For many people the Blue Mountains is a peaceful place where birds fly, the air is fresh and the scenery is stunning… and a little bit blue.

For me it’s somewhere I go when I want to scare the crap out of myself.

I was about to investigate the nerve-jangling world of canyoning, an activity where you travel through deep valleys cut into cliffs by scrambling, climbing, swimming and abseiling.

Thankfully, as it was June and rather chilly, we would avoid the swimming part of canyoning by tackling a dry canyon.

During the ride to Tigersnake canyon Paul asked me what was Australia’s worst beer. I confidently replied, “TB”, only to be told that I had confused my deadly infectious disease with VB (Victoria Bitter).

Well I was close anyway.

Paul attempted to rattle our nerves by telling us a story of when he brought a 17ft rope for a 20ft abseil. (He was pulling our plonkers.) When Paul had finished rigging up the ropes it was time.

For some reason I always get roped into (tee hee) doing scary things first. However, once I’d worked out the right direction to go (it was down) it turned out this canyoning malarkey wasn’t all that bad.

Climbing down through a one metre gap in the rock I thanked god for my child bearing hips that I used to jam myself into the rock every time I felt sure I was about to fall to my doom.

(Note: you can’t actually fall to your doom because there’s an instructor who won’t let you.)

Once I’d placed 100 per cent of my faith in Paul the canyoning world was my oyster.

I confidently bounded down the canyon and when my feet could no longer touch the sides I dropped down Indiana Jones style on my rope and admired the stunning rock formations that surrounded me.

Paul would fill us in on plant species and bird calls (did you know the lyre bird echoes every sound it hears?), but the greatest part of canyoning is when you find yourself standing over a canyon entrance blissfully unaware of what is on the other side.

Paul introduces our final abseil with, “This is an amazing abseil, but the beginning is the most awkward and difficult in the Blue Mountains.”

Shucks… well there was only one person stupid enough to go first.

Despite having to abseil on my knees at one point, I managed to squeeze myself through the tiny gap in the rock and emerge the other side.

And Paul was right, it was amazing.

Like a mini action hero I swung down through the two metre gap that separated those giant, glimmering knuckles of rock. I felt like I’d entered another world – one that was eery and dark yet beautiful.

After munching our way through a delectable lunch (the cashew and cherry chocolate a highlight), we reached the top of our steepest climb we looked out over the stunning Blue Mountain region.

I sat down, took a few deep breaths, and understood why I had got off the hostel couch that day. All I could see were rocks and trees bathed in sunshine.

Paul continued to educate us, taking a particular interest in the size and shape of each poo we came across.

Most, we were informed, belonged to the wombat, a creature with its own unique poo print (wasn’t sure if that was true or just Paul making up crap).

A few poos later I saw the car hiding behind some trees. We’d made it. After all the abseiling, climbing, rope swinging, rock dodging I was injury free.

A crack rang out through the forest and I felt the unpleasant sensation of bone and wood colliding. (The log just came out of nowhere).

Luckily enough, the bruise and scrape was nothing a little chocolate on the drive home couldn’t fix.