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It's been a wonderful sunny day, and as it was too late to head further afield, I took my nephew along the road to Elie for a few hours.
The task for the afternoon was to do the Chainwalk....minus the chains.
The reasoning behind this was a realisation, that after my tumble off Buachaille Etive Mor, I was to all intents and purposes, a rotten and 'scaredy-cat' climber.
In my mind, confirming this self-diagnosis when I needed it most, ie stuck on a mountain, miles from help was the major decision in taking the bull by the horns and going off to get my hands on some rock.
Therefore, the only way to tackle my fears was to 'get back on the horse'.
I had tried climbing when I was younger, in NorthWales, and have vivid memories of the instructor having to abseil down and prize me from the face of the cliff, as terror had glued me, limpet-like to the rock...
Very embarrassing I may add, plus the ribbing I took from my mates.
As in a previous visit to the chain walk, we arrived and the tide was on its way in, but this time I was determined that this would not be a problem. Two things were going through my mind though.
1 If I fall, will the water soften the impact allowing me to survive wet but unharmed? or....
2 If I fall, how many hidden rocks are a foot below the surface to maximise the impact? Hmm....
At the start...wind not too bad. (looks like I could only afford half a haircut).
Gaining some height now with no water below to fall in to.
Hey!! Now we're cooking..
Danny above the eye. (note swimmer below...nutter)
Danny looking down into the 'wee cave'
So, what have I learned.
Well, it's better not to climb solo when you're as rubbish as me and having back-up is comforting.
Cliche...the main fear was the fear itself.
It was fun.
It's also a whole new muscle group used compared to hill walking as I'm aching.
Most importantly, if I keep doing this, come the day I really need to get myself out of bother, I may have the confidence to do so.
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