Quirang

I am just not good at heights. My most frightening experiences have involved heights. I do not like heights at all. This has caused much mirth and merriment amongst my family who, I am convinced, go out of their way to make sure I am exposed to some sort of height related threat at least three to four times a year. Holidays tend to throw up the most opportunities to scare me to a point of absolute petrification. The trip, during a holiday on the Isle of Skye, to The Quirang was a prime example. The natural feature comprises a raised plateau within a crown shaped surround of volcanic basalt rock at some altitude and quite something to see. In the days of frequent Norse raiders in the Scottish Islands or general banditry The Quirang provided a safe and impregnable refuge for residents and their valuable livestock. If it was difficult to be attacked by a determined and motivated enemy then I held little hope of actually getting there as a tourist. The road up to the car park on the inland side was a forerunner of what could be expected on foot. Steep, tight turns, a sharp falling away below and the precarious and alarming positioning of sheep above and below the road as though they had two short legs on one side to appear level and steady on the otherwise hostile gradient. We set off along a footpath across a meadow, fairly good going and then beyond a drystone wall the path took on an all too sinister and threatening route. It sat on the only shelf of level ground atop a very steep drop into the valley below. On a map it would be represented by a thin brown contour line amongst many similar and closely packed brown lines. It felt as thin and narrow as the actual representation on the map. Add to that the fact that it was a bit windy. After all it was August, more of the same rainy season which prevailed for the whole twelve months of the year on Skye. Anticipating wet weather I had my waterproofs on as standard day-wear. In the wind my anorak rippled and flapped which increased my already heightened sense of danger and instability. A few walkers approached us from the direction of The Quirang so to my mind the route was do-able unless of course they had given up and just turned back. I did not want to appear weak or uncommitted by asking them. The path continued along the ledge and then disappeared around a bend following the topography of the hillside. That was enough for me and I sat down on the upper path edge and went on strike. The rest of the family struck on and out of sight. Within a few minutes they had returned. The pathway was blocked by a couple of ladies obviously suffering from the same allergic reaction to the prospect of plummeting to a painful death as I was experiencing. That and the fact that what looked to the eye like a straight route was in fact quite uppy and downy and could take at least a couple of hours of quite energic hiking to reach the base of The Quirang. I proposed we go and find a tea shop somewhere and the others, not wanting to lose face at their defeat by the path, gratefully agreed. I suspected from the large numbers of the general public in view enjoying that landmark feature that there was probably a large and very accessible coach park on the seaward side only a short hop and skip away from The Quirang posing no difficulty whatsoever to the elderly, infirm or very young. Other situations where I feared for my life included accompanying my wife on one of her favourite activities of walking coastal paths. Nasty situations were encountered along both the high cliff routes in Cornwall and on the North Yorkshire coastline. I also have problems going over bridges where the planking of the walkway leaves a narrow gap affording a very clear and unambiguous viewpoint of white-water rapids. I was proud of myself in successfully negotiating the cliff side path and a suspension bridge up to Tintagel Castle for an evening of magical Arthurian legends acted out by puppeteers. On a day to day level my work also puts me in what I feel are hazardous situations as far as heights are concerned.

Assured that my right hand was holding on as tightly as humanly possible to the top of the ladder I extended my left hand to ease myself up with the intention of actually clambering up onto the flat section of house roof. At that point, on a 30 foot hired wooden ladder, my legs began to shake uncontrollably as though bared open on a nerve end. The builder who had ascended onto the flat roof just before me remarked with some amusement that I did not appear to be enjoying myself. He was absolutely right and I had added another sorry chapter to my list of high places that I should never have attempted to get to. The most recent similar experience was only just this morning. At the top of a newly converted and swankily refurbished former Brewery building was the means and therefore an impulsive invitation to get out on the roof for an inspection. I assembled my own trusted 15 foot aluminium ladder and released the catch handle which held the bubble type perspex skylight in position. Immediately freed from its restraint the lightweight dome caught the wind and was wrestled out of my hand. I grimaced in case the hatch actually blew off its hinge and cascaded down to the ground or worst still clattered down the roof of the adjoining Catholic Church. The force of the wind had not been apparent during my ground level working but at a height of over 50 feet there was quite a strong breeze. I put my head out over the shelter of the hatch surround. What was left of my head of hair was ruffled and there was a definite feeling of suction and negative pressure through the vast expanse of the building below me. In the depths of the empty building I could hear a door slam. I was sure that during my progression through the four floor levels I had secured all the internal doors. I listened for the sounds of footsteps. Nothing followed the resonance from the slamming door. I was now at the threshold for stepping out onto the flat roof. There was however no shelter from the wind and in the absence of a safety rail to the overhanging edge I declined to detach myself from the ladder which otherwise kept me connected to the ground. There were some good photo opportunities for my work. The strap for my camera was draped around my right hand as I was fearful of dropping it beyond reach or even over and into the precipice between the building and its near neighbours. One detail of a sagging gutter on a lower roof section had to be recorded. This meant my rotating on the ladder trying to simultaneously hold on to the top rung and the camera whilst operating the zoom focus. I had by now come to the attention of the city centre pigeons who were congregating in the sheltered dead spaces between the buildings. Not expecting any food they just milled around or expressed annoyance that I had trespassed into their exclusive domain. I narrowly escaped a couple of warning shots from the agitated birds. It was time to retreat back into the calm of the building. Unfortunately the bubble hatch in its vertical position was now out of my immediate reach without upsetting my delicate balance. The hatch was above a small plant room on the top floor. There were offcuts of electrical cable strewn on the floor and I selected one of the shorter lengths. Catching in the wind my lassoo was difficult to control and it took about 5 minutes to toss the cable around the catch mount with enough purchase to draw the cover down within reach. I was happy with my improvisation and started to dismantle my ladder. I then realised that my camera was missing. I had, after all that, left it on the roof just below the lip of the hatch. The process was repeated with some annoyance. The hatch was just as unruly as before. As I stretched to pick up the camera I could feel that all too familiar leg wobble starting. This could easily cause a vibrating effect down the angled ladder to its footing on what had formerly appeared as a non-slip concrete floor. In natural light flooding in through the open hatch, the floor was the most highly polished screeded finish I had ever seen. I carefully made my way to down. As with most of my self exposure to heights the moment of touch down with both feet is ecstatic. The spine tingling feeling associated with above ground levels continued as I made my way out of the building. The renovation of the old Brewery building had included the creation of a full floor to three storey height atrium, a very indulgent waste of otherwise lettable space but visually stunning. I descended the resin floored landings, treads and risers carrying all my equipment and ladders. The view over the handrails and clear glass balustrade panels left little to the imagination of the vertigo sufferer and at last arriving at ground floor level I felt like kneeling down in Papal style to kiss terra firma.