[betraaaus]

I'm scared of heights, but I love fell walking. Fell is a Norse word for hill/mountain that is used in England for our (modestly) highest peaks - mainly in the Lake District in Cumbria, where I go every year. I love the views, the exhilaration of the climb, and the sense of achievement, but ledges, ridges and precipices can seriously freak me out.

Apart from a few adventures when I'd stupidly and needlessly got myself into trouble in my youth, the most memorable experience was probably the Chimney detour on Lord's Rake on Scafell - a famous mountain and a dramatic ascent. Lord's Rake itself has claimed a few lives in its time but didn't bother me too much as it was a gully - ie: it was steep and perilous but importantly there was rock either side, but the Chimney detour led out to a vertical climb with a huge, un-ignorable deathly drop in a vast open space to the left, with a towering wall of rock on the other side of the nothingness.

The huge emptiness of the drop was somehow amplified by the wall on the other side of the chasm, and while the existential thrill of scrambling for every handhold and foothold was exhilarating, knowing that any mistake was certain death, the relief of finally hauling myself up to safety out of the chimney onto the safe, flat and welcoming lawn of the summit was unforgettable.