At 66, I miss the agility I once had to move through awkward, boulder-floored passages, the instinctive confidence in placing feet and maintaining forward momentum. Stiff, creaking knees will hamper that. Once I was fast; now slow. But in the Picos in June, traversing on overghanging walls and awkward ledges above the deep turquoise waters of the Pozu Jultayu streamway, not too worried by the knowledge I had to negotiate an awkward rift and prussik more than 400 metres to get out, I felt blessed. And thankful for my younger companions' patience.