Admittedly, my own wilderness survival experience featured two cream teas and a cheese sandwich, but that doesn't diminish the fact that I was lucky to get out alive. Don't let the words 'National Trust' fool you. This was extreme, near-death adventuring.
Anyhoo, it's a well known fact that you can please one of the children all of the time and both of the children some of the time, but you can never please both of the children all of the time...
So for the first day of our holiday, I didn't even bother trying. I told them we were going to Lydford Gorge, packed them into the car and turned on the child locks.
On arrival, we were greeted by a very friendly member of staff who spent ten minutes trying to flog us National Trust membership, and precisely no minutes whatsoever warning us of the impending doom that was waiting for us at the bottom of the canyon. Admittedly, he's probably never received any complaints, but that's only because no one ever makes it out alive.
It all started well enough, with Toby leading the inevitable sing-song as we strolled our way through the woods at the top of the gorge...
We even paused for the odd (and I use that word deliberately) family photo...
I did express some mild concern about the sheer drop on the right hand side of the path, and the fact that one member of our party was liable to trot along in a world of their own without due care and attention, but having discussed it with Toby, he said he'd keep an eye on Lisa for me.
After a mile and a half (and a stop at the National Trust cafe), we made it to the main attraction: the 30-metre-high White Lady Falls...
Falls is an appropriate word, as there are plenty of chances to take a tumble, and Lisa had to be helped down the rocks at the bottom whilst being overtaken by a couple of pensioners, but it was worth the trek for a spectacular view of the waterfall and the chance to have our photo taken by a random member of the public...
Toby was keeping count of the number of times Lisa had muttered 'Never again...'
... while I attempted to take her mind off the perils by suggesting that she take her coat off and recreate the Timotei advert.
Sadly, she was having none of it, so we set off on the return journey, which took us a mile and a half along the bottom of the gorge. I expected it to be a lot safer; after all, we were no longer walking along the top of a 35m ravine, so it was essentially a stroll along a riverbank.
Unfortunately, this particular stroll had clearly been designed by someone unfamiliar with the words 'Health & Safety'. The further we went, the less the path went with us...
... and at times, you didn't so much need walking boots as rock climbing gear...
I haven't actually photographed the most treacherous parts, as I was too busy gripping Toby's hand like his life depended on it (which, frankly, it did). There was never anything between us and the river, and the 'path' was frequently nothing more than a two-foot-wide jagged rock. As I said to Lisa at the time, the only thing which could have improved this as a tourist attraction would have been the addition of a few iguanas.
The irony is that both the children loved it. I spent most of the time wondering which of them I should try to save first if they both fell off the next narrow, slippery ledge into the fast moving water below, while Lisa was staving off a panic attack behind me, and on the verge of crawling on all fours in an attempt to avoid certain death. But the kids couldn't have been happier...
And, to be fair, if you can cope with the cold sweat of fear at every death-trap-laden step, the views are well worth it. I enjoyed it in the same way I enjoy a rollercoaster ride: in hindsight. And preferably no more than once.
I have to say though, the National Trust are surely only one step away from a fatality here. By the time you reach The Devil's Cauldron, you're actually expected to walk across this slippery ledge to the viewing platform with nothing between you and the raging, rocky torrent below...
There's a sign recommending that babies are strapped into front-carriers only. Presumably to give them one last, reassuring look at their mother's face before they both plunge to their deaths. I'd have phoned customer services to request a handrail, but there's no mobile reception in the gorge. And they'd never hear you over the roar of the water.
Needless to say, we didn't risk it.
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