It's not that the perch was narrow and about four feet high. It's not that I was in danger of falling. It's just that I was three and a half thousand feet up in the air. And I'm scared of heights.
Actually, it's not actually heights I'm scared of. As Terry Pratchett would say, I have a fear of grounds.
It's not a phobia. A phobia implies an intense, irrational fear or dislike. This is not the case.
I just have a great fear of falling off big high things on to hard sharp things. This is not irrational: I've done it before and it hurts.
It had taken us about four hours to climb to the summit of the majestic Mount Snowdon in picturesque North Wales. Surrounded by Snowdonia's beautiful lakes and forests, Snowdon loomed forbiddingly over the sheep-covered countryside, challenging travellers to conquer its narrow peak.
I had the 'flu. I was ill, exhausted and hadn't got out of bed for the previous week. There are a number of routes up Snowdon, ranging from the easy (Snowdon Ranger path) to the terrifying Crib Goch. This is the place where you walk along the narrow ridge of the mountain, with several thousand feet of sheer drop on either side of you. Some have to crawl on their hands and knees. I can absolutely guarantee that I would pass out from sheer terror were I to ever venture there.
So, Rik happily suggested we take the second most-difficult - the Pyg Path. This was half-walk, half-climb, and a tough one for a beginner like myself. Especially one who is ill. Rik is an experienced climber, which certainly helped in this case. We were prepared with waterproofs, packed lunch, torch, compass and map. We took regular breaks (at my insistence) and drank liquids little and often. At first it seemed harder than I had expected (I think I was anticipating a rambling stroll rather than a clambering climb) but once I had worked up a sweat, I got into it.
The scenery was certainly rewarding - the view that met us from a thousand feet was a primeval landscape of rivers and mountains stretching out for as far as the eye could see. Words cannot accurately portray this contrast of peaks and troughs; depths and heights, but many poems have sought to capture it.
If one element was constant along our journey, it was the presence of a very special type of fellow traveller.
Sheep!
Every time I saw a sheep, I would shout "Sheep!" and ooh and ahh over it.
This gets a little wearing after four hours.
Certain moments were terrifying - at times the path is lost, and you have to rely on glimpses of the lake below to tell you where you are. Other times and you are completely surrounded by cloud and cannot see a few feet in front of you. Even worse, and much of the ground is made of a type of gravel that appears to give way under your feet. It was only by Rik's guidance and steady assurance that I didn't completely panic and managed to follow his instructions on finding hand-holds in the clammy rock.
Still, the very idea of being above the seagulls' flight path is enthralling - especially as you see them circling below you. Although you can climb it in a day, Snowdon is an eighth the size of Everest, and many, many times the height of Canary Wharf.
However, the sheep don't appear to notice this, and carry on living up the mountainside, almost to the summit.
Be under no illusions - climbing this is clearly dangerous, and park rangers are everywhere to ensure the safety and guidance of travellers to the mountain's top. On the other hand, it's a family event, and there is a cafe at the top to reward climbers who reach the summit.
Unfortunately, it was closed when we got there, and they wouldn't even let us in for a minute to warm up from the freezing temperatures outside. Meanies.
By the time I got to the top, I sincerely didn't believe that I could walk another step, yet somehow desperation helped me find a way down. The mountain railway was closed, and at four in the afternoon, we had just an hour to get mostway down the mountain before darkness set in.
The idea of being in darkness on the side of a mountain frightened even Richard, and we more or less dashed back down. Having been so frightened on the way up, I was becoming more confident on the descent, and under Rik's leadership, we hurried back to ground.
At times, I almost slid down the mountain, as it was smooth and damp. I was rapidly becoming saturated, but luckily was still producing enough heat from excercise so as not to chill through.
Darkness fell with some way to go, but luckily we saw the lake just as we were starting to get desperate. Rik's torch helped us down the last stretch and we hit the ground just as the sky turned black. We followed the river round for two or three miles to get back to the car. It would be okay as long as we followed the lake round - the dim light from the torch lit up the path just a few feet in front of us to stop us stumbling on stones.
By this point I was rapidly deteriorating. I was soaking wet and the temperature was dropping fast. I was becoming almost rigid with cold and pain was crippling my legs. It was almost totally dark in the cold air and being Halloween, it was spooky. I was exhausted - not just tired - but the exhaustion that is near to collapse. Rik was talking to me, trying to keep my spirits up. "You're doing really well, you can do it," he was saying, and trying to make me keep talking so that he could be sure I wasn't going into shock.
We were totally alone, and in almost total darkness. In near-freezing temperatures. We had travelled eight miles over thousands of feet of mountainside. I was soaked to the skin. We were chilled through. We were in pain. We wanted to go home.
"Please don't cry," Rik begged, "Just please don't cry."
I didn't. But I sure as hell felt like it.
Finally, we saw a dim light in the distance. We edged towards it - this was the one light of hope, the light of home.
Every step was harder than the last, and when we eventually reached the car, I almost couldn't move enough to get in it.
I sank into the seat, feeling waves of pain, cold and exhaustion seep through me as I thawed out in the car.
Next time, I leave the mountains to the sheep.