The rockface that looked smooth from a distance turns out to be jagged and complicated. Touching
the rock feels strangely intimate – I find myself stroking the pinkish-grey dolomite rock above me, my fingertips taking in every bump and ridge in the stone. As my senses adjust to the vertical terrain, I begin to find ledges for my feet and notches for my hands. And whenever the natural rock features run out there are metal pins and ladders to use instead. I get into a rhythm – hand, hand, foot, foot, clip – and soon we reach the top of the first section. Michael regards me with a quiet satisfaction that seems to imply I have passed the test, for now at least.
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