Home from the trip of a lifetime – so far – to SE Asia – flattened with the sore throat of a lifetime on return – never had I experienced such broken glass in my throat – followed by a sore back that made a comical tuneless dance out of such difficult maneuvers as getting in and out of bed.
Suddenly it was Sunday – July 30 – Monday was do or die day or maybe do and die. The weather in Ireland for July was fluctuated between wet, very wet and very very wet. It seemed Monday would be no different.
So we headed south, into the Wicklow mountains, tea and toast in the Glenmalure Lodge and ready for what Ireland’s summer might attempt to obstruct us with, we parked up in Drumgoff and took to the trails.
My wife was attempting her first summit of Lugnaquilla, equipped with her gear from completing the Camino last Easter. I picked Drumgoff again because it is now the track I know best and the one I felt she had most chance of completing.
We met six people in the area which is intersected by the Wicklow Way – wonderful to see. My experience of walking the Wicklow Way in this area is doubly clouded, by the mists of time and by the mists which generally hug Lugnaquilla and which obscured the views on the day I walked that stretch of the Way.
Once we left the boardwalk, the ground became soggy, muddy and underlain by a secreted bog monster who tried to suck your feet down into the netherworld every time you carefully placed your feet. We are following a path, I pointed out, in case we got separated. My wife refused to believe we were following a path, seeing only bog, flooded bog, everywhere. Soon the gradient steepened and the ground dried – there is your choice flat and wet or steep and dry. I spoke to soon, the visibility destroying cloud quickly changed to monsoon-like rain – I can use that expression now unconcerned about any challenges having experienced monsoon showers on several occasions during our Asian adventure.
“Are we there yet”, now where have I heard that before?, as we reached a small cairn at the summit of Corrigasleggaun, “nearly”, was my political response. Just then the clouds magically parted exposing the mountain tops around us and Kelly’s Lough below – clouds are like magicians, hiding everything and then exposing them suddenly only to wrap everything in invisibility again.
The trail drops off Corrigasleggaun before rising again on the slopes of Lugnaquilla. We made a brief stop for a bar and some sweets, I was feeling my energy levels dropping and knew we still had over a kilometre to go. Eventually, about 50m from the summit, the clouds swirled around and provided us with a glimpse of the impressive cairn and my old friend Trig.
We had made it and spent a few minutes celebrating, small change of clothes, some food and drink – even though it was July it was still chilly at the summit, not helped by the cloud and the gale force wind which was tearing across the summit. We were delighted and I was so impressed that my wife had made it, over 8km in miserable weather conditions. Whenever, I achieve something like this I get excited and start immediately planning to do it again – not everyone has such a reaction – to my surprise.
Of course, when you summit a mountain it seems like you have achieved your objective but, in fact, you are only halfway – the descent – though much easier still lies ahead of you – gravity is on your side but your body is tired from the climb.
Quick selfie for the record and we headed off – full of good spirits.
Obviously too cocky – the gods disapproved and the gale winds delivered a sharp shower of hailstones, cutting our faces and hurting my back even through my coat – happy only that we now had our back to the wind otherwise we would have been shredded.
Five hours after departing we arrived safely back at the car. A quick inspection confirmed that my new waterproof socks were, in fact, waterproof, at least for one trip. My previous such socks became less so after one hike and quickly became sodden after two.
We decided to go to the Wicklow Heather for some dinner to replace the calories we had scattered on the slopes of Lugnaquilla. We usually go there with friends after a hike around the lakes of Glendalough.
I had a glass of Guinness to celebrate the completion of 7/12 and a bowl of French Onion Soup to celebrate my globetrotting status. Dinner as usual was delicious.
We were dressed in the old clothes we’d left in the car to change into when we got off the mountain but no one even noticed – Ireland at its best – though we were surrounded by well dressed holiday makers consoling themselves from their experience of an Irish Summer.
Soon we were on the road home and I was already plotting my August assault.
Follow your dreams my friends
Namaste
Track or Cushion 