This week is a real 'Chaffhanger' - The Chaff with Scott Stephenson

All it took was one bad step. We were on assignment, as usual. The assignment? Cliffs. The angle? Steep. The stakes? Irregular but jagged. There had been murmurs for weeks of cliff activity in the region. Slabs had been spotted. Sheer drops documented. An unusual amount of ledging. Naturally, The Chaff began investigating.

 

Cliffs have always been part of this publication’s remit. We have covered escarpments, brows, overhangs, ledges, drop-offs, and once even a very convincing culvert. We have reported from the tops of cliffs, written op-eds beside cliffs, and published reviews of local cliffs. “Crumbly, but with character,” we said in June 2023. But never before had we filed from the bottom.

 

Until now.

 

The descent was not planned. We had taken every precaution we thought reasonable. We brought sturdy shoes, stable snacks and a laminated glossary of cliff terms. But something gave way. It may have been the path. It may have been us. The moment is unclear, and the audio recording is largely wind and surprise.

 

What matters is this: The Chaff fell off a cliff.

 

The fall was sudden but somehow also leisurely. There was time to reflect. To regret. To mentally proofread last week’s Chaff. We landed in a pile of our own printed archives, which had apparently been discarded down the cliff face in a box labelled “Too Much, Even for Us.”

 

Several Chaff members have taken to speaking in cliff metaphors, which we discourage. This is not a metaphor. This is a literal cliff. It is tall. It is composed of rock. And we are beneath it.

 

We have begun taking measurements. From base to top, it is approximately eleven and a half Chaff units high.

 

We have established a basecamp and a publication rhythm. Mornings are for climbing attempts, afternoons for writing, evenings for voice-memos and wondering what the top looks like now. Each article is etched onto stone slabs, which are hauled back to the surface using a bucket and pulley. 

 

We maintain that this is not a break in coverage. This is fieldwork. This is deep reporting. This is The Chaff committing to full vertical immersion.

 

Some say we should wait for rescue. But who rescues a newspaper column?

 

Instead, we study. We note the strata. We listen to the sounds cliffs make at night. These are mostly owl, occasionally ominous creaks. We have learned to distinguish between safe ledges and trick ledges. Trick ledges offer emotional support but no physical stability.

 

We have encountered rockslides, a mysterious echo that only repeats the word “lead-time”, and a squirrel with excellent climbing technique and no clear motive. There is also a warning painted on the stone wall, reading simply, “DO NOT SERIALIZE NEAR EDGE.”

 

And yet we persist.

 

The Chaff has never let gravity interfere with its editorial mission. We were first to report on the ridge shuffle of 2024, when a local boulder subtly repositioned itself over a six-week period. We broke the ledge nest scandal involving birds, lunchmeat and 
the misuse of a climbing harness. Just last year, we published a widely-ignored 28-page pullout titled “Where the Ground Stops: A Reader’s Guide to Recognizing Edges.”

 

We know cliffs. We respect them. But we will not be silenced by them.

 

Our plan now is simple. We will climb back up. Slowly. Deliberately. Step by step. We will write from each major ledge, file updates from every outcrop and include photos when possible. At every stage, we will ask the important questions.

 

Why was this cliff not more clearly labelled? Are there safe midpoints, or only brief pauses before further drop? What happens when we reach the top, and what if it has changed?

 

We have begun to climb. Already, a junior Chaff stooge has made it to what we are calling the First Proofing Ledge. It offers a view of trees, sky, and the vague outline of our former office window. There is a rope system now. It is crude, yet thematic. We are taking turns belaying each other with moral support and moss tea.

 

We write these words with dirt under our fingernails and an odd sense of clarity. Few newsrooms ever truly report from below. Fewer still admit it. But The Chaff does. Because that is where we are. And if you do not know what a cliff looks like from the bottom, how can you ever write fairly about the top?

 

So yes. The Chaff is at the base of a cliff.

 

But not for long...

 

Don’t miss next week’s thrilling conclusion of this special two-part Chaff-isode.  Same Chaff channel. Same Chaff Chaff Chaff.