Bounding Outwards

Standing on the parapet of a bridge over a raging mountain torrent and preparing to jump is a recurring nightmare. Such was the impression made upon me by my first encounter with an Outward Bound course in the English Lake District. The crux of the whole thing revolved around whether I was pushed or volunteered to leap into the abyss. It was about 7am on a bright spring morning, the day after a sleepless night under a self made bivouac using a polythene sheet and....well that's all. I had been pleased with my shelter for the night, not quite a Grand Design but very eco and environmentally friendly, that is if you disregard the very polluting petroleum based process behind the polythene sheet manufacture. I had stretched the sheet from a large flat topped rock down to the sloping ground using loose boulders and craggy stones to anchor and hold it in place. The ground positioned stones were very stable and secure. Unfortunately the sloping roof used up all the polythene and the bivouac was fully open at both ends. It was like sleeping in a wind tunnel or horticultural cloche without a mattress of lettuce or radish. The stones holding the top of the sheet were a bit of a concern through the night in case they rolled down and actually knocked me unconscious. I slept with my head wrapped up in my cagoule as protection against stoning. The theory of a polythene shelter is quite sound. A strong, flexible material, water resistant, repairable. However, the fact that it is transparent and easily flappable in even a slight breeze made for quite a sleepless night. Add to that the fact that I was a townie and fearful of being attacked by bears, mauled by a fox, startled by a pheasant or looked at sarcastically by a stoat. It rained during the night. A fine hillside drizzle which ran not through the polythene but under it down the rock at my head and trickled through and further saturated my already cold and moisture dampened body. I appeared to have selected my overnight camping site on the course of an ancient watercourse, I felt a bit like a land based King Canute. The march after breaking camp to the bridge site was a stiff and creaking affair for a pubescent rheumatic. The parapet jump was in stripped down kit of trunks and T shirt also a rude awakening to the low single figure temperatures around the Eskdale valley. Some of our group were devoid of fear and made multiple jumps. I hung around at the back of the group and chivalrously let the girls go ahead of me. The bridge was over a narrow gorge. The torrent eddied and swirled directly underneath and the greenish hue of the water indicated a good deep pool. Already cold and shivering but not out of fear, no way, I clambered onto the rough dressed stonework of the parapet. The extra elevation of my 5 foot 8 inches above the water was enough to cause some hesitation at first. Again, whether I propelled myself or was pushed by the impatient instructor I am not sure. From an already low body temperature my first impact with the stream actually felt warm. I checked that I had not wet myself which was a not disimilar a sensation. Then the freezing effect of the snow melt water hit and as I surfaced in the pool I was overcome with a teeth chattering and gasping for air and the mastering of an  appropriate profanity with which to announce my baptism in nature. I was also elated with my effort and the warmth of the towelling down and re-dressing was a triumphal feeling. I felt that I could now do anything in the rest of the mountain based week in spite of a morbid fear of heights, water and any erratic or stomach churning movement. The leap was followed by tree climbing and a descent from a death slide, canoeing on open water, rock climbing and abseiling and culminated in a two day expedition under canvas and an ascent of Scafell Pike, the highest peak in England. By the end of the week I was completely fearless. Quite happy to stand on the very edge of a precipice and peer down. More than happy to skip along a narrow sheep track with scree slopes below and hanging rocks above. Delighted to bound over crevasses and fully prepared to face up to and fight any wild animals that dare cross my path, especially sarcastic stoats.