As I arrive at John's belay an RAF fighter tears its way down the valley leaving a deep rumble in its wake. From our vantage point 50 metres up the slab of Tryfan Fach we are well above the jet as it skirts along near the valley floor. “So,” John asks, “How do you fancy leading this next pitch?” Looking up at the remaining 20 metres of rock I evaluate the climb. Its only V Diff, a nice gentle slab, I've be confidently climbing these all day. My confidence bolstered by the adrenaline that comes with being halfway up a cliff, I give a brief nod, “Go on then.”

A short time later and I'm covered in all sorts of exotic equipment as John tries to explain its use to me. “Look for narrowing cracks for your nuts,” “make sure you feed the rope the right way through the quickdraw,” “this is how you rig an anchor for belaying.” Most of it washes over me as I excitedly comprehend life at the sharp end of the rope, imagining myself taking on E grades across the way on Tryfan proper. “Yes I'm listening,” I reassure John. Well, maybe I wasn't, but I'm an engineering student and this is hardly rocket science, I'm sure I can work it out. A few final checks and then I'm off.

One metre. Two metres. This is it, I'm rock climbing. Not just top roping or seconding but really rock climbing. Three metres. Four metres, and all of a sudden my confidence starts to crumble. A glance down shows me the length of rope paid out, and the length of the associated factor two fall. Prising my gaze away from that foreboding sight I try to focus, but facing upwards I discover that what had moments ago been rife with big juggy holds and potential gear placements has become barren and featureless. I can feel myself on the brink of panic, my holds begin to seem much less solid and the slab appears to shift a few degrees closer to vertical.

Closing my eyes for just a moment I steel myself and think calmly. Making a big stretch I reach for the next hold, heave myself up and find a comfortable stance. Just above my head I find a suitable crack and get in my first placement, a nice solid middle sized nut. As I clip in I realise just how terrified I am, a million things crowd my mind – what was that John was saying about quickdraws? Will that nut hold if I fall? Nevermind rocket science, I should have known better than this! Strangely though I'm loving every minute of it. This, I begin to realise, is what climbing is all about for me. It's a brutal encounter between me and the rock. There's no instructor, no supervisors or health and safety officers, there is just me and the slab in front of me. The thrill and the sense of independence that comes with that is something I think is unique to our sport of climbing. It's a freedom and reliance upon your own ability that, sadly, we are so rarely afforded in modern society.

15 metres later as I top out I reflect on this, then turn to survey that other great aspect of this wondrous sport, the amazing backdrop to which we are able to enjoy such freedom. Stunning.

www.dmmclimbing.com

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