Cliff Diving

I could take this blog on a number of paths. I could bore you all with a rant about the Twilight Saga or depress you with stories of failed relationships and suicide but I’d rather not leave you suicidal yourself. Instead I’m going to rant about some of the cool activities I’ve done on the camps I’ve been on.

Considering the title, I think I better start with the obvious: abseiling down a cliff. I love activities that involve heights but there’s always that moment before you start where you wonder if the harness is going to hold you. You spend a while with a mix of emotions that includes excitement, curiosity and a sense of trepidation before you finally take the plunge.

When I went abseiling a few years ago, it was cold and wet and the cliff face looked very steep. I just couldn’t fathom how I would get from the top to the bottom. Usually I’m pretty good at suddenly just deciding to get on with these sorts of activities and make myself stop being scared but I think the failure of a demonstration did not help.

One of the other campers offered to go first and the instructor talked him through walking over the edge. This was managed and, while the instructor talked to the rest of us, the camper waited patiently. After a while, someone noticed that instead of a head poking over the edge of the cliff, two feet were waving at us. This sight was hilarious; just two feet, peaking over the edge. The instructor promptly righted him, allowing a comparatively uneventful decent to the bottom.

Eventually, it was my go. I had been both dreading this and looking forward to it but now there was no way out. Tied tightly into the harness, I lowered myself over the edge of the cliff at the instruction of the instructor. My descent was more of a snail’s pace crawl than a dive but I was moving. I was abseiling.

Suddenly I slipped. My foot lost grip on the sodden rock face and I found myself hanging. Somehow, my fingers had got caught between the rope and the rock. My fingers were scraped and although I couldn’t really feel them, my knuckles were starting to bleed and I hung there, unsure how to proceed.

Eventually, I got down to solid ground. I managed to get back to the minibus and take off the instructor’s coat - Ok, I forgot to mention that. Basically, I was so cold the instructor lent me his coat - without getting blood anywhere and while ignoring the sting as my fingers warmed up. On arriving back at base my fingers got given a good clean and were bandaged with some fetching yellow and red patterned kids’ plasters.

I know, this is really a bit pathetic but it gave me some of my few scars. If you asked I could go “look there!” at my knuckles and make you squint at my miniscule scars while I retell the story of my cliff dive...