T
he river is cold. Coursing between
my legs, into my squelchy shoes
and round the back of my thighs, it
threatens to knock me off balance
and pull me over. I lift my right
leg and my left leg wobbles as the
torrent surges behind it. “Easy,
Oliver!” shouts Fabio over the roar.
The harness jangles as my foot comes to rest on a slippery,
lichen-covered rock. I peer over the foam of the waterfall –
the rest of the group, up to their necks, look very far away.
Gripping the rope and swinging out so my back is
facing the pool, I take a tentative step down. I slip, thrash
in mid-air, and hit the surging wall upright and front
first. Felipe holds the rope from below and I don’t fall, but
it feels like I’m in a washing machine – the river rushes
into my mouth and down the neck of my wetsuit. For a
few seconds, I can’t breathe. I kick the rock to my side and
push my head into the damp air next to the waterfall. “All
OK,” says a distant Fabio above. “Stay 90 degrees to the
cliff. Follow the side of the water. Let the rope lead you.”
In the end, I manage to slip and shimmy my way to
the bottom. My fingers are pink sausages. I plunge into
the rippling pool below, and almost yelp at the thrill and
relief of it. While the rest of the group chatters, I look
round properly at the steep, un-climbable sides of the
narrow canyon I’ve just descended, the leaves rustling in
the warm air above, the dragonflies flitting against the
sunlight. Upspray smears a rainbow over the lip of the
waterfall. What in God’s name am I doing here?
Truth to tell, I wasn’t entirely sure what canyoning
was. I had a vague idea that it involved following a
stream of water down a hill. I imagined clambering over
boulders, splashing through a babbling brook, perhaps
the odd modest hop into a shin-deep rock pool. I certainly
hadn’t envisaged harnesses, ropes, abseils and 4m leaps
HE DID...
»
THIS IS CANYONING
MADEIRA’S NEWEST
ANDMOST THRILLING
EXTREME SPORT
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