John woke, feeling tired and restless. The continuous roar of the falls had messed with his sleep patterns. He had decided to climb down the cliff. He stretched and worked out the kinks, then ate the last of his second power bar. There was one left, and he had a quarter of a bottle of water remaining. There was no place to safely refill it from the river up here, but plenty of pools down below, so he drained the water, packed what little he had, and walked to the cliff. The sun shone on the cliff face and he spotted the route down. It would be tricky but if he took his time there would be no problem. He cinched his straps and began the descent.
Moss-covered rock outcroppings and ancient miniature cedar’s roots provide adequate foot and handholds as he lowered himself inch by inch. Often, he went sideways, and one time needed to go up five feet to find a better route. What looked so easy from up top was turning into a complicated endeavor. It would get easier the further he descended as debris fallen over time made a gentler slope. He was about fifteen feet from a place where he could finally stand.
The root held for a bit, then part of it let loose, then another. He was leaning precariously out from the cliff, facing it, when his toes slipped off a rock. He swung out then back in and crashed into the face of the cliff. The root finally broke free and he plummeted.