I've really no idea. It must have been in 1979 and it was probably on gritstone. Maybe Windgather. But despite the lack of recollection, it must have been a turning point. Because although I was never particularly any good, I did become particularly obsessed. Which made the injury 15 years later all the harder to take.

“What do you mean 'Stop climbing'?” Only someone who didn't climb could suggest such a thing. But across the consulting room table came the possibility of losing the use of fingers, so after much heartache, I did the impossible and moved on.

For fourteen years. Until August. When I took a friend on a long promised trip. And the kids. And my wife. To Alderman Rocks, on a gloriously sunny afternoon, with a warm wind that felt like it blew out of Africa.

And it was like a first time. I tried not to show that I was nervous. After all, I was supposed to be 'experienced'. But that was a long time ago. I'd had to borrow back all the gear, for goodness sake. What if I'd forgotten? How to tie on, how to place runners, to set up a belay? How to get up this crack. Perish the thought: how to jam! Good friend though he is, I could hardly fall off in front of him. Apart from anything else, he'd never belayed before. That was a sobering thought as I stepped onto the rock.

But. You know how sometimes you start an exam and the nerves evaporate. Well, after fourteen years, it would seem climbing's like that. And it's like riding a bike. And all the gloriously intense feelings that come with leading came flooding back. No, not 'flooding': more like standing under a tidal wave of intense emotions. A sense of absolute concentration and yet still being acutely aware of my surroundings: the view; the exposure; especially the wind. A reminder that gritstone has a smell, moorland grit being particularly tart. A feeling of pure, undiluted 'Outside'. Even a way of moving started to resurface. Of being economical of effort. Of hands and feet working against each other to enhance friction. Of trailing a leg aside for balance; flagging I believe it's now called. To the pure joy of simply moving on rock. And of sharing something special. So very special.

Afterwards the question I struggled to answer was: how? How, for crying out loud, had I managed to stop? For fourteen years! Fourteen years of diverting my gaze toward every cliff, crag and boulder I passed, looking for lines, working out the moves. But then moving on. With a bitter irony, I've realised that a skill acquired when leading had helped. That same technique of putting aside any anxiety, of ignoring a long run-out whilst not denying its existence, had helped. Maybe not ignore it, but don't dwell on it. Move. On.

Four months later, I'm still here. I'm starting to get fitter. Much as I want to run now, I don't want to go back to walking later: I have a hand to cosset. Because now I'm back, I want to stay. Oh how I want to stay...with a passion.

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Write approximately 500 words about your first outdoor lead and supply an image of you climbing (not necessarily your first lead) and submit to: http://www.ukclimbing.com/articles/send.html

The competition will be judged by us here at DMM and the winner announced on Monday 24th December and will win a complete DMM rack worth £500.

But more than that, everyone who submits an essay will receive a spot prize.

More details HERE