I was on a ridge that climbed up towards the top of the cliff, with excellent views of the ferry port. From Dover, ferries from four different companies power off to Calais, Boulogne and Dunkerque, taking cars, trucks, buses and foot passengers.

      As I walked along a number of folks were set up along the ridge, binoculars in hand as they watched the coming and going of the big boats.
 

     Here in England they call people like that anoraks. An anorak is a type of parka with a hood, usually fur lined. The coat is favoured by trainspotters, those hardy types that stand outside in the rain and cold and watch trains go by. For most people, trainspotting seems a rather pointless activity, and listening to a trainspotter go on and on about it invokes a similar feeling to a root canal. Thus, the trainspotters wearing anoraks lead to the slang term being applied to anyone with a arcane, dull hobby like watching trains, playing with ham radios or parading around in old Austin Minis.

     I, of course, am not an anorak because I don’t know arcane facts about trains and boats. I just like to watch them. See, I’m not a nerd. I just proved it. QED.

     Reaching the top of the cliff, my stomach was grumbling unhappily, so I was pleased to see a visitor information centre with a cafe. I went in and ordered an egg salad sandwich. It was excellent, with tasty chunks of egg in mayonnaise and soft, fluffy white bread. For some reason though, the crusts were tough like leather. They, like the rest of the sandwich were very tasty, but it required some serious gnawing to get through the crust.

     Sated and with a new found energy, I set off from the visitor centre and along the cliffs. There was a multitude of paths, but I tried to stick as best I could to the paths closet to the cliff face. Unfortunately, this meant a number of times I found myself at a dead end where ridges suddenly ended. I found myself more than a few times having to scramble up and down steep hills or performing some manner of parcour that would have been best left to a younger man.
 

     I noticed in my scrambles that it is much easier to climb up than it is to climb down. By this I mean that climbing seems to require nothing but physical effort, whereas climbing down requires a lot of mental and emotional effort. I would find myself at the top of a steep hill, looking down at a 45 degree angle and feel fear gripping at me. I would have to take a couple of deep breaths before starting my descent.

     I have a theory why this is. Actually two theories, but I could see them working in concert.

     First is one of focus. When climbing up, you are looking up. Looking up isn’t scary. No one has ever died from falling up. In fact, falling up would probably be flying, which would be cool. People dream happy dreams about flying.

     When climbing down, you are looking down. People die from falling down. Falling down is painful. Throughout your downward climb, you are always looking down, towards a possible death. That’s scary.

     The second theory is that gravity actually makes climbing up easier, or rather makes it more controlled. When climbing up, gravity is working in the opposite direction. You have to overcome it, which means your actions are all slow and deliberate. When climbing down, gravity is pulling you in the same direction you are travelling. It is easy to start moving too fast, to lose control and end up careening down a steep hill towards a cliff face. Climbing up is all about deliberate and slow movements to defeat gravity. Climbing down is all about trying to maintain control so you don’t die.

     All that means that I am no longer impressed with people that climb up mountains and then repel down. They are skipping over the hard part. From now on, if you wish to impress me, you will repel up the mountain and climb down.

                                                   1st part