How I scaled a mountain summit

The Blue Mountains are Australia's top rock-climb destination for good reason and the sandstone cliffs attract expert enthusiasts and nervous first-timers alike.

First timer ... Kirk Owers climbs the Zig Zag route in the Blue Mountains

PEOPLE have climbed the Sisters every which way – at night, naked, without ropes – my friendly guide tells me.

Just minutes away from my rock climbing debut, I'm too nervous to think of a decent moon pun, but am grateful for his distracting aside.

In 2000 it became illegal to climb the Three Sisters – and I'm not the least disappointed.

My first effort will be clothed, with ropes, during the day and at a more private, less precipitous location than the Great Dividing Range's most recognisable feature.

The Blue Mountains are Australia's top rock-climb destination for good reason: the proximity to Sydney and the beauty and diversity of the sandstone cliffs attract international enthusiasts and clammy-handed first-timers alike.

I'd been picked up from my digs (Katoomba's award-winning YHA) and geared up with climbing shoes, ropes and bags of impressive equipment.

The afternoon is sunny and mild as we hike the Narrowneck escarpment. Sandstone cliffs glow in contrast to the shaded blue-green valley floor, a ribbon of water sprays off an 80m cliff and there's not an unnatural sound within cooee.

But before you can climb you must learn to abseil. My guide attaches two ropes – one to a sturdy tree and one is thrown off a small cliff face with a practised hurl. My harness is checked, a rope attached to my descender and I'm ready.

Gingerly I back towards the edge. Lean back, I'm told. Set your head on fire, he might as well be saying, but as my weight shifts on to the rope my steps become surer.

Every vertical metre brings more confidence; by the time I hit the valley floor I'm James Bond on his third martini.

My new ardour is cooled with the compulsory safety lesson. I learn the figure eight knot, the belay system and the call and response instructions.

Rock-climbing is safe as long as your partner pays attention. My instructor once fell 10m before his belayer could react; it happened so fast he didn't think to scream.

Thankfully he shares this anecdote at the end of the day, because our next climb is bigger and more serious.

There are more than 3000 recognised climbing routes in the Blue Mountains and with names like Mission To Mars, Pigs In Space and Intergalactic, you get the feeling Star Trek nights are not uncommon in the climbing fraternity.

We hike along the cliff to a climbing area known as Zig Zag. The cliff base is 30m below and this time my guide will belay from above and won't be able to help me choose climbing holds – it feels closer to the real deal, and nerves and adrenalin have me hyper-alert.

Halfway down my abseil, I pause to take in the view. There's not a perch along the Great Dividing Range that will give you a better perspective than dangling from a rope halfway down the escarpment. The dramatic cliff line is magnificent up close, all the more so lit by the late afternoon sun.

On my final climb out of the Blue Mountains I take my time: it's not a difficult rock face, but it needs concentration – and, besides, I want to savour the experience.

Time slows, and for a few moments I experience an almost mediative state experienced climbers refer to as The Zone. The only thought in my mind is "right foot goes here so that left hand can reach there". And occasionally: "Don't, whatever you do, look down".

I reach the summit as the sun hits the horizon. The sky has fired to orange and I feel stimulated but relaxed as I unclip from the rope and chug down some water. Quite a day, I'd say.

The writer was a guest of Blue Mountains Tourism.

The Sunday Telegraph