Carry on up The Devil's Crack (Fat Man's Agony)!

Our walking holiday on the Costa Blanca in Spain was booked before we sold the house. During the time it was on the market, we decided  we wouldn’t let the chance of a sale interfere with our other plans. If we had put our social life on hold we wouldn’t have gone to China or Argentina, had some fantastic walking holidays or enjoyed the many caravan breaks in France and Britain. I’m a fatalist, what will be, will be. If someone wanted to view the house while we were away, the agent handled it – that’s what they’re paid for. And that wouldn’t be possible with an Internet estate agency. So bear that in mind.

We hadn’t been having much luck since we started house hunting at the beginning of March, so we welcomed the opportunity to get away for a week in sunny Calpe. I’d arranged for the caravan to have its first annual service while we were there, and friends in Newton Le Willows had kindly offered to let us stay the night before we flew, and when we arrived back in England. Beth also did our washing and ironing, cooked us dinner (twice), gave us a home-made pie for our first meal back in the caravan, and a goody bag with some essential groceries, so we didn’t have to go shopping. With friends like that, who needs five star hotel accommodation?

Everything was set. There was one problem though. Linda’s twisted ankle was still far from right. Still, there was a heated swimming pool and Jacuzzi in the apartment block where we were staying. Maybe she would settle for a relaxing week? Maybe not.

Sea view from our apartment

Walking through the pretty valleys and up the rugged mountain sides of the Costa Blanca was something we had done a number of times. The holidays are run by two members of the rambling club. Jan and Phil’s organisational skills are matched only by their caring and inclusive attitude towards the walking wounded and the occasional awkward so and so. They went out of their way to make sure that Linda made the most of the holiday, despite her injury. In fact she took part in several of the walks, including a more strenuous one.

One of the  walks she did decline for the Jacuzzi involved a scramble up rocks then a squeeze through what is called ‘Fat Man’s Agony’. When it was described to us in the previous day’s briefing, it reminded me of another walk. That involved crawling along a natural tunnel through a mountain peak. Memories of that, and listening to Jan talk about the Fat Man’s Agony set my nerves jangling.

In the early years of Calpe, Phil had promised us one of the top walks in Spain; a climb up to the Sierra Bernia. When we were near the top, he had explained with relish, there was a fifty foot crawl through a tunnel to emerge on a plateau with eye-watering views.

Two years on a run he had promised us this amazing experience, and both times poor visibility had knocked it on the head.  The group’s disappointment was not shared by me. I felt a guilty sense of relief! I’m not happy in confined spaces, especially involving solid rock where it seems there is little chance of rescue.

The following year, the same promise was made. How delighted everyone seemed when on the morning of the walk, the weather was warm and dry with good visibility.

We started up the steep path to the Sierra Bernia, and as we approached the top, I was puzzled that those ahead of me seemed to have vanished. Then I saw why. They were disappearing into a small dark hole.

“Does anyone suffer from claustrophobia?” Phil asked cheerily, not expecting a response. I put my hand up. He tried to reassure me. “Once you’re inside you’ll see light at the end. You’ll have to take off your rucksack and crouch down though, maybe on all fours, there’s not much head room. But you’ll be fine...”

Looking happier than I felt...

I decided to take a deep breath and do it. As long as there was no one in front of me, and no one behind, I explained, so I wouldn’t feel trapped.

I did it. I did it again the following year. Now I was facing a new challenge: Fat Man’s Agony, or as some wag called it; ‘The Devil’s Crack’...

I voiced my fears to Linda. On the morning of the walk I phoned Phil and Jan’s apartment, and told them I was thinking of doing the less strenuous walk, that didn’t include Fat Man’s Agony. As I was one of the minibus drivers, my decision had a bearing on who my passengers would be. They reassured me it wasn’t that narrow, and I would be okay. Of concern to some people was the possibility of a fall. I said something like: “I don’t mind falling a hundred feet, but I draw the line at getting trapped between two slabs of rock!” I checked images of it online, and found one that showed an eight stone weakling squeezing through the rocks. I wasn’t reassured, but decided I would have a go.

'The Devil's Crack' at the top of the ridge...

As we approached on the path I could see Fat Man’s Agony high above us. It didn’t look that wide! To get to it involved a fairly difficult scramble up loose rocks that were sprinkled with snow and ice. I was ahead of Phil, and remember one final difficult climb where it was barely wide enough to get your foot in and then swing up.  I stood up and looked back at Phil, as it dawned on me. “Is this it?” I asked. He nodded. Fat Man’s Agony. It wasn't the ordeal I had imagined! And what a great sense of achievement as I climbed out the other side.

Looking back at Phil, it dawned on me. I was in The Devil's Crack!

So, what’s the moral of the story? Face your fears? Listen to expert advice? Don’t always assume the worst? Be prepared to have a go? Or how about: Don’t get fat and you’ll be able to squeeze past all of life’s obstacles...

Read my novels; Stench of Evil https://goo.gl/VQOVuS and The Devil in Them https://goo.gl/aS1cjZ in ebook format and paperback...)