“Wow.” Sam took off his helmet and rested it in front of him on the bike, staring up at the cliffs in front of them. “That’s pretty high.”

“Uh-huh.” MacGyver left his bike on the stand and carefully locked the two bikes together. They unloaded their climbing equipment and rechecked every piece before packing it in rucksacks. Sam hefted his bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of it drag at him.

“Do we really need all this, Dad? I must be carrying enough pitons and ropes to scale Everest!”

MacGyver nodded, shouldering his own heavy bag.

“Safety first, Sam – it’ll be no good finding out we need some extra rope when we’re halfway up the cliffs, will it? Besides, good climbers always take spares of everything.” Sam nodded glumly, tightening the straps on his bag. He held out his arms, grimacing at the bright yellow jacket his Dad had insisted he wear.

“And you’re sure about the jacket…?” He looked across at MacGyver, zipping up his own brilliant red one. MacGyver grinned and nodded, and Sam shook his head in disgust. “I look like a Golden Gopher…”

Standing at the base of the cliffs, they seemed even bigger. MacGyver walked along the path looking up at the rocks and planning the ascent in his head. Sam stared up at two birds of prey circling lazily overhead, wondering if they’d stay there long enough for him to get a photo. He could see two possible ways up the rock face, but MacGyver had walked further down the path, studying what looked like a much more difficult route up the cliff.

“Up there?” The birds banked and disappeared behind the rocks and Sam walked over to join his father, viewing the steep face with horror. “We’d need suckers on our feet like flies!”

“Hairs, Sam.” MacGyver sounded distant, his attention focussed on the challenge ahead of them.

“Come again?”

“Eh? Oh. Hairs. Not suckers. It’s what flies have on their feet to help them climb up vertical… Never mind.” He passed Sam a coil of rope. “Hold this, would you?”

Sam took the rope, surprised to see his father’s hands shaking.

“Dad? You OK?”

“Fine, Sam.” But MacGyver didn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Clip in.”

“Belay on.” Sam gave his rope a tug to make sure it was held firm.

MacGyver felt the loose soil crumble and he lost his toehold. Fear flooded sharp and hot through him as his foot shot off the rock. For a desperate moment he was falling, then he gripped the rock tight with both hands and flattened himself to the cliff. The rope snapped taut as Sam hauled on it and MacGyver jerked to a halt, his face pressed against the stone.

His breath came in gasps, tasting of earth and grit. His eyes were screwed shut and, when he opened them again, the scenery swung crazily around him. Even the rock face in front of him heaved and spun as vertigo overwhelmed him. He could hear Sam yelling at him, but he sounded distant, and MacGyver couldn’t make out the words against the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Dad!” Sam checked his ropes and inched along the rock face. They were too high up to risk the lunge and scramble that would get him to his Dad quickly – a fall from this height would likely be fatal. Ahead, MacGyver was clinging motionless to the smallest of hand and footholds, his face pressed to the rock.

“Dad!” This time MacGyver looked round, one inch at a time as if even the smallest of movements might send him spinning off the cliff. He blinked hard, trying to focus.

“Dad! Are you OK?” Sam pulled himself along, toes wedged into a crevice, hands on a tiny ledge high above him. Not for the first time, he wished he had his Dad’s height – he’d watched MacGyver work his way along here with ease only minutes before.

“Sam?” MacGyver’s voice was strained. “Sam? I’m OK. Stay where you are.” MacGyver coughed, sending grit flying up. He spat to clear it from his mouth. The world still spun around him, but it seemed to be slowing and his heartbeat wasn’t so loud. He concentrated, feeling along the rock with his boot until he found a toehold. Unclenching one hand took all the courage he had, and he reached up, still shaking as he found a new place to hold on. He took a shaky breath, unclenching his right hand and feeling his way along.

The handhold he found was at an angle and as he fitted his fingers in and shifted his weight, pain shot through his hand. MacGyver gasped but managed to keep his hold, shuffling his feet along the crevice until he reached the ledge. He took a deep breath and let go his handhold, rolling onto the ledge until his back touched the cliff face.

MacGyver sat up, hands pressed flat to the rock, eyes shut.

“OK Sam, you now. Watch that last section, there’s some loose dirt there.” He took another deep breath, lay flat on the ledge and looked over the edge. He watched Sam climb carefully up and roll onto the ledge beside him. Keeping his eyes off the drop, MacGyver shuffled back and passed Sam a water bottle with shaking hands.

“Why do you do it, Dad?” Sam studied MacGyver as he drank.

“Do what?” MacGyver looked up, pushing dusty hair out of his eyes.

“Climb. You hate heights, so why do it?”

“Ah, that.” MacGyver drank some water. “I do it partly BECAUSE I hate heights.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Sam shook his head.

“Sure it does.” MacGyver smiled. “I’m scared of being up here, and heights make me dizzy, but if I stop climbing, the fear wins. This way, I win.”

“OK, I get that.” Sam nodded. “So what’s the rest of the reason?”

MacGyver sighed, looking up at the sky.

“I used to climb with a friend, Sam. My good friend Mike. She and Jack and I were like the Three Musketeers.” He smiled again, remembering. “Mike just loved to climb, said she never felt as alive as when she was up high. She could never persuade Jack to come along, but I used to go. And yes, before you ask, I hated heights even back then.”

“But you did it for Mike?”

MacGyver nodded.

“Were you two together?”

MacGyver’s smile faded.

“No... Mike wanted to be, but I was...” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what I was. Anyway, we went up to The Widowmaker to climb and she... she fell. It was an accident, though for the longest time I didn’t see it that way. I didn’t... I was... I couldn’t even go to her funeral, Sam.”

Sam sat perfectly still and silent, shocked.

“So I climb for Mike. I climb all these places that she would have loved to see. I climb for both of us.” MacGyver took a deep breath and gave Sam a watery smile. “Guess that wasn’t the answer you were expecting.”

“Dad, I-" Sam shook his head, stunned.

“It’s OK. But... yeah. That’s why I climb.” MacGyver started gathering up their ropes, dropping a coil suddenly with a gasp.

“Dad?”

“Just a cramp.” MacGyver shook his right hand, stretching his fingers.

“Is that the one you broke?”

“I’m fine, Sam. Seriously.” MacGyver stowed the rest of his things and checked his ropes again, trying to ignore the ache in his hand. He smiled. “Climbing.”

“Climb on.” Sam paid out the rope and watched his father start the ascent.

Now that he’d stopped, something seemed different. Sam looked all around, listened carefully and frowned, unable to work out what had changed. The air was still, almost oppressive. The gentle breeze that had blown all morning had dropped and the air felt thick and sticky.

There were no other climbers on this section of the cliffs, and everything was quiet. Sam opened his mouth to ask his Dad if he’d noticed anything odd, but then thought better of it. Having good reasons to climb didn’t make heights any less frightening for MacGyver, and Sam decided not to bother him.


Up above, MacGyver was struggling. The vertigo hadn’t really gone, although it was manageable if he was careful not to look down, and the constant grip-and-release of climbing was making his hand hurt. In his mind, he could hear Mike telling him off for coming up here when he wasn’t fully fit, how he was putting them both in danger. He shifted his grip again, reaching for a higher ledge and pulling himself up. He clipped onto the next piton and took a breather.

“Sam? How’re you doing?”

“I’m good, Dad. Hey – we’re almost there!”

“Almost! You ready to go on?” MacGyver held on tight and risked a glance up. The top of the cliff was close, one more push should see them at the top.

“Ready.” Sam took another look around. Why was it so quiet? Then he realised what was missing – the birdsong that had surrounded them all morning had stopped. Why would the birds go away?

He shook his head, deciding he could ask his Dad when they got to the top. He looked up at the next section, deciding on his route.

MacGyver reached up again, on tiptoes on a narrow ledge, and grasped the rock above him. A heave and a scramble and he was on the top of the cliff. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the sky, breathing hard.

“Sam! I’m up! You’re nearly there!” He grinned at the sky and then rolled back over, inching carefully back to the edge and holding tight as he peered down at Sam below. Sam grinned up at him.

“Be there in a minute,” He reached up for the next handhold and his expression changed abruptly.

MacGyver felt it too – a tremor running through the rock. The shaking grew, along with a rumbling that hummed in his bones. The cliff bucked underneath him and he hung on.

“Sam! Earthquake! Hold tight!”