echoing back to us.

“I think I’m stuck,” Zander says around his panting breaths. He doesn’t sound concerned, just stating the fact. Meanwhile, I’m beginning to hyperventilate.

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