cable was there to help us hang on for dear life above the
raging water. ‘Right,’ I said, ‘so I can be like Sylvester Stallone, then, in that movie
Cliffhanger
?’
He looked me up and down. ‘I think you’re missing a little … you know … muscle there, feller, you know what I mean?’
He took me to the gear hut so we could suit up with safety harness, karabiners and helmets. It’s always a bit worrying when
you have to wear all this equipment, and I can’t deny I was feeling just a touch queasy. It’s all very well being the front
man on these expeditions, but you’re also the guy who has to do the dangerous stuff. I checked out the whistle Wade had given
me for attracting attention. Yep, it worked: good. I was bound to need it. He told me that nobody had ever fallen to their
death from the Via Ferrata, but there’s always a first time for everything.
Wade then proceeded to tell me the three options now available to this intrepid Chris Bonington wannabe: easy,medium and extreme. I didn’t like the sound of that last one, but I also knew that Russ or Mungo was about to remind me of
the title of the programme, so before they could show me up for the coward I just might be, I said: ‘Let’s go extreme!’
We were high on a cliff overlooking the water, and with a nervous laugh I admitted to Wade that I thought I might have lost
my mojo.
‘Your mojo?’ he said. ‘Brother,
now
is not the time to lose your mojo.’
From the clifftop, we began to make our way down a series of steep steps in the rock, with the iron cable guiding us. It was
then that I made the mistake of looking down. Bloody hell, that was a bit of a drop! Although the water wasn’t coursing as
much as I had feared, it was still slapping the base of the rocks like the waves at Cape Spear. Thank God I was clipped on
to that cable. I knew that if I slipped, the harness would keep me from falling, but I would still hang ignominiously, scrabbling
at the wall. Despite my fears, however, I gradually started to enjoy it, even getting a little cocky – holding on to the great
iron grips fixed into the rock while swapping my feet around like a dancer. Then it was into an overhang, where a length of
four-by-four had been fitted as there were no footholds. There were no handholds here either, only polished rock or the option
of clinging on to the cable itself. It didn’t feel very safe. Taking a moment to have a breather and inspect the bloodied
calluses on my hands, I clipped the spare karabiner on to a metal loop and leant back. Suddenly I heard something crack and
almost soiled my pants. ‘Jesus!’ I cried. ‘What was that?’ One of the boards we were walking on had creaked, ominously, as
Russ stepped on it. Idesperately screwed the thread on that second karabiner so it couldn’t work itself loose by mistake.
Despite a few panicky moments, the whole thing was great fun – though it was a little awkward trying to film with Nat on the
line with me, Mungo above and Russ behind us taking photos. It was the perfect way to view the stunning countryside, and finally
we’d been blessed with a beautiful day – warm and sunny, with only a light wind. As we rested on a perch on the cliffside,
Lac Saint-Jean was an expanse of shimmering water before us; sitting there with the sun on my face, I really did feel like
I was hidden away from the rest of the world.
My moment of solitude didn’t last for long, though – what Wade had planned for me next was anything but hidden away. The extreme
high-ropes course. ‘It’s designed to challenge you, Charley,’ he said. ‘And I mean
challenge
you.’
Between us, climbing into the heavens, was a vertically hanging log with wooden pegs hammered into it at various intervals.
‘This is the ladder of natural selection,’ Wade said. ‘You’re familiar with the theory of evolution?’
‘Sure,’ I said, cautiously.
‘Well, this is going to determine