When I got into rock climbing, concerned family and friends would sometimes ask if I would ever contemplate mountaineering.
"Nah," I would say (with the wisdom of someone who's never roped up in snow). "Rock climbing, you can control the risk, but in the hills, it's a percentages game, and if the mountain or the weather conspire to crush you, they will."
Of course I went to see "Touching the Void" when it came out. It changed my whole outlook.
Suddenly, grunting up some horrible desperate lump of snow looked like something that HAD to be done. The sparkling slopes. The wide-open vistas. The exhaustion and freezing misery. The joy of getting up half an hour before you normally go to bed.
So after missing two seasons due to knee surgery and an 18-month worldwide search for size US15 crampon-compatible boots (hey, there's a clue as to my log on), it's looking like a Technical Mountaineering Course in Kiwiland next February.
Strangely, I was going off the boil about the whole plan, but then I turned on the TV last night and only got re-inspired. Maybe it's the thought of handling all that jangly new gear. Mmmm... ice axes... big spiky crampons... makeshift leg splints ...
And the worst part? Not realising it would change my viewpoint, I took my mom to see Touching the Void (hey, do you know how HARD it is to get a date in Sydney, city of the scowling princesses?) and it completely wigged her out. So I'm going to have to fib and tell her I'm going "hiking" so the poor old duck doesn't cark it from a stress-related illness.
Is this all insanity? Will 11 days in a hut in the land of pointy mountains and flat vowels make me see the folly of my ways ... or just make it worse, and change my holidaying plans forever? Should I take a knife and a camera crew? Should a grown man have to tell fibs to his mom?
All advice (except for smartarse comments from TND!) appreciated.
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