Many years ago I was fortunate to guide one of my most memorable trips with a dear friend as my co-guide, Jen. To set the scene, here were the notes in the reservation system:

• No known fear of heights or tight spaces
• Need an easy start to the day, ease them in slowly for the kids (practice slab?)
• No relevant medical history
• Some prior rock climbing experience
• Rachel is described as very shy and a bit bigger for her age
• The youngest, Levi, is 4 (almost 5, they say) and had a small tantrum during booking
• Family may require a higher level of attention
• Kids are not very communicative

Okay, I thought, this is going to be a handful. Jen and I had just finished a mellow morning trip with a large Dutch family—super easygoing. In stark comparison, we were gearing up for what looked like a complicated situation. Jen had met the afternoon group the day before and mentioned that the parents were highly involved and the kids seemed a little shy and disengaged. My expectations were low, and I was bracing for a rough ride.

A Moment of Cultural Uncertainty

The family arrived. All the girls were wearing long skirts, and the boys had traditional sidecurls. I realized quickly this was an Orthodox Jewish family. As we greeted them, I had a moment of cultural uncertainty—would helmets fit? Can we get harnesses over the skirts? Would handshakes be appropriate? Would I accidentally offend someone? I offered my hand to the father, who politely declined, and I instantly realized I had a lot to learn.



Trying to be respectful and inclusive, I asked the mother if there were any physical contact preferences or religious boundaries we should be aware of so we could be sure to honor them. She appreciated the question and clarified: we should avoid touching her two older sons unless safety was at risk. We could work with that.

Meeting the Kids Where They Are

We drove out to Lamb’s Knoll and began gearing up. To my amazement, the kids—skirts, curls, yarmulkes and all—got their harnesses and helmets on with ease. The yarmulkes fit just fine under the helmets, and the kids were excited to begin. Once we hiked to the top of the practice slab, everyone except the youngest rappelled down without hesitation. They were absolutely stoked.



The mother, who turned out to have a fear of heights (something missing from the notes), asked to rappel down with her toddler in her lap—and they giggled the whole way down. Her calm, confident presence set the tone for the rest of the day.

The Magic of the First Rappel

At the bottom, a few of the kids asked about doing a bigger rappel. But at that point it was already late in the day, and the little one had a few meltdowns. The parents had managed them beautifully, but Jen and I agreed that descending into a full canyon wasn’t the right call. Instead, we offered them another round on the same rappel, but challenged them to make it smoother and more confident. They loved the idea. On the second run, Rachel—the shy daughter—started chatting and, at the bottom, even shared some homemade kosher protein bites with us, proudly explaining how she makes them at home in Brooklyn.

After we packed up, we walked to the base of Snake Alley and gave the kids a chance to try the squeeze. All of them took a turn, including Rachel, who wriggled through with determination and a smile. When her older brother needed help and we couldn’t offer a hand, one of his sisters stepped up and guided him through.

We chatted about how they cook kosher meals on the road—turns out they bring their own supplies and cook in their hotel rooms. We were all learning from each other. We gave them a five-minute warning, which turned into twenty, but the joy on the kids’ faces as they explored the slot canyon made it easy to stretch the timeline. These kids were thriving. Their confidence was growing with every challenge, and the trust their parents placed in Jen and me felt both humbling and deeply rewarding.

On the drive back, Jen and I debriefed silently at first. We had knocked it out of the park. We stayed adaptable, respected their traditions, and created a safe and empowering experience for the whole family. When we got back, people asked how the trip went, expecting a chaotic story. Instead, I told them honestly: it was one of the best trips I’ve ever had.



The initial assumptions we made based on trip notes and first impressions had missed the mark. We thought it would be difficult; it was delightful. We feared disconnection; we found deep trust. These “shy,” “high-maintenance,” “non-communicative” kids begged us to join their Narrows hike the next day.

I went home with a full heart and a long list of things to Google.

Moral of the story?

Trip notes are just a starting point. Approach every group with an open heart and a clear mind. You never know what incredible people you’re about to meet.