No head for heights

Drew this the evening before we were due to head up one of the Cuillins on Skye. This lot are the Red Cuillins, and I had my back determinedly facing the Black ones that we were due to climb. I love climbing Munroes (mountains above 3000 feet), such a great sense of achievement - and the views if you've not got your head in a cloud are to die for. Well hopefully not literally.
Anyway, this was my first attempt at a Cuillin, and also the first time I've taken the dog with me. Initially I was more worried about her, but she turned out to be a real natural. Jumping about like a mountain goat and balancing on the most precarious rocks like she's been doing it all her life, and not disturbing an inch of scree. I was fine on the way up, a beautiful day, but the way back down, as I've not head the best head for heights, I was clinging to every bit of rock imaginable. Steep drop on each side, and trying not to hyperventilate. Breathe in at the nose, out from the mouth, in, out, in, out. But, they say you've got to face your fear don't they, and I'm glad I did, and now got another fear tackled and dealt with. Maybe not for good but at least vaguely conquered. It could have been a lot worse as my friend slipped down the scree and banged his head, and the sight of blood pouring out stopped my own panic and made me concentrate on his. Luckily not a big gash, so sticky plaster on, carried on down and dogs patiently waited for me to crawl down on my behind, and a very refreshing skinny dip in a crystal clear mountain burn cooled me down in all sensed of the word. Bliss.