Dan Morris: Frights and dizzy heights

It’s strange how when you become an adult, something that used to be so important as the school holidays falls off your radar. When I was a kid I used to set my life by when these cherished weeks of uninterrupted playtime bliss were coming along, yet for the last 20 years have paid little attention to when, as Alice Cooper once said, school’s out for summer.

My little ‘un is only two, so keeping a keen eye on when primary school sprogs are living their best lives with a break from their education hasn’t really sunk back in yet. Though soon enough, the school hols will become a firm part of my routine again.

It’s true what they say – you never know how good you’ve got it ‘til it’s gone. As a youngster I used to firmly take for granted the incredible six-week summer break. When this turned into 12 weeks during university, I was even more nonchalant about it. Now, I think about all the wonderful things I would do if ever given a three-month break from the daily grind again.

The uni hols were largely populated with me knuckling down at the part-time job I’d held since I was 16 – emptying the paying-in machines at a well-known high street bank. I’m not actually sure if they still have said devices. Indeed, many would claim that high street banks themselves are few and far between these days With a break of such magnitude, unencumbered by any need to work, one of the first things I’d do would be to try and tick as many boxes on my ‘outdoor pursuits bucket list’ as possible.

With a near-paralysing fear of heights, I’ve never done a skydive. Nor have I paraglided, bungee jumped or even abseiled. Such things would chill me to the bones, but I’d like to give them a go – if for nothing else to see if I could finally rid myself of the shackles of my phobia. I’ve tried over the years to slay this particular demon, and with gusto. A zipline course in Cancun was a particularly terrifying experience. And, of course, you can’t visit New York without giving the roof terrace of the Empire State Building a go. 

The steps ascending Tintagel Castle were a very shaky affair, as have been the steps ascending almost every waterpark slide on God’s green Earth.

Yet, the pièce de résistance has to be a particularly memorable experience involving the fabled Grand Canyon skywalk. For the uninitiated, this is a glass horseshoe that extends outward into the glorious American chasm and allows tourists to stand over said wonder of nature, and look down into its magnificent depths with nothing but a transparent surface beneath their feet. The year was 2007, and on a visit to Arizona I’d decided that it would be a poor show if I didn’t at least give it a whirl. As I’ve said many times before, we didn’t get dressed up for nothing.

As I approached the skywalk my heart was in my throat, and my left hand gripped the steel railing so tightly I’m quite sure I drew blood. Advancing along the walkway I kept my gaze firmly forward, determined to only risk looking down when I had reached the horseshoe’s apex, and the veritable Rubicon of my challenge.

When I finally reached the pinnacle of the walkway’s arch, I breathed a sigh of relief, then swallowed the remnants of my terror and looked deep into the beyond before me. It was beautiful – there was no other word for it. And, for a moment, all of my nervousness and trepidation was eclipsed by the powerful majesty of nature that filled all that my eyes could see.

As I say, only for a moment…

I was brought (though, thankfully, not literally) crashing back to Earth when a gentleman also making his way along the path decided to test the strength of the glass we were stood on. Taking out a robust camera that he clearly had little care for, he rapped on the horseshoe’s surface with ruthless abandon. My resulting exclamation is far from suitable to be printed in a family newspaper, but I’m sure you get the idea. Suffice to say, I quickly made my way around the rest of the skywalk and back to the safety of the cliff edge from which it sprung.

After a few deep breaths, I composed myself, feeling chuffed that I had survived this particular ordeal, and that I hadn’t let my fear prevent me from at least attempting to enjoy such a box-ticker of an experience.

Sadly though, my phobia of heights remained, and if anything, had been given a whole new sense of vitality.

It’s important to face your fears every once in a while. 

Though I have to say, these days once in a blue moon will do me.

On reflection, maybe those long breaks are better reserved for the kids after all – the dizzy heights of the day job are quite enough for yours truly.