Balance

by Nik Wallenda

  I’ve heard arguments that spectators, wanting a closer look, will be pushed over the edge. Ridiculous. Especially since, as I indicate in this report, we will be putting up two layers of fences, one ten feet away from the other, for the very purpose of keeping people from the edge.

  All these arguments have been rejected, yet two influential people have been listening to me. The mayor of Niagara Falls and the local member of Parliament like what I have to say. It turns out that the member of Parliament is also the assistant to the Canadian minister of tourism. That’s how my dad, our chief engineer, and I are able to get a meeting with the minister in Toronto.

  “I’m not against your project,” he tells us, “but I can’t overturn the decision of the NPC board. What I can do, though, is ask them to meet with you again. I understand that the last time you tried to make your case you were cut short. I can assure you that this time you will have the benefit of a full hearing.”

  Armed with fresh enthusiasm and new hope, we return to Niagara Falls. Amazingly, the member who opposed us most vehemently is no longer on the board. The atmosphere is entirely different. The dark cloud of skepticism that greeted us before has been lifted. We’re allowed to give our long and probing analysis of why this walk, on every level possible, is a good thing. When questioned closely, we see that our answers are greeted with appreciation, not scorn.

  The NPC reverses itself. The walk is approved.

  I can’t explain why the negative member is gone. I can’t explain why what was once totally negative is now totally positive. All I can do is praise God for the energy to go forward—and for the light He continues to shine before my eyes.

  “By your patience possess your souls”—Luke 21:19.

  But the thing about patience is this: Just when you think you’ve been patient enough, more patience is required.

  I have to learn that lesson over and over again.

  Great news: A Good Morning America producer, Morgan Zalkin, read about my passion to walk over Niagara Falls on Twitter. She went to her boss and set the wheels in motion at ABC. Now the network has agreed to purchase broadcast rights and underwrite the walk. Thank you, Twitter! Thank you, Morgan! Now it’s certain. The walk will take place June 15, 2012.

  A few months earlier, someone from Ripley’s Believe It or Not! contacts my managers. They’re opening a museum in Baltimore and want me to do a skywalk over that city’s harbor. Sounds great. Plans fall into place. The walk will take place three weeks before Niagara Falls.

  Ripley’s proposes that I walk between two four-story buildings. I appreciate the invitation but it sounds almost too simple. I want to find a way to spice things up.

  I suddenly have an idea. What if I start out from the roof of one of the buildings and walk a cable to the top of a crane attached to a moving barge set out in the middle of the harbor?

  They love it. We’re on.

  My crew, led by my father, travels to Baltimore to set up the mechanics. I’m in my hotel room the day before the event when my computer shows a Google alert. It’s a story concerning the name Wallenda. I click on the link and find myself reading a story that says years before my birth Karl had done a skywalk over the Baltimore harbor!

  His walk was configured differently than mine, but the connection is nothing less than cosmic. I’m literally living my dream.

  The walk goes well. The turnout is huge. Media everywhere. I’m nearly at the end of the cable where Chris Ripo is standing to greet me.

  “Want to see thirty thousand people scream?” I ask Chris.

  Before he answers, I do a fake slip. The crowd sends up an enormous scream. I regain my composure and complete the walk. Thunderous applause. Afterward I don’t think that much about it. I see myself as a showman and know that an almost-slip adds drama.

  The next day, though, the stuff hits the fan.

  I get a call from an ABC exec.

  “What happened yesterday, Nik? What was that?”

  “You mean the slip?”

  “Yes, it frightened us to death.”

  “That was the point. I did it on purpose.”

  “You’re acting was too good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve given the higher-ups over here the impression that it was real. When you walk across the Falls, they want you to wear a safety harness tethered to your clothing.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You must.”

  “It’s ridiculous. I’ve never been tethered before. It goes against my method. It cramps my style. And it creates an unnecessary burden.”

  “Burden? How can a safety device be a burden?”

  “Because it’s a distraction. For the same reason my great-grandfather never used a safety net. He knew that it doesn’t add safety but instead creates a false sense of safety. His brother Willy died by hitting his head on the pole of a safety net.”

  “We can’t possibly run the risk of having you fall in front of a worldwide audience that we expect to number close to 500 million.”

  “I’ve run that risk my entire life. That risk is the essential fact that lends our feats such drama. We risk everything.”

  “We can’t take a chance on broadcasting what could be a fatality.”

  “Look at the statistics,” I say. “Look at history. Compared to deaths in NASCAR, the number of fatalities among aerial artists is minuscule. You don’t hesitate to broadcast NASCAR, knowing full well that the possibility of tragedy is hardly remote. Besides, the typical NASCAR racer began driving in his teens. I began walking the wire at two. I have an enormous amount of training and experience. If you look at a mathematically sophisticated table of probabilities, you’ll see that the chance of my dying on the job is extremely remote. You can’t say the same about a race car driver.”

  “The viewers relate to the risks assumed by a driver,” says the exec. “Every day when they get behind the wheel they run a similar risk. But they don’t relate to your risk. They find it especially frightening.”

  “I realize that,” I acknowledge. “And that’s another reason why I don’t want to kill the thrill of the feat. I don’t want to sanitize it.”

  “Sorry, Nik, but the call is ours—not yours. We’re paying for the walk. It’ll happen with a safety tether or it won’t happen at all.”

  Because I want it to happen, I cave. I make my objections known to the public because I certainly don’t want it assumed that the tether is my idea. Some people, knowing my stubborn streak, predict that, once on the wire, I’ll disconnect the hookup and go out there the way I always do—untethered. To be honest, I do consider that for a moment or two. But ABC is taking no chances and is making me sign a contract that enforces the tethering terms. Beyond this, if I’m to respect the integrity of God and call myself a man of honor, I must adhere to the restriction, no matter how repugnant it might be.

  I’m also practicing like crazy. At the beginning of June, two weeks before the walk, my dad sets up a long cable over the parking lot at the Seneca Niagara Casino and Hotel where, day after day, I walk under conditions that simulate what I may face on the Falls. Fire trucks are brought in. Water hoses and giant fans are aimed directly at me as I make my way over the cable, back and forth, back and forth.

  Because the walk will take place at night, the most advantageous time to attract an international audience, the lighting will add to both the drama and the difficulty of the feat.

  Making it even more difficult is this fact: For the first time since I’ve been doing skywalks, my dad and uncles have not been able to use the most secure agents—guy-wire stabilizers—in the construction. That’s because we need to use a much wider cable to deal with the required tension. This will mean that the cable will sway a great deal, adding to the challenge. Setting that cable across the Falls—eighteen hundred feet—is also no easy job. A helicopter is required as well as a giant winch. To prevent twisting, heavy pendulums are attached to the cable every 150 feet. Were it not for the engineering acumen of m
y brilliant uncles, none of this would be possible.

  And yet, even with this incredible achievement, there is now news that, only a week before the event, all is in vain. Production costs have exceeded the original estimate of $1 million. The overrun is due to the need for two custom cables, one for the actual event and another for practice. The extra money is not there. I’m out of funds.

  The walk is off.

  Through donations from local Niagara Falls businesses, I hustle up the extra money.

  The walk is on.

  But then I learn that another huge chunk of money is needed for a second helicopter firm. The first, hired to set up the cable, did not have the proper licenses to fly through the Falls. A second chopper is required—and that will cost a fortune. I don’t have the money.

  The walk is off.

  I post a website asking for donations. In acts of unexpected and deeply appreciated generosity, the public comes through.

  The walk is on.

  The New York Park Commission is claiming that we have not paid the nearly quarter of a million dollars that the state is charging us to use its land. My managers point out that the state did not give them the proper forms in time and that payment is, in fact, forthcoming. The state remains unmoved.

  The walk is off.

  My managers personally make the payments themselves.

  The walk is on.

  The state says the payments did not cover the full amount.

  The walk is off.

  My managers feel certain that ABC will make the extra payments.

  The walk is on.

  ABC refuses.

  The walk is off.

  At the insistence of my managers, ABC changes its mind and wires the money to cover the fees.

  The walk is on.

  My practice continues. My prayer intensifies:

  “Dear Lord, keep me focused on Your goodness, Your mercy, Your everlasting love. Keep me from getting too high or too low, too discouraged or too hyper. Keep me from getting sick and tired of the hassles. Keep me in gratitude for the wonders You have set before me. Keep me anchored in Your will. Keep me balanced in Your sense of what is necessary and righteous. Let me deal with the world on the world’s terms but let me turn my heart over to You. Be with me, stay with me, comfort me in this great moment of discomfort.”

  The discomfort was about the continuing struggle, the endless roadblocks that had been thrown up—the people who had opposed me, the backstabbing, the last-minute attempts to undercut what has become my obsession. The on-again off-again tug of war has been tearing at my heart for months. Were it not for God, I would have gone completely crazy.

  “Dear Lord, it’s all about getting closer to You. Allow that closeness. Allow me to close off the noise of dissent and negativity. Allow me to feel Your goodness and Your grace. Allow me to relax in the bosom of Your love. Allow my deeds, no matter how big or small, to express Your glory.”

  In the midst of the madness, only a few days before the walk, I look in the paper and see that Bello is performing in the area. This gives me a feeling of both sadness and joy—sadness because we haven’t seen each other for years, and joy because I consider him a dear brother.

  After the Today show triumph and the success of my solo career, Bello and I went our separate ways. There has been unspoken tension between us. Now I see this as a great time for us to reunite. I send him a text. “It’s great that we’re both in the area,” I write. “Let’s get together.”

  Will my overture work? I’m not sure, but I keep hoping. And then—praise God!—I’m in the middle of my practice walk over the casino parking lot before a big crowd and a TV crew from 60 Minutes Australia when I look up and see that sky-high red crew cut. It’s Bello! I immediately call him over.

  “Get up here with me,” I say.

  He does. He gets on the wire, where I put my arm around him and say, “This is the great Bello, one of my closest friends and the world’s foremost daredevil clown.”

  Everyone cheers. I cheer for Bello, he cheers for me.

  There’s a postpractice press conference that I insist Bello attend. He agrees. At the conference he stands by my side as I sing his praises.

  “Bello’s a genius,” I say. “This guy is not only one of my teachers, but one of my main inspirations. There’s nobody like him. When it comes to innovative, daring feats of courage and beauty, he’s the master.”

  In turn, Bello says a bunch of nice things about me. That night I go to his show. It’s a beautiful thing. It’s a God thing. Before my big walk, it’s a reconciliation that warms my heart. The next day the local paper runs a picture of us walking the wire together, brothers in Christ.

  On the big day, I awake early, remembering last night’s dream. I’m not surprised that my great-grandfather Karl appeared. I’d be surprised if he hadn’t. The details aren’t clear, but in this dream he was walking with me. He was encouraging and comforting me. He was letting me know that all was well. He was with me last night as I slept and he’s with me now as I prepare.

  Prayers are in my head. Prayers are in my heart. Erendira and the kids are with me, my mother, my father, my friends.

  I spend the day relaxed, focused on the beauty of God, the beauty of breathing, the beauty of offering gratitude to all those who have helped me get ready for this moment.

  “Thank you, Jesus, for motivating me, for preparing me, for protecting me, for keeping me steady, for keeping me grounded, for keeping me aloft, for keeping me sane, for keeping me loved.”

  I eat lightly; I pray continually, silently and out loud; I tend to last-minute details, consulting my dad and the engineers.

  I feel the excitement coursing through me. I acknowledge the thrill of anticipation, but I try to stay in the moment.

  I’m given a choice: Do I want to be interviewed live by the ABC broadcasters during the walk?

  Why not? I’ll be wearing a mic, so I don’t see that as a problem.

  I’m given another choice: During the walk do I want to speak live to my father, who will be watching me through a studio monitor?

  Why not? It’s always reassuring talking to Dad.

  After hearing my positive responses to both questions, another network operative asks whether I’m sure I want to deal with those distractions. It might make for good TV, but will I be endangering myself?

  “If it were endangering,” I say, “I wouldn’t do it. I can talk and walk at the same time.”

  The network man laughs and wishes me well.

  Throughout the day, I keep looking out my hotel window, expecting to see crowds. But the crowds don’t come. Only a few tourists are walking around. I’ve promised the network that tens of thousands of people would appear. Could I have been so wrong? Could it be that there’s virtually no interest in this event? Is it possible that after all this incredible work, no one really cares?

  At noon, at 2:00 p.m., at 4:00 p.m., even at 6:00 p.m. there is no crowd to speak of.

  “This is horrible,” I tell Erendira. “No one’s coming.”

  “Patience,” says my wife. “It’s still early.”

  I want to believe her, but despair is setting in. I begin to doubt—not my ability to make this walk but my ability to draw the kind of record-breaking crowd that will make it so special.

  Then comes the miracle to prove me wrong. At 7:00 p.m., as if on cue, people begin swarming over the grounds. It happens all at once. Thousands upon thousands of people. So many people that I can’t see a blade of grass. People—old people, young people, people of every age and color—are everywhere. There are more than twenty thousand people on the American side, my point of departure, and more than one hundred thousand on the Canadian side, my point of arrival.

  I’m beyond excited as I consider the task at hand.

  Eighteeen hundred feet across.

  The widest section of the Falls.

  Millions watching worldwide.

  Helicopters above, boats below, dozens of cameras positioned t
o capture the walk from dozens of angles.

  Years in preparation. Generations in preparation. Dreams from my childhood. Gifts from my ancestors. Spirits swirling around me. Gusts of wind. An incredible battery of lights. The illumination of a walk. The illumination from God.

  All attention on me.

  My need, my passion, my joy to put all attention on Him.

  I put on the shoes made by my mother, custom-sewn moccasin-ballet slippers designed to give me traction on the wet cable.

  I walk to the starting point. I wear a small mic and an earpiece. In my pocket is my United States passport to present to the officials when I reach Canada. Before I step out on the cable, I consider taking off this ridiculous tether. I resist doing so. I let it go. I look out on the Falls—magnificent, eternal, dreamlike. A mighty force of nature. A mighty creation of God.

  I take my first step. I enter the zone.

  The zone is the place in which God and His glory are manifest everywhere. In the zone you move by instinct, by gentle feeling—nothing is forced, the rhythm determined by the motion that you neither create nor fight. The zone has you moving in an automatic, programmed way. Because you’re prepared, the program is to some degree of your own making. But it is so much greater than that. The program has to do with surrendering to the moment. In the moment there is nothing but you and your infinitely small place in the cosmos.

  Looking out at this incredible site—the river, the Falls, the lights, the crowds, the boats below and the choppers above—all I could do was praise God. All I could do was tell God Almighty how grateful I was for the gift of my life. I love you, Jesus. You are my Lord. You are my Father. You are my morning star, my beginning and my end, my everything, the shining light of love that has led me ever since I was a little boy old enough to understand that You are the creator of all that is good and right, all that is beautiful and blessed. Blessed be this walk. Blessed be this night. Blessed be this moment in which the magnificence of Your creation is evident to all the world.