Here Comes Santa Claus
As far as Santa Claus is concerned, I’ve long been agnostic. A press release is the last thing I expected to change my mind.
But when an announcement shot across my desktop proclaiming that Old St. Nick would pay a December visit to Chimney Rock State Park, I paid attention. He’d spend the day rappelling the Chimney, the release explained, perfecting his technique in preparation for Christmas Eve.
I’d always been told that magic was Santa’s method for descending all those chimneys in such quick succession, but here was a logical, realistic explanation that I had to see for myself. Using the journalist’s convenient excuse that the meeting was “for a story,” I made arrangements to get a private rappelling tutorial from Santa Claus—the one and only!—and marked the date in my calendar with large letters.
The day finally came, and I arrived at Chimney Rock just in time to witness Claus’s 200-foot descent. Children gasped and applauded from below, relieved to see the rope hold and know that their gift delivery was safe this Christmas. I pressed through the crowds to meet the man in the red suit, who I soon learned goes by the name of Travis Weil and works as a rock climbing instructor for Fox Mountain Guides when he’s not fulfilling his duty as bringer of gifts to children worldwide.
Before our lesson, Claus hung up his red suit, stripped off his beard, and appeared in sporting jeans, a zip-up jacket, and a physique decidedly lacking in belly fat and white hairs. Weil bore as little resemblance to Claus as Bruce Banner does to the Hulk, which of course made me wonder: Was this all a cruel joke? Was Santa, in fact, a fake?
But my faith was soon restored. Weil knew an astonishing amount of inside information about Christmas logistics, information to which surely only Claus would be privy. I learned that, despite having no thumbs, reindeer are able to belay by sticking the rope through their hooves. However, the animals have a tendency toward carelessness, which is why Claus is selective in handing out the task—Dasher, with his stalwart attentiveness, is the only one Claus really trusts to belay him.
Claus was also able to speak of the difficulties inherent to gift delivery. He’s been shot at quite a few times, he said, not so much in war zones as in neighborhoods governed by overzealous homeowners associations, which are not tolerant of hoofmarks on the roofs.
Hearing Claus speak made me feel warm and peaceful, my shaken faith restored. Which was all well and good, but not the real reason I’d come. I was here to get my Christmas present, and to get it early.
Claus led me over to nearby Vista Rock—not even Santa is free from the lengthy permitting process the state would have required to give me my Christmas wish at Chimney Rock. There he set up a rappel line and tossed me a helmet and harness.
As I tightened harness straps and adjusted the helmet, I grew steadily giddier until I was grinning ear-to-ear like, well, a kid at Christmas. Claus fastened the belay device and pointed out the surest way down. The ground was a long way away. I felt that familiar thrill of pleasant fear as my nervous system protested the madness of stepping off a cliff, even with safety equipment.
Finally, the moment came. I leaned back from the edge, holding the thick rope in my hands and pausing a moment so Santa could snap a photo of me with my phone.
I still have my questions: I’m not convinced, for example, that reindeer are really suited to air travel or that the North Pole has the ability to support all the infrastructure that a toy-making operation as large as Santa’s would require. But as I hung halfway between cliff top and solid ground, I knew one thing for sure: The joy of Christmas is real.
About the author: Waynesville reporter Holly Kays is a forester’s daughter who is happy to live in the land of many trees.
Santa’s making a return trip to Chimney Rock State Park this year, scheduled to practice his technique 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. December 5 and 12 on Chimney Rock. He’ll make a 200-foot rappel down the world’s biggest chimney while Mrs. Claus hangs out at the bottom. Live Christmas music, cookies, hot chocolate, kids activities, and live critters will also make the day special. Free with park admission. 800.277.9611; chimneyrockpark.com.