There comes a moment in any parent’s life when you think: why? Mine comes as I dangle off a rope tethered to a ten-metre high rock-face in south-central France.
The aim is to abseil down, using my arms and legs. Unfortunately, the only muscle being exercised is my voice-box, muttering profanities.
‘Check out the view,’ says instructor Ollie, who’s standing on an adjacent ledge. Behind me, limestone cliffs tumble towards a shimmering narrow river. The heat is burning. My heart’s thumping.
Adventure: The Pont d’Arc natural arch is one of of the geological landmarks of the Ardeche
I’m with my husband, Marc, and children (twins Nathalie and Gabriel, 13, and Hannah, 11) and 12 other families on an adventure holiday in the Ardeche, a region of rivers and canyons popular with outdoor-pursuit enthusiasts, about 100 miles north of Marseille.
Since arriving three days ago, we’ve rock-climbed, negotiated high ropes and survived zip-lining. It’s been exhilaratingly challenging and no blue language (until now) has passed my lips. But abseiling is my nemesis.
When I eventually reach terra firma, my hands are so shaky it’s hard to take photos of Marc and the girls, who completed a twice-as-high, free-hanging abseil with enviable nonchalance.
Our base is the Ch’ti Franoi campsite, set in rolling, mountainous countryside with a swimming pool and tennis court that exceed expectation. So does the bread service — order by 9pm and it’s delivered fresh for breakfast the next morning.
Our two-bedroom mobile home is basic but ideal.
The week’s main event is a two-day, 22-mile white water kayak along the Ardeche River. We’ve been given waterproof bags to pack survival gear in.
Tiring travel: Jo and her children were worn out by the end of their holiday – but in high spirits
A coach whisks us to the Pont d’Arc, a large natural arch which acts as gateway to the Ardeche gorge.
With helmets and life-jackets donned and oars and two-seater kayaks distributed, we paddle off. We pass rocks sculpted into animals and gather together to shout and hear our collective echo. The booming reply bounces off the gorge’s walls like a pinball.
After a picnic lunch, Hannah and I provide the afternoon’s entertainment by capsizing on a rapid ominously named The Widow-Maker.
But when we reach our camp, there are fresh concerns: sleeping arrangements. Hannah quickly snares a ready-made tent while the others opt to sleep under the stars.
After a picnic lunch, Hannah and I provide the afternoon’s entertainment by capsizing on a rapid ominously named The Widow-Maker
The campsite’s permanent resident (a wild boar) watches as our instructors prepare a feast over fire-pits.
While most of us sleep unexpectedly well, insomniacs are rewarded with a dazzling meteor shower at 3am. Breakfast of hot chocolate and brioche sets everyone up for the final leg (which includes the rapids The Crusher and The Guillotine).
The satisfaction on crossing the finishing line is immense. Afterwards, we collapse at a cafe and toast our accomplishment with fridge-cold sodas.
One week on, the question is no longer, why? But rather, why not?