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It's an odd thing, Devils Tower.

A solitary 400-metre volcanic monolith that juts out of the prairies of eastern Wyoming. From certain angles it appears to be a wave, frozen in stone.

'It looks like a nipple,' suggests Dave, my good friend who agreed to come all the way to middle-of-nowhere USA with me to climb it.

Devils Tower is a solitary 400metre volcanic monolith that juts out of the prairies of eastern Wyoming, USA

The spectacular structure, which measures one mile in circumference, attracts around 400,000 visitors and 4,000 climbers each year

It's not hard to see why Steven Spielberg cast this otherworldly formation as the centrepiece for his 1977 sci-fi film, Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

'If I was an alien, I'd land there,' I suggest. 

The spectacular structure, which measures one mile in circumference, attracts around 400,000 visitors - and just 4,000 climbers - each year.

Many of them make the two-and-a-half-hour drive from Rapid City airport, just over the border in South Dakota.

We join the small outcrop of sightseers taking pictures from a nearby roadside pull-in. 

 Barney John scales the Devils Tower as he struggles to make his way to the top of the 400m high peak

'It's not that big,' Dave says, trying to do that perspective thing where you hold your fingers up in front of the camera so it looks a bit like you're holding it. Famous last words.

To reach the flat summit of Devils Tower, you do actually have to climb it. As in, with ropes and your hands and feet. There's no other way - no lift or ladder. 

If you're expecting a full-of-myself tale of brave adventure and daring-do, stop right now.

Dave is a brilliant climber, and really strong, with about eight years of experience under his belt. But I'm just a beginner.

I first donned a harness little more than 18 months ago, and to say my climbing dream turned into a bit of a nightmare wouldn't be overstating the case.

We had been instructed by my friend John Graham, founder of the Go Outdoors chain of stores and general climbing guru, NOT to try to get to the top on the first day.

'You need to get to know the rock, the style of climbing,' he said. 'Spend a few days just doing small stuff.'

Barney's friend Dave wears protective tape over his hands to stop the skin being peeled off by the rock

One member of the group admired the view over Wyoming as they take a well-earned rest

It took two solid days of travel to get here and the excitement of finally being there had got the better of us. 

We completely ignored John's advice and decided to head straight for the summit. 'We'll be up and down in no time,' said Dave. 'Maybe we'll do it twice?'

In truth, 400 metres isn't actually that big. Snowdon is just over 1,000 metres from its base, and Ben Nevis measures 1,344 metres. But it can feel like an awfully long way when you're sitting right below the thing.

In the 1980s, Todd Skinner, a Wyoming native, free-soled (climbed alone, without ropes or protection) to the top in 18 minutes.

Not us. Just how much we'd misjudged things hit home while watching Dave - who I'd never really seen struggle with anything, ever - take about an hour to grunt and curse his way up about 15 metres.

'This… hurts… so... MUCH!' he cried in between numerous expletives and childbirth-style panting. I feel bad - but we had been warned.

In the 1980s, Todd Skinner, a Wyoming native, climbed alone, without ropes to the top in 18 minutes

Devils Tower featured as the backdrop to Steven Spielberg's 1977 sci-fi hit Close Encounters of the Third Kind

Barney John's friend Sara holds spring-loaded camming devices which are used to ascend Devils Tower

Ascending a rock like Devils Tower takes a specific technique known as crack climbing which involves jamming your fingers, hands, fists and feet into fissures in the rock in order to haul yourself up.

It's pretty masochistic, and climbers who do it tend to bind their hands in a special tough fabric tape to stop all the skin being ripped off.

To make things harder, it is not possible to climb the 400 metres in one go: No rope is long enough. So you do it in stages, or pitches.

The first climber to go up places pieces of equipment - gear - in the rock on which to attach the rope and stop them from falling.

Once safely anchored to the rock face, they pull up the rope with the second climber attached to the other end, picking out the gear that has been placed so it can be reused.

I led the first (very easy) pitch of our chosen route, called Assembly Line, without problem. 

And then the pain began. It took Dave about an hour and a half to complete the second pitch. Then it was my turn.

It started out okay but slowly, after about 15 minutes of jamming, your hands are raw and your toes burn in agony. But reduce the pressure, and you feel like you're about to drop off the wall.

The group successfully summited a granite tower called Spire One in an outcrop of rock called The Needles

Climbers are advised not to attempt to climb Devils Tower on the first day, and are instead encouraged to spend two days practicing before heading for the summit

I'd stuffed our guidebook (which contained details of the abseil routes back down) into my jacket, which had gradually become wet through from sweat, and it had dropped out.

I watched helplessly as it bounced down the side of the sheer rock face and out of view. And then I dropped David's jacket.

By now it was getting dark, and we'd left our head torches in our bags at the base of the crag. How the hell had I got myself into this mess?

It was not even as if our adventure lacked planning.

I'd been climbing three times a week ever since April, and in June had my first experience on real rock, gradually building up my experience 'seconding' more experienced climbers.

Whenever I mentioned to hardened climbers about my Devils Tower plan, I got the same 'ugh, crack climbing… hate it,' type response.

Barney John (centre) was joined on the trip by friends Dave and Sara, who runs New York club Crux Climbing

John Graham, who agreed to lend us the specialised gear, which included items such as 'nuts' and 'quickdraws', was a bit more encouraging.

Big cracks in big rocks need big gear - specifically, things called spring-loaded camming devices, or cams, as they're usually called.

Invented in the early Seventies, these curved mechanical gadgets revolutionised the sport, allowing placement in almost any angle of crack and opening up routes that would once have been impossible.

I'd actually never handled such large equipment before (no giggling at the back), so a few weeks before we set off, John took me for a day practicing crack climbing at a quarry in the Peak District.

On hand to lend some much-needed advice were expert climbers Paul Craven from Edelrid outdoor company, and Tom Cain from Mammut. And a film crew. 

Despite feeling like the least-cool kid at school, I thought I did just about okay. 'You're going in two weeks!?' asked the cameraman disbelievingly at one point. Maybe I didn't do so well.

You don't need a licence or special permission to climb, and it's also not supervised (unless you pay for a guide). In the age of health and safety it seems odd that you're allowed to do this.

Devils Tower seen in the background during a scene from classic sci-fi Close Encounters of the Third Kind

But adventure holidays like this are becoming increasingly popular - a recent study estimated the outbound adventure travel sector to be worth a staggering £160 billion.

Climbing like this is usually done on public land, so like hiking, it's free. But climbing carries serious risks, and managing that is your personal responsibility.

We were told that to stay safe in climbing, do not attempt anything beyond your ability. 

Dave and I ultimately knew what we were doing, how to stay safe, and the various ways to get out of bother should it arrive.

So, back on our almost comically bad first day at Devils Tower: Dusk fell and we decided to bail.

We were the last people to leave the park. The tower glowed in the moonlight and it looked beautiful.

'We'll try again tomorrow,' I tell Dave. And we did. And the same thing happened. It was difficult, beyond painful, and more scary than fun.

The biggest cams we had suddenly weren't big enough for the gaping cracks, and not quite wide enough to wriggle your whole body into.

We bail once again and abseil off the rock half way up. I'm not a quitter, but I can't help thinking: 'This should be a fun hobby, not a form of punishment!'

We were relieved to be back on the ground, and we slowly walk back to the car nursing bruised knees, bloodied hands, and even more bruised egos.

The plan had always been to head east to Custer State Park, and another remarkable outcrop of rocks called The Needles.

Dave and I and our friend Sara, who runs the New York club Crux Climbing, summited an incredible granite tower called Spire One, and after the blood, sweat and tears of the previous two days, it all felt rather serene and civilised. Just what we'd come to do.

As for Devils Tower, I've already decided I'm going back to try and reach the summit. I'm a sucker for punishment, I suppose.