The three stage descent down to the river was upon us. It proved to be a descent from heaven, through purgatory, down to hell. We started by brushing through lavender and a host of other exotic flowers, then stumbling down a short rugged track, and finally halting at the gates of hell. Immediately, my hopes of my trainers returning in some sort of respectable state were destroyed, as thick mud engulfed us up to shin height. The instructor bellowed something above the racket of the raging river, but I was too busy contemplating tackling the daunting task ahead. A solitary rock was the barrier between us and the murky water. Surrounding trees filtered out the majority of the sunlight, giving the experience a darker, more eerie feel. There was no Mr Cook to dish out the encouragement and empathy.
Entering the water with such confidence as the instructor was going to be hard- he scrambled over the rock, brushed away a cluster of swaying reeds and flung himself valiantly in. Not even a grimace. I was towards the back of the line, so I could witness the sudden gasps of shock as pupils ahead waded cautiously in. Reluctantly, I succumbed to the crunching jaws of the river, ready to devour me down through to its lower course. I remember seeing these nature programs, portraying rivers similar to these as tranquil and innocent, but when submerged in its sediment-clouded waters, being buffeted along, you felt completely at its mercy. For the first couple of minutes, the icy cold water attacked your body like a vicious plague. It took time for the effect of the ragged wet suit to kick in, and even when it did, I had soon found a new nemesis: midges. From now on, every pause in the activity was to be greeted by a swarm of fluttering midges. They are random yet decisively frustrating in their movements, circling our heads, some of the more daring ones making quick dashes for neck and shoulders. We waded along in a group, using any rock as a temporary support. In some places the pace was slow, but in others we were swept downstream by more powerful currents.
Just as I was becoming accustomed to the nature of the river and the activity, the instructor declared that we would stop shortly, and tackle one of the course’s several ‘challenges’. I realised I had been lulled into a false sense of security, as we had paused at the peak of a waterfall. This time there was no Mr Cook, who throughout the expedition had rolled over every hill imaginable to spur you valiantly on. Our faith laid in the instructor, a wiry, balding man, not a person you would expect to be gallivanting around rocks and rivers. He was none the less composed, and assured us that if we followed his simple advice we would plummet down the waterfall without too much hassle. A nearby rock had become a brief slide, as I glanced down at the plunge pool - a bubbling cauldron of white acid.
I emerged from the fizzing froth disorientated yet somewhat refreshed. The majority of the activity had involved clambering and navigating yourself downstream over boulders, but ahead was a longer stretch of water. It was difficult to swim, with the cumbersome life jacket hindering your movement, so the only way to make any progress was to flail your limbs around in a helpless manner. The towering trees above blocked excess sunlight, giving the water a murkier outlook. In swimming pools, you sometimes get ridiculous shark ideas, and for a moment begin to panic whereas here you always imagined something far more sinister lurking in the mysterious depths. Your legs felt vulnerable, as you could not see past the surface: a collage of black ink and green slime.
Following more close encounters with midges, and wading beside an alcove which contained a pool of stagnant water, we escaped the jaws of the hungry river. What followed was a revolting battle against a river bank covered in oozing mud. I was trapped in a chocolate cake mixture, as every step prompted a stomach churning squelch. I clung at the rickety reeds to my right, as the mud monster clutched at my ankles. We trudged our way along the bank, seeking any low lying branches for support, until to our delight we reached an opening.
The group was filled with relief when the instructor swivelled round in a buoyant manner and told us we were re-entering the water. What he did not tell us was that a few metres to his left was a twenty foot drop into a furious plunge pool. Heights were never my strong point, as I had found out on the top of Cader, when Mr Cook persuaded us to peer down at the vast Corrie Lake below. The thought struck me that I would not be able to complete the activity if I failed to commit myself to the bubbling pit of white oblivion. Being towards the front of the queue, I shuffled nearer to the edge. Several small pebbles became dislodged and disintegrated in the fiery cauldron. I raised my numb arm and wiped a bead of sweat from my brow, before loosening my collar. Suddenly my life jacket became a worthless chunk of yellow padding. A cheerful Mr Allen below, perching on a boulder, did little to boost my confidence. Hell’s demons were playing cunning tricks on my mind: Is the plunge pool deeper enough? Are you certain you will not scrape your back on the side of the rock face? I was superman, as I teetered nervously off the edge and plunged down. All I could see was a blur of rich green leaves, jagged rocks, and finally Mr Allen’s freckled face before I was consumed by the effervescent potion.
As I plodded slowly back to the coach I had time to reflect. There was no doubt that the activity has been unusual and exhilarating and, after one sniff, I could safely say it had been a, “dip in the pond”.
