It’s been nearly two months since we married and we’ve had nothing resembling a honeymoon. We finally took off on Thursday night for the wilds of the South Wairarapa Coast of New Zealand. We could do this thanks to the assistance of husband number one, who was happy to take my children for a few additional nights.

Our destination – Cape Palliser lighthouse. I’ve seen countless stunning pictures, I knew it was close, and I was determined to see it for myself. And so, we packed up our little caravan and set off for Cape Palliser. We booked a little caravan park to stay at, and off we went.

The Kiwis have a saying for what us Northern types call pootling around, they call it a tiki tour. So we checked out Kaitoke campsite and Lake Ferry, before arriving finally at a campsite at Waimeha. There we indulged in some good food and much needed R&R (rest & relaxation) before heading out to the lighthouse the next morning.

As we drove along a typical New Zealand back road, little more than gravel and some number 8 wire holding it all together, my misgivings grew. I saw the lighthouse high on the rocks. This was no pretty tourist destination, though the wild coastline was indeed impressive.

We pulled into the car park and I was worried. I could see steps rising high from the base of the rocks all the way to the top. I am scared of heights. I could go along a nice walkway, or drive along a cliff top, but this was something else. We got out of the car and I said “I think I’m in trouble.” As we approached along the rocky, uneven ground, part of me was saying “it’s fine, I can do this.” The other side was screaming”No! “

We reached the bottom of the huge length of staircase, rising majestically to the rocky peak. It was wooden, but well made. A sign informed us the second handrail was installed in 2020. I’m not certain without that I would have considered it at all. Mr D gamely advised he thought he could do it. I pointed out that whilst I appreciated his ‘can do’ attitude, if anything happened out there we had zero mobile phone signal on any network. The joys of a serious heart condition. He insisted he could make it to the viewing platform, about a third of the way up. I took a deep breath and began climbing, concentrating on the steps in front of me. I had to pause once or twice, but made it to the platform, which I gingerly stepped onto. I looked down and saw Mr D slowly ascending. I was nervous, but he took his time and joined me. We both gazed upwards to the remaining slightly steeper, climb. “I’m not sure I can do it,” I said. Then I considered. I looked around. I had been looking at pictures of this place for years wishing I too could come. Finally, here I was. Was I really going to let fear stop me from climbing the wooden steps? Steep, yes, a little hairy, certainly, but definitely safe. I knew in reality I had nothing to fear but fear itself. I breathed deeply, “I’ll regret this, won’t I? If I don’t go up there I’ll regret it.”
Mike looked down at me. “Yes,” he replied. “You know you will.”
“Right. I’m doing it. One step at a time.”
I continued to climb.

I was scared. But I did my best to breathe slowly and calmly, and just keep concentrating on the step in front of me. A couple of times I glanced behind, conscious of the fact of I went up, I must also go down. I needed to prepare myself. I looked down at Mike. “Are you ok?” he shouted. I replied, “Yes, I just… need to go slow.”

On and on and on the steps went. I felt quite strange, but every time I felt the fear rising I stamped on it hard. “I am fine. I am safe. I can do this.” I told myself out loud. I glanced upwards and realised I was closer to the top than the bottom. Goodness! Resolute I continued, and before I knew it, there was the platform in front of me. I reached out and stepped to the side to wave at Mike. “You did it, well done!” remarked a young lady with her boyfriend. I stood, holding onto the railing, looking down where Mike stood alone and a little sad that he couldn’t be with me. “I’m scared of heights, and I have Parkinson’s.” I said. The two of them looked stunned. “Well done!” “Thanks.” I grinned. “I’m kinda pleased.”

Returning down wasn’t as scary as I feared. I just held both rails and stepped slowly. Mike was very disappointed to have not gone to the summit, but the risks are so great. Myself? I was elated that I’d achieved my goal. So many times I’m told I can’t do things, or shouldn’t try this or that. It’s difficult enough to push past some things in life, without the added thing small voice insisting that you, yes YOU, are being foolish. You’re foolish for attempting things that other people, and by that I mean of course, able-bodied people, find challenging. What does that say to those of us that are not so lucky? It tells us we’re broken, useless and should just sit around waiting to die. What’s the use of us at all? I find that kind of attitude so dangerous. Dangerous because it’s too easy to take the non threatening, safe path. We must continue to push back, to exercise, to do things we always did, to climb steep flights of scary wooden stairs.

Keep pushing. Work hard. Stay positive.

Until next time.