When I was a Sixteen-year-old kid, I would go down to the woods near our home town and stare up at “Dead Man’s Cliff” planning on climbing it one sweet day. The cliff carried its name for a long time before i was even born. This was a secluded kind of wooded area — it was not well traveled in my youth. It was the kind of place a young man could hide away and just enjoy peace, quiet and imagined adventures.
I often took a friend or two with me on these trips and one day, after erecting a camp for a night out, we actually did cross that creek and climb but the side of the cliff. We were not the first to do so apparently because as we climbed we had a nice well-worn path to walk on. It was steep and kind of exhausting but it was well worth the adventure.
(Image is artifically generated.)
IT'S ME AGAIN 
I was glad to hear that you found a path to make the ascent easier. I was never much for climbing cliffs, and certainly not mountains. But then I was born and raised in London, where there were none to challenge me.
Best wishes, Pete.
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