Hocking Hills: Even though it’s so close to Cincinnati, before last weekend I’ve never been there. They say to go in the spring when all the waterfalls are flowing off the cliff ridges. It’s best then to gather in the scenery, but last weekend I wasn’t going for the scenery, just needed to get out of Cincinnati, reconnect with my son.

I followed him as we walked the designated paths of Hocking Hills given to us by the state park. When the paths became a bore for him he began to venture down the high cliff edges.

“C’mon Dad, you can make it,” he yelled up from a cliff landing.

I’m not great with heights. My body always seems to lean the other way when looking down. I looked at John standing alone, and even though it was against park rules and my better instincts, I began to descend the cliff. After a few slips and slides, I made it to where he was standing. We began walking the cliff’s rim.

“Ok, now there has got to be a place to make it all the way down,” he said.

“Over here!” I said looking at a narrow gap that we could wedge ourselves in and then lower ourselves. He didn’t answer as I quickly wedged myself in between the boulders and used my arms and legs as wedges.

When I landed on the new rim, my son was already waiting for me.

“There was an easier way over there,” he said pointing to boulders that worked as a staircase. I laughed at myself – then stopped laughing as I looked at the rim we were standing on. It was straight to the bottom of the gorge and it must have been two hundred feet high.

We slowly walked on, slipping and sliding through brambles and thorn bushes, looking for a way down. After an hour of searching, I had enough and we began crawling back up the ridge against his advice to keep going. A final climb up the root of a tree brought us back to the designated path. We walked the path six miles back to our campsite.

That night I felt beaten, tired and worn-out. The campfire was good relief. Nothing stood in the way of us just talking about our family, our God, his school, my work, the Hamilton County Police in Anderson Township, kids in juvenile jail, Simon Leis, just us and truth.

“You wanted us to keep walking that cliff’s high rim,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied as he threw a stick in the campfire. “I love adventure.”

“Me too,” I said.

Peter Deane