Mounting unease ... clambering up Mount Gower.
I count myself as extreme. I've jumped out of planes, free-falling for 45 seconds before the parachute opens for a blissful ride down. Bungy jumping in Queenstown seemed a breeze. I throw myself off piste in North America and gladly jump aboard helicopters when offered. To the outside world I'm daring, fearless, bordering on commando. To my inside world, I'm an adventure travel fraud.
I had heard about Mount Gower long before I saw it.
This impressive cliff stands 875 metres above the azure waters of Lord Howe Island like a proud soldier - shoulders back, head held high. Mammoth waves pound his base and powerful winds try to make him fall. But he stands still, unimpressed by the elements.
I'm always up for a trek, especially one that burns the thighs and pounds the heart.
Then I'm told about "the ledge". The locals call it the "lower road" but it's not even wide enough for a bicycle. I am regaled with horror stories by folk who have tackled this eight-hour hike to Gower's peak and back.
Bill and Jan Shead own Arajilla Retreat, a Select Hotels boutique property in an enclave of banyan trees at the northern end of the island. Guests come to Lord Howe for the bushwalks and marine life and stay for Arajilla's gourmet meals, day spa and hospitality.
Bill says the ledge is as wide as two of me standing up. I am relieved - and revert to calling it the "lower road". Jan says it's 50 centimetres wide if I'm lucky; my stomach turns and it's back to "the ledge".
I'm afraid of heights. Vertigo: a three-syllable condition that has me paralysed halfway down a cliff in Thailand and frozen on a ridge (with skis on my back) in Canada.
We start our Mount Gower walk at 7.30am. Our fellow walker, Isaac the chef, has already put us 30 minutes behind by sleeping in.
Mister is the guide. He's been on the island for 38 of his 46 years and counts himself as a local. Mister what? I want to ask but suspect he's been here so long he's forgotten. He's covered in tattoos and I scour them for a sign of a surname among the tropical flowers on one arm and the Karley Davidson tattoo on the other (I dare not tell him his H looks like a K until he's got me back in one piece).
With Mount Gower mocking us from above, the walk starts tamely enough; a grass track on the edge of the lagoon giving way to Little Island, where a sign warns trekkers not to come through without a certified guide.
Then we're boulder-hopping across a beach before a sheer climb, using sturdy ropes attached to iron rings secured to the ground. While hauling myself up like G.I. Jane, my anxiety about the ledge dissipates.
But the thoughtfully placed wheelie bin filled with helmets at the base of the climb doesn't help. I find one to fit, fully aware a helmet will do me little good if I fall to the rocks below.
When we reach a cave under an overhang lined with palm trees, I'm feeling confident; even more so when Mister tells me he's guided a 78-year-old to the peak. We're an hour in with another seven to go when we reach the "lower road". Ledge is an overstatement, so is Jan's 50 centimetres. There's a rope attached to the cliff side on the left and I'm told to use it for safety but my hands are sweating and I fear I'll slip. To my right, as far as the eye can see, is the ocean, where the wind swallows your screams; beneath me, a cliff that plunges hundreds of metres to the sea.
Vertigo attacks the stomach. I cling to the wall and stoop to reduce my height. Mister walks jauntily in front of me. He must have goat hooves for feet.
Isaac is behind me and we're 20 metres in, the ledge narrowing with every step. I am now on my butt, convinced if I stay close to the ground I might make it. Then Mister points out we're only 10 per cent of the way in.
I imagine trying to do this another 10 times. I imagine freezing halfway across, unable to move. Then I picture myself completing the ledge and continuing the walk to the peak, fully aware I have to do this again when we return mid-afternoon. I want to throw up.
I pull the plug. We have to go back but I don't know how to turn around on the ledge without looking down. I am crawling on my knees, clinging to the side of the mountain, convinced that if I don't, I will jump. I have left my body and can't feel my legs. When I make it back to the cave overhang, my vertigo magically disappears. Like Deepak Chopra, I tell myself it's the journey that matters and the ability to know when to stop.
I pack up and return to camp. Isaac goes back to bed. When I return to Arajilla, word has already got out. I'm called a wuss, a piker and gently ribbed by the local staff, until I find out none of them have dared to go.
They say Mount Gower is one of the world's top 10-day walks, with 360-degree views from the peak of this World Heritage island. I'm content to put my feet up and buy the postcard.
TRIP NOTES
Lord Howe is a two-hour direct flight from Sydney. Qantaslink flies daily, see www.qantas.com.au.
Arajilla Retreat and Spa, www.lordhowe.com.au, $470 a person, twin-share, includes cooked breakfast, light lunch or barbecue pack, three-course dinner and mountain bikes.
See seatosummit.googlepages.com/mtgowerguidedwalks. You'll need reasonable fitness, good strength and a stomach for heights. $40 a person.
Sign up for the Traveller Deals newsletter
Get exclusive travel deals delivered straight to your inbox. Sign up now.