Remembering, in the rain

Today began dry and promised not to stay that way. We both had things to do before 11am, and by the time we'd had coffee (so necessary!) it was raining again. But we've been so inactive for the past three days we'd resolved to ignore the rain and get a bit of a walk before the single drops in the forecast turned to double ones. (They did, bang on cue. The garden is flooded again.)

We headed along the western shore of Loch Eck, past Benmore Gardens and out towards the water works. That's where I took this unprepossessing photo of a rock face, because, like a Marks and Spencer product, it's not just any rock face ... This is where, 25 years ago, I learned to abseil. You can see the scaffolding erected at the top of the cliff as a sort of safety rail, and the fixed belay round the tree, if you look carefully. On Good Friday morning when I was almost 50 a friend who was beginning to take me climbing with him took me and another woman for a lesson.

I should explain that I'd dreamed of abseiling from about the age of 14, but growing up in Glasgow before the advent of climbing centres and climbing walls had been restricted to what climbing I could do without aids. Then I married, had babies - and felt that perhaps potentially dangerous pursuits would be irresponsible. But by that glorious morning 25 years ago, my sons had left home for university and were clearly capable of managing without me, so off I went.

Literally. That moment of stepping backwards off the cliff into thin air, feet braced against the vertical rock, trusting to harness (in my case a sling doubled round my hips and secured by a carabiner) and rope and - most of all - to the man who was teaching me: that moment was what I'd dreamed of for so long. It felt natural; I allowed myself to slide, I kept my legs horizontal, not dangling, I bounced gently - and then I was down, 60 feet lower, on the ground. Eat your heart out, SAS - I had this. 

I suppose I had perhaps three shots, peching up the path hidden to the right of the face, descending with ever more enjoyment, feeling sad when I landed. That was it - I've never done it again, though I have visited a climbing centre a few times since. But the purpose of this morning had not been merely to give me pleasure, but to make sure I could abseil if necessary should I find myself unable to complete the traverse of the Aonach Eagach ridge ...

That May, I traversed the Aonach Eagach without the need to descend midway. And that was another dream fulfilled. 

Extra photo of a couple of people walking their dog by the River Eachaig, with colourful umbrellas. Clearly we're not alone in getting stir crazy.