Canyoning might not fix your life, but it sure distracts you from it for about four hours. 🧦💧💡
I didn’t go to Kakani, Nepal to “find myself.” I went because I saw a picture of someone hanging off a waterfall and thought, "Yes, that’s the kind of poor decision I want to make this weekend."
I had no idea what canyoning really involved. I just knew there would be ropes, water, and possibly some yelling. Turns out, I was right about all three.
Also, no one warned me that wet socks would become my entire personality for the day.
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Step 1: Question your life choices halfway down a rock face.
Canyoning, in case you're as unprepared as I was, is basically this: You hike into a canyon, strap into a harness, and then rappel down waterfalls while pretending you’re in a GoPro ad.
In Kakani, just a short drive from Kathmandu, the cliffs are steep, the water is freezing, and the guides are incredibly chill about the fact that you’re dangling from a rope like a very confused spider.
About 20 minutes in, I had water shooting up my nose, legs shaking, and the kind of smile that only comes from fear mixed with adrenaline and slight regret.
Step 2: Accept that dignity is optional.
There is nothing graceful about canyoning. You will slip. You will shout. You will possibly scream like a toddler on a theme park ride. I did all of that and then some.
I got stuck halfway down a waterfall because my foot caught in my rope. My guide calmly shouted, “Let go of the rock!” I, of course, did not let go of the rock. It was my emotional support rock. I needed it. Eventually, gravity made the decision for me.
Step 3: Laugh at yourself. A lot.
By the second drop, I had stopped trying to look cool. Somewhere between the waterfall spray and the moss-covered ledges, I learned the most important rule of canyoning: embrace the chaos.
My shoes filled with water. My socks made squelching noises. I had a leaf stuck to my face for a solid hour. And you know what? I loved every second of it.
Step 4: Trust people. (Even if they have carabiners and a maniacal smile.)
The guides in Kakani are pros. Real mountain goat energy. They joked around a lot, but you could tell they knew exactly what they were doing. One of them told me, mid-descent, “Don’t worry. Only one person ever froze here.”
I laughed. He didn’t.
(He was joking... I think.)
So what did I learn?
I learned that fear doesn’t disappear. You just get louder than it. I learned that wet socks are temporary, but the memory of screaming-laughing while sliding down a 50-foot waterfall stays with you. I learned that getting outside your comfort zone doesn’t always mean “epic life change”. Sometimes it just means letting go of a rock and hoping the rope holds.
And it did.
Read this if your comfort zone needs a little push (or shove).
Just maybe pack extra socks.
