THE two mums ahead of me who were each clinging fiercely to the craggy cliff face, a house roof height above the foaming sea below, had each in turn balked at jumping.

One and then the other gingerly groped their way back down past me as I waited to go up next, back the way they had climbed, back to safety apologising profusely despite being cheered on to jump by their children, who'd already made the leap.
It was my turn. I completed the short, tricky climb to the slightly flattish jutting-out bit of the crag, took a deep breath and a final piece of advice from recent graduate instructor Mark and leapt outwards and into the abyss. 
Kerrsplosh. I was in the sea at once submerged and going down but then bobbing like a cork on the surface thanks to my buoyancy aid and wet suit. Water rushed in and out of my protective head gear and through my by now tattered flimsy daps.
Just a short doggy paddle to the nearby rock stretch and it would be me gratefully and safely back on solid ground.
Just a final heave, scramble and tumble through a collection of too warm, iridescent green, seaweed-filled, limpid pools, which were as slippery as an oiled eel. Be like a seal and slide over the edges, the other instructor Anna advised. 
I tried. I sloshed backwards and soon lost perilous purchase as I tried to find a toehold and was dumped unceremoniously and potato-sack-like crack, bang down onto my ribs across a spine of exposed rock.
Thump. Blimey. Completely winded, gasping for air and feeling in quite a bit of immediate pain, the ever attentive Mark was again on hand to offer assistance and advice.
Sit down, breath deeply, take your time.
My pride of leaping from great heights was immediately dashed by this ignominious fall.
Coasteering, described as a mix of canyoning and climbing and apparently invented by surfers clambering back along seashore to their starting points, is quite simply immense fun!
To be honest, had I known what I did at the end when I was struggling to get the wet suit on, I may well have decided to remain ashore.
Now I am a total convert. It’s exhilarating and certainly the best fun you can have while covered in rubber from head to foot wearing bright blue synthetic daps and topped with an ill-fitting plastic hard hat.
We were in Mid Wales, near Aberystwyth, for a bank holiday weekend of camping. 
We’d pitched our family tent at Denmark Farm Conservation Centre, near Lampeter, in a field. We’d narrowly avoided a thunder and lightening storm of Biblical proportions - the final piece of bedding being placed inside the six-berth tent just as the heavens erupted.
Denmark Farm, in an absolutely idyllic unspoilt paradise of a setting, is a back-to-nature delight in the most amazingly green and simple way. No electric hook ups and all the camping gear, and we somehow manage to bring everything bar the kitchen sink, had to be brought to the pitch by wheelbarrow. The loo, of the compost and a handful of sawdust variety, was in a wooden hut in the nearby wood. 
There were ablutions, including showers, in the main block and a rather neat cooking hut complete with gas stoves in the aforementioned wood.
There was a single in-situ yurt, which can be hired and four ‘pitches’ mown out of the lush meadow grass. We were one of three tents.
As the storm cleared we drove to Aberystwyth for food and had the most fantastic fresh-as-fresh-can-be fish and chips sitting on the front, spent a few quid in the amusements on the pier and discovered a quite marvellous beer festival in full flow in the packed and spilling out on to the prom Glengower pub before heading back to our tent.
Next day after a breakfast of pancakes, granola and yoghurt, bacon and eggs, we bought the aforementioned daps in Aberaeron and headed for Moylegrove and Ceibwr Bay in Pembrokeshire to meet our coasteering instructors on the beach.
There was an Alice in Wonderland-themed open gardens event in Moylegrove that weekend which looked absolutely brilliant but we had an appointment, so we headed to the beach. 
There, in a large bus-like vehicle, parked simply at the side of the lane and open to the elements and view of beach folk, was an array of wet suits and other paraphenalia.
Handed our gear it was ‘well they’ve seen it all before’ and off with all the day clothes and into the coasteering gear.
Joined by three mums, their three young girls and two intructors, we headed down to the rocky, pebble beach and straight into the sea. 
In May in the sea in Wales! You must be mad?
Well, no actually. The wet suits took any feeling of coldness away making the whole experience one of unbridled joy.
First paddling, then floating, then swimming, then tentatively rock scrambling, then leaping from the low rocks to belly flop in the water.
Strung out in a crocodile of coasteerers, we looped around the coastline clambering, climbing and swimming into fabulous, otherwise unseen caves, peering into rock pools, balancing on razor sharp rock and tumbling into the safe arms of the seas.
We were probably out for the best part of three hours, taking into account putting on and struggling off with the wet suits but every minute was fun with a capital F.
It sounds suicidal, and as Anna said ‘it’s everything your mother told you not to do when at the seaside’ but its immense fun, tinged with more than a fair dollop of danger, triumph and excitement.
My advice. Don’t think about it just do it!
Fact file
Denmark Farm Conservation Centre, near Lampeter, Ceredigion. For full details on camping, courses and everything the farm offers visit
David and his family took part in a coasteering activity run by Cardigan Bay Active. Minimum age: Five. Adult sessions: 14-plus. Cost £40.
You are provided with: winter wet suit, buoyancy aid, water helmet, guide. For full details on coasteering and the other adventure activities on offer visit: