Coin Flip
A glint of purple gleams from the crack, shifting in the gusts of wind that sweep along the gritstone outcrop. I eye it hungrily from the shelter provided by a hanging roof of grey-brown rock, as raindrops lash the moorland earth inches away. The climber to my left grunts in discomfort and shifts position on the rock he’s sitting on, his multicoloured limbs squashed awkwardly into a half-cave between the flat roof and a boulder below. “Typical Stanage.” He grins, mousy-brown beard crinkling up to his eyes. His long-haired partner exhales through his nose amusedly, but remains silent. His grey eyes peer out intensely between strands of lank blonde hair, framed by the daffodil yellow hood of his rain jacket. A grin stretches slowly across my face, droplets of wind-whipped rain moistening my lips. “I missed this.” Somehow, I did. Perspective is a funny thing. Later on I’m lying on my back in a horizontal chimney half-way up the crag, peering into the crack ab...
