Ozone Zipline Adventures

My knees wobbled as I stood on the box. One of our
guides secured my carabine hooks on the zipline.
He told me to step down from the box and onto the
platform. To do that, I had to look down. Down.
Down at the treetops. Down at the ground, hundreds
of feet below. He offered his hand, and I grabbed it. I
willed my left foot off the box, then my right. My feet
balanced on the edge of the wooden plank. “When
you’re ready,” (he seemed so confident that I would
be ready) “sit down in your harness, and go.”

I was on the edge of one of ten platforms of the 11
connected ziplines at Ozone Zipline Adventures, the
largest zipline tour in the Midwest. Located within the
YMCA Camp Kern at 5291 State Route 350 in
Oregonia, Ohio, Ozone Zipline Adventures offers
zipping above the canopy of the Little Miami River
Valley from April through December, weather
permitting.

Only my two oldest kids, my son 16, and daughter 14,
joined me for this adventure. My 13-year-old’s fear of
heights didn’t allow him to even consider it; my 11-
year -old wanted to, but declined; and my youngest
wasn’t old enough. Riders must be at least 10 years
old and weigh at least 80 pounds, but not more than
260 pounds.

We signed waivers and then stowed our valuables. I
wanted to bring my camera, so our guides attached it
to me with a carabine. The trip is long, up to four
hours, so they encouraged us to use the restrooms. I
wished they’d also encouraged us to bring water. We
got pretty thirsty.

Certainly the zipping, hiking and stair climbing we did
contributed to our thirst, as well as carrying our gear
through it all. We got into our gear before heading
out, stepping into the harness, adjusting it at the legs
and waist, and pulling it up over the shoulders. Along
with the helmet, the equipment weighs about 15
pounds, but it’s evenly distributed.

We climbed many steps to the top of the first tower.
We looked out over the trees, learned a bit about
them, and then went up some more. The rope bridge
swayed, my heart pounded and the bridge’s planks
bounced with each step. The gap between the bridge
and the platform seemed enormous and I had to
kneel to pull myself up. And then we went up some
more.

I felt scared, but safe.   “A lot of people say the
beginning’s the scariest part.” Our guide said, as he
secured my carabines. “We bring people up that way,
so they know what to expect.” If visitors do find the
height too daunting, they can back out at this point for
a full refund. “We don’t charge people to climb
steps.” Once they’ve done some zipping, though,
people may still choose to stop, but they don’t get a
refund. And unfortunately, if a child decides to quit,
the parent or guardian quits too. “We escort them
down, but a parent has to stay with them.”

Fortunately, my kids loved it. Time and again, they
followed directions, legs straight or curled in a
cannonball, and then disappeared into the distance,
flying across the sky on a long a thin wire. It looked
like fun. And it was fun. Amazing. I soared over
treetops, speeding through the air, sitting in what
seemed like a giant baby swing. It was awesome.

But I was zooming close to the end of line. I was
supposed to extend my feet and, sort of, walk up the
ramp. Except that I’d turned sideways during the ride,
and despite trying to turn as directed, I couldn’t. The
platform was dangerously near, and there was no
way I could walk up with my right hip. So, I crashed
into the guide.

Ten platforms. Ten crashes. My daughter spun once,
they explained the technique, she straightened
herself out. My son looked like he’d been zipping his
whole life. Never had a problem. Me? I tried. I loved
sailing with the clouds, but just couldn’t help
thundering into the platform, and our punished and
patient guide.