It’s been cold and wet for weeks now, and the motivation to
go outside is inversely proportional to the outside temperature and wind speed.
But since I love hiking almost as much as I love books, I tried to use the
moments between showers (and hail, and thunder, and gale force winds) to quickly
sprint up another mountain track today, in the light of some serious eating to
be done later for my husband’s birthday feast. All was well until I spotted an
interesting outcrop of rocks in the distance, which offered a perfect view over
the coastline and a nice little reading nook to shelter from an approaching
dark cloud, promising an imminent shower. And a great bookstagram photo
opportunity! I have reflected on the dangers of bookstagram before, and the
instant suspension of any reason when it comes to the pursuit of the perfect
photo. So, ignoring the rain and the wind and the slippery rock I climbed up
the steep granite rock face, carefully wedging my hiking boots into small
crevasses and admiring my “pretty-good-for-my-age” climbing ability. The view
was spectacular! And the little rock cave just big enough to shelter me from
the rain, which sleeted down horizontally, wind whistling mournfully around the
rock. I sat with my little book feeling
slightly smug and righteous to have braved the elements, and waited for the sun
to come out.
What goes up, must come down
Hmmmm, it’s time to climb down the rock now and it’s gotten
all slippery from the rain, glinting menacingly like a black ski slope, water
still pouring off it from above. A stray ray of sunshine reflects in its
greenish-black slick, making tiny rainbows. I test the surface with my left
boot – slippery. Crap! I get down on all fours backwards (in what my yoga
teacher calls the table position), searching for footholds whilst my cold and
numb fingers clamp down on the granite beneath me. Still slippery! On all sides
of me is sheer rock. Clouds are brewing up in the distance. My right foot finds
a tiny foothold and I decide to “Go for it, sister! You’ve got this!” I shimmy
down the rock backwards like a crab, my breath coming out in tense little
hiccupping puffs as I imagine myself stranded on the rock, spread eagled, a
news helicopter circling over me as the cliff rescue is being dispatched to save
the idiot who got herself stranded on a rock in the middle of a severe weather
warning. My left foot is scrambling for purchase now, and this is the moment I
lose my hold on the rock. Landing hard on my butt, I find myself sliding,
sliding, sliding down the sheer rock face towards the abyss. In the split
seconds of my life flashing in front of my eyes, I draft my obituary:
Died in the pursuit of bookstagram.
As a bright ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds and I
feel myself airborne, sailing through the air and landing – with a soft plop as
air is expelled from my lungs – feet first on the soft forest floor. Staring
down at the boots of a bemused hiker, who has undoubtedly watched the whole
funny performance from beginning to end. Just shoot me now!
Now, reflecting rather sheepishly on my near death
experience whilst trying to dry off my cold and wet (and bruised) derriere, I
need to start planning how to make it sound heroic rather than foolish, to
polish the near-death experience like a shiny marble to make it fit for telling
around a camp fire. Because, as an ED nurse, I recognise the implications of a
“just hold my beer and watch this” moment. Really, I should know better!
But wasn’t it all worth it, for this delightful landscape?
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