This weekend just gone I joined a group of mates in deepest darkest Wales for a spot of Gorge Walking, something I had never done in my life.
The reason I was there was my friend’s Stag weekend and I have to say that anyone who knows me will know that Gorge Walking most certainly is not the sort of activity I would normally willingly participate in!
As it was a friend’s Stag (he was one of my best men) I was somewhat obliged to participate, if a little unenthusiastically, ok a lot…
On the whole the weekend was great, a real laugh, it was great to see all my mates and make some new ones, I have to admit though that on Saturday Morning I was really in no fit state for what was to come.
After a good ten minutes of me trying to fit my ample girth into a thankfully XXL wetsuit, plus added outdoory paraphernalia, helmets and the like, I joined 20 mates on the hike up to the start of the Gorge Walk.
As I stood in line, like a load of organised lemmings, I watching the lads at the front jump the small jump into a fairly tranquil pool, each one making suitable shocked sounds after bobbing back up, I realised that I hadn’t been “swimming” since I was at school, probably 16 years ago.
As I took the leap of the rock I kept trying to convince myself that swimming must be like riding a bike, surely you can’t forget, can you? Then the water hit, FUCK ME!
Emerging from the water trying to remember how to swim, deal with wearing a helmet, life jacket and feeling the full force of my hangover I began to realise something I already knew, Gorge Walking is not for me!
I do have to admit that the following hour or so wasn’t a complete nightmare, some of it, in hindsight, was fun. After a moderately enjoyable section of sliding down rocks we rounded a corner and my legs went to jelly, we were on a cliff above a big pool and there was a sodding zip wire… Arse.
If you haven’t already guessed I’m not a massive fan of heights and standing in an ever decreasing line of men, you are trying your best not to look like a pussy in front of, while trying to not look down, in my opinion ain’t fun.
Eventually the inevitable came, my turn, bollocks. I had to do this, the man who was holding the rope gave me some choices to perch on, like I cared, I just said “I’m not fussed I just want to go as fast as possible”, I managed to grit my teeth and got in position.
Then I actually did it jumped off into oblivion, plop in with the fishes! Followed by a slide across the pool and 30 seconds of embarrassing fumbling trying to unattatch myself from the rope, thankfully a friend helped in the end.
So I do actually feel quite proud of myself in the end, that jump was literally the highest thing (It certainly could be called a cliff/waterfall) I have ever jumped off.
I well and truly chickened out of the final 40 foot jump, no way was I going to do that and thankfully I wasn’t the only one either.
All the way through this experience I thought a lot about my recent (last 8 months) retaking up of one of my many childhood hobbies, cycling.
I think it’s safe to say I enjoy cycling about a million times more than I do jumping of cliffs, give me a hard climb or hell, even a strong headwind and I’m much more of a happy chap!
So although it was in parts, a right laugh, the banter was great, and it was a fairly amazing place, I came away very soggy with a desire to never do Gorge Walking ever again.
I do though have to say a big thank you to the two chaps who took excellent care of us all, which resulted in no dramas and nothing more than a few bruises and lots of tired legs.
So all in all not for me, give me two wheels and a bit of tarmac any day!