The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Travel on trial Turn your next staycation into a real cliffhanger
Annabel Fenwick Elliott suspends her disbelief with a night spent on a rockface high above the waves
Granted, spending the night strapped to a stretcher, winched to the side of the cliff, dangling over the roaring English Channel in December is not everyone’s idea of a good time. “I cannot see a single appealing aspect to this scenario,” said my father before I set off. “I’m concerned you’re going to die,” said my mother. “You’re mad,” said every single one of my friends.
Perhaps. But if, like me, you are easily bored, or are, as I was, suffering yet another bout of pandemic fatigue, it was an adventure most certainly worth having.
Cliff camping is a concept that originated in California’s Yosemite National Park, back in the 1980s. The first climbers, I’m told, nicked some army cots from a nearby bunker and used them as a more comfortable alternative to the cliff-face hammocks they would otherwise sleep in during lengthy climbs. These days, they are called “portaledges” and, while they are indeed superior hammocks, “comfortable” they are not.
Kevin, who runs the only company I could find that operated during the winter months, was the leader of our mission. Dorset’s Jurassic coast was the location. Julius, my boyfriend, who had flown over from Germany to take part, was my enthusiastic companion.
We were advised to wear plenty of layers. It was 5C (41F) when we met Kevin at dusk, at a car park on the Isle of Portland; the southernmost point of Dorset. From there, it was a 15-minute amble to the cliff, where Kevin set up our precarious bed for the night.
The only aspect I had ever been concerned about was getting down to it. Having abseiled once before, I can attest that walking backwards off a cliff is a feat that requires quite some overriding of the human instinct. This time, given it was pitch dark, I couldn’t see what I was stepping backwards into, which actually rendered the activity much less confronting.
Our portaledge was set up 16ft from the top and 65ft above the sea, though at times during the night, with the wind whipping the water into a loud frenzy underneath, it felt like we were hanging mere inches above the waves.
Julius and I were each attached to an elaborate harness that stayed on throughout, which made moving around somewhat cumbersome, but on the upside did prevent us from rolling off the ledge in our sleep.
Once we were both settled, seated on opposite sides, dinner was lowered to us from above, in shifts, by way of a bucket; delicious vegetable soup to start, followed by a Tupperware vat of spaghetti, and chocolate pudding. After all that was cleared, and we had clambered into our sleeping bags, Kevin whizzed down to erect a tent contraption over us, turning our ledge into a rainproof capsule, before delivering a brief safety lecture.
We were to sleep top-and-tail, so as to evenly distribute our weight, and not under any circumstance remove our harnesses, especially not to fornicate. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to rescue a naked couple who’d flipped the ledge,” he told us. If we needed to use the loo, we could call him at any time of the night, and he would help us climb back up and then back down from the top, which sounded like a tedious ordeal I hoped to avoid.
Kevin then retired to his van, parked not far away, leaving Julius and I to plot our night. The obvious thing to do next would be go to sleep, but it was only 8pm, and we weren’t tired. Cold, yes, but not sleepy. We were also determined to be renegades, and sleep next to one another, not with our heads at opposite ends, so there was a fair bit of shuffling around to find the right balance, as the ledge wobbled and grated against the rock face.
That achieved, Julius tied his phone to the vertical rope so that it dangled above us, and we huddled up to watch Netflix, sipping whisky from our flask until we dozed off, the rain lashing our tent throughout the night. We slept erratically, waking often. Inevitably, we both had to use the lavatory and somewhat staggeringly, both managed to without taking off our harnesses; Julius with considerably more ease than I. Indeed, regardless of Kevin’s warning, you’d be surprised by just how many feats are achievable while staying harnessed.
Morning came, and we pushed off the cover to witness the sea beneath us for the first time; a breathtaking moment that made all the faffing worth it. Sitting side by side with warm mugs of coffee and pain au chocolat, we congratulated ourselves on our many small triumphs and bade farewell to the water before making the climb back up to the top; Julius with considerably more athleticism than I. Then, straight to our rented cottage for a very long sleep.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to rescue a naked couple who have flipped the ledge’
Cliff camping in Dorset costs £500 for two people sharing; riseandsummit. co.uk. Travel within the UK is currently subject to restrictions. See Page 3.