Life on the edge

So after missing out on a part in the next Harry Potter movie we finally reached our watersports venue. The website said it was an exhilarating ride down one of Scotlands finest waterfalls, and the pre-trip information had taken great care not to mention anything about being cold, wet, in pain, in tears, in more pain, and suffering sheer unadulterated terror.

However, the reality of the situation dawned upon me when they made us sign a waver before starting our ascent to the top of the waterfall that absolved them of any blame should we be hurt, maimed, beaten, eaten or murdered.

When it came to the wetsuit fitting we were informed that the group ahead of us had got the best ones (always nice to hear), but we were asked to point out any major defects as “the water is very cold today”.

Brilliant.

I had a hole the size of a 50p on my thigh and a couple of smaller ones on the arse, but as I’m not a woman or a ten year old child, no replacements were available and I had to make do with the one I had. I now realise this was the perfect excuse to drop-out. I am blessed with 20-20 hindsight.

The trek to the top of the hill was exhausting, particularly in a full wetsuit, safety harness, helmet and buoyancy aid.

For those of you that don’t know, Canyoning is is a bit like white water rafting down a series or rapids and big waterfalls, but without a white water raft. Essentially you throw yourself down a series of waterfalls, brooks, slides and mini canyons, with the odd abseil down the rocky areas thrown in for good measure. All in order to reach the bottom safely.

Oh, and it’s really really fucking cold. Particularly if your wetsuit has a hole the size of a 50p on the thigh and smaller holes on the arse.

Being thrown off a waterfall by someone you met an hour ago is a strange experience, especially when your field of vision restricts sight of where you’re being thrown to. But it’s OK, as the fear soon passes once the ice-cold water hits your testicles.

The slides and jumps got steadily bigger until at one point we had to zip-slide from the top of a waterfall to the pool below from a height of about 40 feet, and then climb back under the waterfall and up a rocky incline in order to jump off a cliff-face. It was like a scene from Mission Impossible, except without the stand-in stunt-men or dwarf Scientologists.

Behind the waterfall, amongst the deafening sound of crashing water, the instructor asked me to hang back and help pull people up the rockface as I looked like a “strong lad”. I began telling him about my exercise regime and how staying in this shape isn’t easy, but he’d already gone on to prepare the jump area. I made a mental note to tell him about it later.

Some of my lazier friends (you know who you are) preferred to be pulled up the rockface rather than making any sort of effort to climb themselves. This gave me a dilemma, as I was surely absolved of any blame if anyone was accidentally (or deliberately) dropped onto the rocks below, they’d signed a waver after all. I did however help pull the remaining stag-do-ees up the wall of rock towards the cliff from which we were to jump.

The jump itself was about 40 feet into an area directly below the waterfall, where the water was still foaming viciously. We were told to focus straight ahead and put your arms straight up so that you enter the water like a pencil. Whatever you do, they said, don’t look down.

I looked down.

I know I shouldn’t, as I don’t like heights at the best of times, but I swear from the top it looked like it was about 200 feet up. The smiling faces of my friends in the pool below looked like ants. Actually, I was a little unsure if they were smiling or crying in terror.

Every fibre of my being was screaming out to reject the instructors commands to jump to my certain death. The utter ridiculousness of this whole endeavour became completely apparent as I stood on the step and took what I was sure to be my last breath on this earth. I stepped off and the sense of falling was immediate and prolonged. I had expected to hit the water quickly, but didn’t. In fact, I almost needed another breath by the time I eventually hit the water, in the sitting down position, thus ensuring my backside would be like a blood orange for the rest of the weekend. I surfaced quickly and almost cried with happiness despite my stinging arse.

Still, it got us out of the cottage.

A video of canyoning at Inchtree falls can be seen here. How those blokes went off head first I’ll never know…