Edinburgh to St. Andrews, the Long Way – 21/4/2007 – 22/4/2007

I may have left my camera's cable behind in Ireland, so you will have to cope without photos for a wee while. Brian and I left Edinburgh Saturday morning with fully-laden bikes. We cycled about 90miles to St. Andrews via the Fife Coastal Path, including a few epic wrong turns. My guess is 10-15mi worth based on the FCP website's trail map and some guesstimation. Brian got his cycle computer to start recording distance somewhere before Kirkcaldy, which he took the time to teach me to pronounce properly.

The joy of plenty of daylight made for a lazy start on Saturday morning. The Met Office’s random forecast generator suggested the rain was in Fife and would be heading to Edinburgh as we headed away. Oh well, we would see. I had my rain gear and lead-lined sleeping bag, so I wasn’t too worried, except perhaps for the uphills.

We found our way to the Forth Bridge and across. I pointed toward the best playground ride ever and said it was worthy of a return trip without gear. We dropped onto the road and went looking for the Fife Coastal Path. I corrected our first wrong turn and we ended up on the Fife Coastal Tourist Route, which is not the same thing. A few miles brought us to a junction with FCP signs and soon we were in business. The route started off reasonably signposted, with dirt track and gravel paths along the water (the north coast of the Firth of Forth) and occasional diversions for bicycles onto quiet roads when the cycle people thought the coastal path was too unfriendly for bikes. Initially, we were following diamond cycle signs posted for cycle route 1. Later, these signs would become problematic.

We took the first feed Christine break just above an old ruin of a church that Brian wanted to buy and fix up, just at one of the cycle/pedestrian divergences.

In Burntisland, the cycle path diverged from the footpath. We found a swing hanging from a tree and took a quick break. A couple of local kids came over to swing, too, and show us how it’s done. We continued onward and upward. A few turns later, deep gravel and steep uphill meant pushing the bikes rather than cycling. I got a visit from the bonk fairy just then, too. Very well timed. I did the mathS (hi Brian) and figured it was well beyond an hour and the first stop’s food was long burned away. Brian asked if I wanted to stop just there. Of course, I said no and kept pushing. I couldn’t look up because my eyes were struggling to focus, but I hate stopping in the middle of a hill. We got most of the way to the top when a convenient break point presented itself. The remainder of the hill looked rideable and I got help pushing my bike up the last few metres to the top, so I acquiesced to a stop. Food, water, and a little time made everything feel better and we continued.

Upward meant downward. After a couple good fakeouts, we found ourselves on a very rewarding downhill zoom toward Kirkcaldy. Once in Kirkcaldy, the signposts directed us straight into the middle of their local carnival. I don’t remember what the word for them here is. Brian asked one of the police officers what the best way around it might be and she pointed us around toward the storm wall. Brian asked me if there was anything there I could eat, nodding toward the food vendors. My answer, probably not. As we pushed our bikes through the crowd, I looked at the options and confirmed that no, fair food is not my food. We cycled along the storm wall along with a number of walkers escaping the fair crowds. Occasionally, carnie rides zoomed overhead. I wondered if they could make a ride that zoomed people around like that and then chucked them out to sea. It would be so much more interesting.

Downward meant upward again when I made a trail mistake. The signs we had been following for CR1 that had been so nicely staying with the FCP took a turn to the left in Kirkcaldy. Long uphill followed. We took a break at a shop we found on the outskirts of town, figuring it was time for a preemptive feed Christine break as well as a feed Brian chocolate break.

We cycled onward, getting farther from the coast and wondering when we might find it again. Eventually, we admitted to each other that we both thought it was the wrong path. We reached the town of Thornton. Trying to leave and improvise a trail back toward the coast, we ended up looping back into Thornton and aimed to exit the way we came in. A quick chat for directions resigned us to returning to Kirkcaldy and rejoining the path there. If we were fortunate, Dysart might give us a slight detour to not retrace all of the miles back to Kirkcaldy. We stopped at the same shop and picked up supplies for dinner. I forgot the matches so it took two trips.

We found Dysart and the FCP again. My guess is our wee detour was good for somewhere around 8-10 extra miles, but we had plenty of daylight left. The FCP lacking the cycle signs meant that it truly was a walking path and I would have enjoyed my shiny bike. Dysart led to the Wemysses and another stretch of road that made me feel like we missed something. Thankfully, water stayed within view this time. We found the trail soon enough and enjoyed more offroad fun between towns. Another detour in Methil added to our miles for the day and convinced both of us we didn’t want to live in Methil. Once back on the trail, we found our way into Leven, actually faster than I expected. Kirkcaldy is in the middle of section 2 of the trail on the online map and Leven is more than halfway through section 3, so I was impressed at what good time we made. Nearly out of Leven, Brian’s pannier rack chose to break.

Tinkering and offers of outside assistance took a wee while and I felt my motivation to cycle farther fade. The single point of motivation in my mind was reading a trail description that said after Leven, the trail got nicer and more remote. It was enough to keep going and enough to motivate me to haul my fully-laden bike up the stairs after Lower Largo. We had to disassemble and reassemble to get Brian’s bike over the stile. Mine was still light enough to be chucked over the railing, but only just.

We scared somebody’s dog not with the commotion but with the bikes. He did not want to walk past us and needed to be carried. Darkness was approaching. The first proposed campsite by the ruin of a house was rejected when we asked the girls with the dogs about camping and they pointed farther along. We found a site a few hundred metres away that looked equally nice and had remnants of a fire. It also had a great view and offered some protection from the wind should that decide to pick up. Approved, it became home for the night. In true Scottish camping tradition, Brian brought the whisky. He brought Drambuie, his only whisky success with me so far.

It rained overnight, but stopped sometime in the morning and just threatened to start again. We diverted from the official trail when it looked unrideable, choosing instead the farm tracks that looked well walked and cycled. A couple of cows mooed in protest as we entered their field. We followed cycle paths rather than the FCP and asked a cyclist which way would get us back to it. He suggested that we may find the FCP to be less than hospitable for bikes. He turned out to be right occasionally. We found our way back to the trail at Elie. For the most part, it was nice riding, except for the occasional stile or locked gate that forced us to haul our bikes precariously over or around. Another section made me miss my shiny bike. Or wish my not shiny bike had nobby tires.

The FCP followed its usual tradition of tracing the coastline and then disappearing in the villages. As we cycled east along the coast, The Isle of May and the Bass Rock came into view. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, too. I didn’t know it at the time, but despite the hauling heavy bikes over the occasional barrier, we made good time.

Crail came and went and we found ourselves worn out and back on the road for a wee while. Cycling to the coast looking for the FCP sent us to a golf course. No obvious cycle route was visible – the FCP itself was basically just walking along the beach through the sand and over a couple of piles of rocks. Not very bike friendly. Exhausted and frustrated, we decided to stay on the roads to St. Andrews and return later to finish the trail on foot. About an hour, after one more good lounge and feed Christine break, we were zooming down the hill into St. Andrews.

The sun shone overhead and the weather was warm. I forgot for a moment that our journey wasn’t finished. We had to cycle a few more miles to the train at Leuchars. We picked up some food and headed out of town hoping for a nice picnic spot to present itself. Brian led the way and got us out of town easily enough, but with no idea how much farther to Leuchars. Then Brian got a visit from the bonk fairy. We took a feed Brian break at a bus stop outside a posh hotel. I got directions from them, too. Once Brian was functional again, we cycled up the road a wee more, turned right at the next village and climbed one more substantial hill. The view from the top looked very familiar. Guardbridge lay ahead and Leuchars was just in the distance. One more good downhill zoom followed and put us on the cycle path and FCP to Leuchars.

Considering we did the trail without a map and it wasn't always well signposted, I think we did pretty well. The first day was probably about 50 miles, about 2/3 was bike path and dirt track and the other 1/3 was on roads. Overall, it was a great weekend away. I would love to repeat day 2 with my shiny bike and no overnight gear and truly enjoy bouncing over rocks up and down hills and not mind the occasional carry over barriers.

Brian's dream house in Fife

Brian swung.

I swung.

The offroad sections of the Fife Coastal Path were good fun, except for the occasional stile, gate or fence over which we had to chuck fully-laden bicycles.

Ireland Adventures - 5/4/2007 - 15/4/2007

University gives wacky holidays for Easter, so I took advantage of those and burned some personal time to take a 10 day holiday in Ireland. I started in Cork, visiting with Kate and Dave, and then Sarynna and Chase. Then I worked my way roughly west and north, sometimes with Dave, sometimes solo. The end result was 5 days of good hikes, all very different, several days of typical tourism and epic amounts of driving. A few photo highlights are below. More photo highlights are here. I took a few hundred photos overall, so highlights were hard to decide. Like any great trip, much fun was had and seeds were planted for many more adventures in the future.

Cavan Way – 14/4/2007

Kate’s friend Susan decided to join us for the Cavan Way, which meant that we were four instead of three and so there were four people to feed, water, house and walk from Friday evening to Sunday evening. I saw a lot of sheep in my time in Ireland. Getting organised, fed, stocked for the Cavan Way hike was a bit like herding sheep. With a blind sheep dog. Thankfully we didn’t have that far to go.

I guess it’s worth a mention that the inspiration for my week of Ireland adventures was a photo taken somewhere on the Cavan Way that I saw on a website this time a year ago.

Feeding, shopping and much driving fuelled by sugar brought us to Clancy’s of Glenfarne, our home for the evening. It put us just a few miles from the start of our walk in Blacklion. Most importantly at that moment, it was a pillow under my tired head. Brisk Errisbeg, frantic job application in Galway, Maumturks and more than 2 hours of driving because of a couple wrong turns. Tired is a good word.

Breakfast at the B&B was amusing. Porridge was good. My gluten free egg whites with cheese arrived on two large slabs of toast and were coated in bread crumbs. Joy. The porridge was good. I’m in the oats are ok gluten free camp for now, and was grateful at least something came out right. We didn’t have much luck with organising a shuttle beforehand, so Dave and I made peace with the idea of hitchhiking at the end. We headed for the start in Blacklion and we were walking before 11.

The first part of the Cavan Way followed minor roads beyond Blacklion. The general trend was up for a wee while. Tarmac was replaced by gravel which was eventually replaced by dirt track before we finally left the parts where cars might be allowed. To be fair to the trail, I don’t recall any cars driving past on this stretch.

Soon, we were properly off road, wandering through fields and being eyed up by sheep. The trail wandered across fields and through the woods. We came to one open area and a dirt road, probably a logging road, that was well signposted with all of the side trips we could do to see relics and ruins. The trail took us back into the woods, where eventually, we made our first wrong turn of the day. Our signposts were yellow on brown. We started following the signposts that were yellow on beige. The end result was us standing on another logging road wondering where we were and, more importantly, where our signposts were. My compass and map came in handy. We wandered back into the woods, found an ancient hut site, found another wrong trail (that we thought was right) and followed it back to that same dirt road. My compass and map came in handy again. We aimed for the nearest village, a couple of houses and a church at a junction, and found ourselves reunited with the correct trail.

The trail took us along paved road for a wee while. As soon as it exited to fields, we found a nice lunch spot just near the Shannon Pot. Another group of walkers passed us as we were about to move on.

Picking up the trail again, we wandered toward forest, along it and then through it. The woods were thick and the resulting squelches were, too. The best part of trail to follow was the rockiest. We sank the least there. Dave and I were out ahead at this point. Kate and Susan lingered behind. Susan with her shiny new camera had a habit of bringing up the rear of the group. Still, she got a nice photo of me using Dave as a tripod, trying to get a photo of her and Kate entering the woods. My camera doesn’t focus well in darkness, so Dave’s head was a very useful tripod.

On the other side of the woods, we found a collection of picnic tables. Our picnic spot was better.

The trail took us back on paved road for a wee while. Kate demonstrated her rural Irish skills and herded a cow back into its field. The cow’s farmer made some overtures to help and then drove off on his tractor.

The trail alternated from on road to off road two or three more times, and each time gave us some quality squelching. Occasionally, the trail got lost among the mud, but following the River Shannon always helped us to find it again. At one point, I saw my first bull up close and personal as we walked across its field. Thankfully, he couldn’t care less about us.

The last few kilometres started to take their toll on us. My feet were sick of their boots, but otherwise I was fine. Kate’s one stick approach and favouritism for one achy ankle created an achy knee in the other leg. I don’t remember what Dave and Susan’s aches were, if any. I think part of why Dave kept pace with me was because that meant done sooner. A darkish cloud and a slight pressure drop suggested rain might be on the way. Thankfully, it wasn’t in a rush. We came to the junction with the main road into Dowra and could see the hint of the trail’s end up ahead. One wee hill remained. Dave and I waited at the junction for Susan and Kate to catch up before wandering into town.

The end of the trail signified the beginning of a new adventure for Dave and me, hitchhiking back to Blacklion. I was the driver, but no way was I hitchhiking alone. Over thirty minutes of patience and tolerance of one cheeky local, finally we caught a ride a bit more than halfway to the main road. The driver was a really nice, really country guy. I understood about ¾ of what he said. Thankfully, Dave understood more. They got to talking about holidays and the guy complained about his honeymoon to Boston and New York. I said now probably wasn’t the best time to say I’m from New York. He laughed.

We were in the car around 10-15 minutes when he got to where he was going and dropped us off. We passed his brother’s house and I think a cousin’s house along the way. We thanked him and started walking/hitching again. Forty-five minutes later, with the N16 in sight, we got picked up again. We wondered if it was one of that guy’s brothers. This guy took us all the way to Blacklion. I understood only about ½ of what he said. Something about cairns along the roadside. I didn’t see cairns though, so I questioned my hearing. Arriving in Blacklion, we thanked him, retrieved the car and retrieved Kate and Susan from the pub in Dowra.

Rather than return to our B&B from the previous night, we aimed for Sligo. Along the way, Kate reported a potentially drunk driver to the Garda and I got breathalysed by the Garda coming into Sligo. I blamed her.

Our Sligo hostel for the evening turned out to be an Episcopal Missionary. We ate dinner at the same Indian restaurant where I got takeaway for my Wednesday picnic and decided to delay the celebratory drink until the next day when it might not put us to sleep immediately. Perhaps we should have gotten into the alcohol because nobody slept particularly well at the hostel. None of us were enticed by the showers the next morning, so we decided to revel in our stink for the drive back to Cork. We took a picnic lunch in Ennis because no restaurants open for Sunday lunch were Christine-friendly. The return to Cork was celebrated by a meal we cooked ourselves. Tardy but welcome celebratory drinks followed to toast our success and enjoyment of the Cavan Way.

The Cavan Way was yet another very different walk. A mix of farm tracks, trail and occasional paved road, this 23km/16mi waymarked route connects Blacklion in County Cavan at the border with Northern Ireland and Dowra in County Leitrim. We managed it in one piece and reasonable time (<8hrs including breaks).

Dave took this group photo with the timer. Sue, Dave, Kate and I managed to get ourselves lost only once on the trip. Here. (photo courtesy of Dave)

This trail led through the woods near the mythical Pot of the River Shannon.

This was Dave's attempt at bathing before bed. Rather than funky communal showers at the hostel, we all chose to stay funky until we were back in Cork. Following cleanliness, we celebrated success with a homecooked meal and a few tardy drinks.

Central Maumturks – 13/4/2007

A few days back, I asked Dave if he wanted to do something silly on the Friday, since it would be the two of us walking. Actually, the word I used was abusive. He was keen. We picked a circular moderate-difficult 12km route in the Central Maumturks. The taste of the 12 Bens marked difficult seemed a bit excessive on the silly scale given our lack of experience and time constraints. We needed to survive it and get back to Galway to meet Kate at the bus. The Central Maumturks walk promised two challenging summits and nice views around Connemara. We left relatively early on Friday and headed back the way I came in from Thursday.

We were the first at the starting car park. The route had us walk from Mamean to a shrine of sorts (apparently the walk was blessed by St. Patrick?) and then up the side of the first hill. Like every other walk I had done so far, this walk, too, was very different. The rock was a mix of quartz and something else, or something elses, that I didn’t recognise. The farther we climbed, the more rocky the hill got. Also, the more wind we encountered. With what looked like the first summit cairn in sight, we found a sheltered spot to enjoy lunch and sunshine.

After lunch, we reached the summit cairn within about another 20 minutes of walking. The views were impressive, as were the scree slopes down all around. We looked at the book and the map to decide the best path to the second hill, whose summit was beyond our view. It looked like multiple ridge crossings and multiple summits before we would reach the true summit. I was grateful it wasn’t windier because the second ridge crossing looked quite exposed given the wind’s current direction.

We set off down one of the scree slopes to the ridge crossing. Occasionally, a clear path was evident but then it would disappear among the rocks. We worked our way up the other side and eventually around to the higher, exposed ridge crossing. The second summit became visible, a lone cairn in the distance. The ridge crossing was simpler than I expected. Because of the wind, I stayed on the windward side of the hill for the next bit of climbing. In retrospect, and, of course, once I saw the leeward side, it would have been better for climbing. We took a short break behind this first summit before continuing toward the true summit.

As we approached the true summit, three summit cairns became evident. When we reached the summit, I put wee stones on each cairn, not wanting to make any one feel better or the others feel slighted.

We took a few photos, took a few minutes rest and then looked for the safest route down. Nothing looked ideal so we just started walking. Dave led the way for most of it, occasionally bursting into a labrador retriever style run down the hill slope. I took my usual slow and deliberate pace. Occasional squelches through muck suggested the walk would have been very different had Ireland been enjoying more characteristic weather for April.

From nearly the bottom of the hill, we had to work our way back to the road in the distance. Rather than straight line, I suggested we follow the hill around to help minimise the distance walked on the road. Eventually houses came into view and we chose then to walk out to the road rather than traipse through someone’s garden later.

The walk along the road was much longer than either of us expected. Over each wee hill, we expected to see the car park but didn’t. We encountered a few other walkers, some social and others not. Finally, the car park came into view, with a few children sprawled in the heather between it and us. One large family appeared to be enjoying a roadside picnic; they belonged to the anti-social walkers we had encountered. We changed out of boots, checked the time and made our way back to Galway to retrieve Susan and Kate from the bus depot.

Dave and I did a hike in the Central Maumturks in Connemara. The loop was 12km and featured the two dramatic summits of Binn Chaonaigh (633m/2075ft) and Binn Idir an Da Log (703m/2300ft). In Dave's photo here, the summit of Binn Chaonaigh can be seen behind me.

Connemara, Kylemore Abbey and Errisbeg – 12/4/2007

Meeting Dave in Galway at one of the pubs we visited Tuesday evening meant I really needed to be heading roughly south for whatever I decided to do. I narrowed my options to the holy walk at Croagh Patrick and a walk above Kylemore Abbey, both in Connemara, aka Joyce’s Country. In the morning, I decided to head for Kylemore Abbey, hike Doughruagh and explore the abbey. The drive there was really misty and made me nervous that I wouldn’t be able to do anything, but the mist parted pretty much as soon as I crossed onto the peninsula.

Kylemore Abbey was a bit of a bust. I was annoyed to pay €12 as an entrance fee only to find the path up to the statue that formed the beginning of the trail to be blocked by a bunch of nasty no entry signs. Grudgingly, I wandered the grounds of the abbey as a tourist but kept an eye out for other paths that might lead me in the same direction. I found one path but it became treacherously overgrown in less than 100m. I took a lunch break at the lough and looked through the book for Plan C options. Two came to mind. One was an easy walk close by overlooking Killary Harbour. I wasn’t super excited. The other was an easy-moderate walk on the south side of Connemara that promised nice views for its mere 300m in vertical ascent. Errisbeg required a bit more driving and the timing would be really close for making it back to Galway on time, but it sounded much nicer for the afternoon.

I abandoned my foray into tourism and continued the drive around the peninsula. Along the way, I found perhaps the most obscure post office on my entire trip. It was convenient for a stop so Sarynna, Chase and Miki’s postcards all got mailed from there. I am interested to know how long they took to arrive.

The main road twisted around the peninsula. North of Roundstone, I jumped off the main road onto a secondary and progress slowed. I arrived in the village of Roundstone with about two and a half hours for the hike. The book called it 2-3 hours. I figured I could do it and wondered how close to the 2 hour mark I could finish it. The book had an interesting warning. “Note that the volcanic gabbro rock that makes up most of Errisbeg has magnetic properties that can affect compass needles, so great care is needed if navigating in mist.” Thankfully, the mist didn’t seem in the right mood to return.

I parked on the outskirts of the village and walked in to the pub where they started the trail description. The path followed a small country road up to a house and through a gate. A couple of cows looked at me funny as I walked past. The trail began cohesively but quickly disintegrated to nothing useful for following. Near the base of the hill, I followed the book’s description around for a wee while until I found a useful way to start upward. A couple of brief stretches of path gave me a good start as I tromped uphill. The peaks of Errisbeg were somewhat crown shaped with a valley in between. As I worked my way up, I found the first summit cairn and used that as a place to start. I worked my way from one summit cairn to the next to find the true summit. As the book said, the views were beautiful. One particular crossing of the valley made for a particularly muddy squelch that went past the top of my boot.

The summit cairn that I found to be the highest point was just barely above the bit with the artificial summit stone. I called that summitted and headed back down. Across from me in the centre of the summit crown’s valley, I saw a nice opening that would save me another ascent. The valley crossing was a bad idea. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. I survived, though, found a couple of sheep paths, startled a couple of sheep and found my way down. I got a taste of what the book meant by faulty compass readings. North on the way up and south on the way down didn’t quite match where they should have been. Visibility was good enough. I just headed for the cows and the house beside them. They laughed when I managed a face plant trying to take their photograph. I arrived back at the car, cleaned off the squelch as best I could and checked the time. One hour and forty-five minutes. Plenty of time to get back to Galway.

Sarynna and Chase asked me to mail their postcards to their respective families. I remembered at inconvenient times. Finally, convenience allowed me to mail them from one of the most obscure corners of Ireland, the village of Moyard in Connemara.

On one of my solo days, I enjoyed a fast hike up Errisbeg near the village of Roundstone.

Northward tour and Glencar – 11/4/2007

Not feeling super energised for epic hikes after the night out, I decided to do useful things like get the Cavan Way trip slightly more organised and see about biking in our part of Ireland. After failing at the biking details (road touring was easy enough, but mountain biking was not) I motored up to Sligo and found a place to sleep there. The weather was gorgeous and the sunroof made the drive all the more enjoyable.

The hostel I found was in a dodgy part of town under the railroad tracks and past an industrial park. I wondered if I was checking into the Irish equivalent of the Bates Motel. The lady who checked me in seemed pleasant enough once I found her. No one else seemed to be around. Thankfully, by the time I got organised for the next part of my outing, others had started to trickle in and at worse, other victims were for the taking.

I found Indian takeaway and picked a nice spot for a picnic, a touristified walk to the waterfall at Glencar. After food and photos, I motored on toward Blacklion and Belcoo to see about accommodation options and also see how conspicuous the Cavan Way trail was. Accommodation was a bit of a bust but the trail was well marked. I wrote down a number of names for places to phone, but phoning would require internet to look up phone numbers. Nobody seemed to post their phone numbers on their signs. Do they want business? I motored in to Northern Ireland because I could and then headed back toward Sligo and sleep. Internet searches gave me phone numbers eventually and the next morning, I booked us at a place in Glenfarne.

Cliffs of Moher, The Burren and a night out in Galway – 10/4/2007

Dave and I had pretty much a day to get out of Cork and see something. He had to be back in Cork for an appointment with a doctor that was linked to his employment chances, so pretty non-negotiable. The plan was to motor up the coast for something and stay the night in Galway. Dave would catch the bus back the next morning and I would have Wednesday morning through Thursday evening to wander on my own. We would then do something slightly abusive on Friday before Kate rejoined us later that evening.

We decided that based on the mountain biking pub crawl article in MBUK that I brought across and accompanying photos, we should go see the Cliffs of Moher. So we did, along with all of the other herds of tourists. Those guys are nuts. The ledge where they cycled was visible despite the cloud of fog that made everything invisible. No wonder they now have large stone barriers between the parts where people walk and the edges of the cliffs. That and the wind. I’m sure more than one tourist has been blown off the cliffs on a bad day. The fog meant visibility was crap. We walked along the path that followed the edge for a while and eventually it cleared. The views were amazing and we thought the bikers even more silly.

After the cliffs, we enjoyed an impromptu driving tour of the Burren, an area my MINI would have loved, and took a late lunch on a hillside near Newtown Castle. We arrived in Galway around 5pm. Drinks, dinner, more drinks. It was a good night, although stuffy hostel air made me a little queasy for a while.

The Cliffs of Moher had very descriptive signs.

The Cliffs of Moher... more artistically.

Occasional fits of energy were balanced by fits of stupidity. Dave and I documented our pub crawl in Galway with photos. You don't need to see the others, even though they are a bit benign. (photo courtesy of Dave)

Mahon Valley – 9/4/2007

Kate, Dave, Andrea and I set out for Mahon Valley on Monday morning. Our decision for the walk was based on three things, the circular route, moderate rating and the pretty picture in the guidebook. Oh, and probably the proximity to Cork for a day out without it being an epic. Once in County Waterford, we found the car park without any wrong turns. The route to it was well signposted along roads that brought out my inner rallye driver.

The walk from the car to the falls themselves is pretty accessible. We had a fair bit of company as we followed the dirt track from the car park to the base of the falls. The lack of rain made the base of the falls easily crossed in many places. The rock was mostly limestone, so crossing was easy but treacherous. Any wet spot was slippery. Any wet and green spot was an instant slide. Dave found a large boulder to perch himself atop for photos and despite its dryness, managed to fall off it in cartoonishly slow motion and roll into the creek below. The accessibility of the falls meant he had a proper audience for his falls, not just Andrea and me. We took a few minutes extra at the base of the falls to let Dave compose himself. Indignation and a few scrapes seemed to be his biggest wounds.

The route for the hike had us start at the base of the falls and hike up more or less following the falls. A narrow path was worn into the hillside. Limestone hillside meant lots of scree. One particular spot was a treacherous crossing. My trekking poles were quite useful for added support across. I gave one to Andrea to help her. Kate wasn’t a fan of the scree crossing. I could tell she was tempted to sit down and scooch across on her bum. That crossing and a few loose bits after kept my trail dog instincts in check. I didn’t let us get too separated on the path. The hike was proving easier than Hungry Hill but the risks were higher.

We reached the top easily enough and paused to enjoy the view and snap a few photos. Whoever was reading from the walking book misread the route. I forget who. We skipped the summit of the hill beside the falls and the walk around the outer ridge in favour of a few hops across the creek above the falls and scouting mission for a lunch stop. The winds were pretty strong, not what we expected when we left Cork, so the outer ridge hike may not have been as pleasant as the book described. We found a nice shelter behind some rocks and enjoyed a picnic with a great view down Mahon Valley. The limestone wasn’t as soft and nice for climbing as the sandstone, but I found a few interesting spots worth climbing.

After lunch, we followed the rim of the canyon around and back toward the car park. We enjoyed the views. Dave and I found one spot worth climbing to see a slightly higher view of the same scenery. We had very little company for the parts of the walk between about halfway up the waterfall and most of the way along the canyon rim. The closer we got to the car park the more people we encountered. The walk down was totally sheltered from the wind, so it was warm enough for just one layer. We took our time on the trek down the hillside. Dave and I forged ahead. Kate and Andrea took their time behind us. Andrea suffered for her lack of boots, turning her ankle at least twice. My ankle survived but certainly was grateful for the trekking poles.

In the end, our hike was probably a bit under 5K instead of the 10K that the book had described. It was a nice day out, beautiful day and beautiful scenery, and it allowed me to tick one family surname (McMahon) off the list even though I wasn’t really chasing those ambitions.

A hill walk beside Mahon Valley Falls ticked one family surname off the list.

Reunions and tourism around Cork – 7/4/2007 – 8/4/2007

My lesbian lover and her husband took their first European holiday at Easter to see me (and some of Ireland). Their plan was to arrive sometime Saturday afternoon and depart sometime Sunday afternoon. Our plans for those days involved lots of laziness and tourism. I drove. Kate played overbearing mother figure /navigator. We headed for Cork at lunchtime, shopped a little, lunched a lot and eventually retrieved Sarynna and Chase from the bus right around 5pm. Thankfully, they weren’t hungry. Eventually we went for Thai food in Midleton, in partial celebration of our past Salathai ritual. Sary and Chase wanted to hear trad music, but unfortunately Saturday night isn’t the time or the place for it. Instead, they had to cope with a typical night out in a typical Irish pub. They seemed happy enough for it.

The laziness of Saturday was replaced with touristiness for Sunday. We stuffed ourselves into my hired Ford Fiesta and headed for Blarney Castle. While queuing there, I saw the bus tour similar to the one my parents will be taking in August. We queued. We kissed. We queued more. I did tip the guy who was helping people not slip and bump their heads against the non-plummeting tourist grate below. Not being dropped seemed useful. Blarney Castle seems like a great place to play tag. Or hide and seek.

We stuffed ourselves back into the car and headed for tourist destination #2, Midleton Distillery, one of the homes of Jameson Whiskey. We had a few minutes before the tour so we took advantage of the time to have a hint of lunch. The soup was determined to be Christine-friendly and fast, so five bowls of soup it was. Then we queued and we toured. We learned the difference between Irish, Scottish and American whiskeys, whiskies and whiskeys, beyond just the spelling. At the end of the tour, Chase was selected as one of the official tasters. Along with two others, he got to taste the differences between whiskey, whisky and whiskey. The brands were Jameson, Johnnie Walker and Jack Daniels. She then asked each of them to choose a favourite. Each of them chose a different one with Chase choosing loyalty above flavour with his Jack Daniels. Each of the three was presented with a diploma establishing his credibility as an Irish whiskey taster.

While Chase was tasting firewater, I suffered another failed whiskey experiment. Irish whiskey was smooth as fire and not to my liking at all. It failed the two sip test miserably. I did like Kate’s whiskey and cranberry, but that seemed a bit blasphemous. Instead, I poured my whiskey into Dave’s glass.

Unfortunately, the end of our Jameson tourist experience meant the end of our reunion. Sarynna and Chase needed to get the bus back to Dublin. We dropped them off and replaced my friends with Kate’s friends for the rest of the evening. After pub, food, alcohol and a late dinner, we managed to convince one of them to join us for hillwalking the next day. The rest just looked at us like we were slightly mental.

Lesbian lovers reunited at the Blarney Stone.

Hungry Hill – 6/4/2007

I arrived in Ireland late Thursday armed with way too many warm clothes and Lonely Planet’s Walking in Ireland guide. The first walk we selected was a moderate-difficult loop at Hungry Hill on the Beara Peninsula in West Cork. Friday’s weather was more like (early) spring in Nashville rather than spring in Ireland. Bright, sunny, probably at least 15^oC. Dave drove. Initially Kate navigated. Then I navigated while she slept. We drove past the turn but she was none the wiser.

The basic route was up then over then more up. The guide book said it would be easier than it looked. It was mostly right. We had one little detour that took us a bit farther west(?) than perhaps we should have gone, but for the most part, everything was walkable or occasionally scramble-able. Lovely weather meant my rain jacket was extra weight. Also, I couldn’t make up my mind about the sweater. On off on off on off.

Taking me hillwalking can be a bit like taking a puppy for a walk, if my pace is faster. Kate and Dave lingered in the back while I was up and back and up and back. We stopped for lunch and Skittles, which quickly became my trail food of choice. Made with real fruit juice was sort of like drinking juice which was sort of like eating fruit. Right?

Hungry Hill had lots of rock and most of it was sandstone. The lack of rain lately meant for dry rock and positive pitch meant that both Dave and I did occasional silly things like climb instead of walk like normal people. My position as lead puppy meant I scrambled and climbed and then relayed information of the easiest paths back to a much more apprehensive Kate. We took a few more Skittle breaks and then reached the first lumpy overlook that showed the car very very small.

Next was the south summit, which to me looked about 100 vertical metres away from where we were standing. To Kate, it looked much farther away. She seemed worried about reaching it and finishing the walk with enough daylight. I said it would take 10-15 minutes max. We set out for it and I was on a mission. A combination of hiking, scrambling and jogging brought me to the grassy approach to the summit cairn. I took a photo of the view overlooking the speck that was our car and then jogged the rest of the way to the summit. After a few more photos, I walked back to make sure Kate and Dave were getting up ok and not swearing at me too much. The former was true. Not so sure on the latter.

Based on the time, we decided that the south summit was our summit and we would be faster getting back the way we came. With most of the miles left on the walk, we did risk running out of daylight continuing if we made any drastic errors navigating. The walk back to the car was very different from the walk up and it seemed to take just as long. I was absolutely the slowest getting down, embracing both my acrophobia and my weak ankles likelihood of injury as good reasons not to rush. We reached the car around what felt like dinner time (appropriately-named Hungry Hill) and set off on the important mission of finding food that I could eat. On Good Friday. When just about EVERYTHING in Ireland is closed.

I enjoyed a guru moment on the way up Hungry Hill on the Beara Peninsula (Ireland). (photo courtesy of Dave)

River Clyde - 1/4/2007

Brian has asked me to kill him a few different times and a few different ways now. So far, I have been unsuccessful, but not for lack of effort. An EKC beginners trip on the River Clyde provided the most recent opportunity, his first kayak trip, and four of the seven swims of the day as his made for a solid showing. Unlike the river, the day was warm and pleasant. Good company made for a good day out. Callum organised the trip. Rather than another venture to the same old places, Callum opted for something new. Hence the Clyde.

Five of us piled into Callum’s truck and headed west. My first job of the day was sat nav, reconciling the guidebook description with the map. Along the motorway, we saw something very silly. After the motorway, the route was pretty straightforward. Brian helped by serving as sign reader, letting me not wear my glasses. We found the get-out relatively easily. The put-in was slightly less obvious. It was yet another random layby that sent us tromping across a field down a hill to the river. The most important thing to remember about finding it again is it is downstream from the power station.

George had said the Clyde always has enough water to at least scrape down. While technically that was true, a level of scrape is a touch challenging for a rank beginner.

We separated into pairs for the trip which meant Brian had the added challenge of trying to stay behind me in my short, stubby, slow C1. Our first stop for the day was break-in practice in a nice friendly eddy. Eventually, that spot claimed two swim. One was Brian’s. The other belonged to another whose name escapes me just now. Both were respectable swims. They were trying new things, not just getting flipped by running the rapids. Break-in practice went well overall. I realised the reason why Ali says I don’t do anything for my break-ins is because the techniques I was taught versus the SCA syllabus teachings are totally different. I use the duffek stroke. They use a sweep and a plant/brace. Same effect. I just look like I’m doing very little in comparison.

After break-in practice, we came to the most challenging section of the day. Brian swam three times. Oddly enough, he got through the most difficult bits without so much difficulty. Well-timed advice from Colin (PLF) helped a lot. Not until after the first two of those three swims, though. The first was his and my fault. He got ahead of me and stopped paddling. The second was slightly more my fault. I told him to follow Alan who took a crap line and got stuck on a rock. Had he stayed and followed me, his odds of success would have been much better. I took the same line as Ali, which was very straightforward and only slightly bumpy in comparison to Alan’s, which was neither.

Swim #4 was another legitimate, trying something new swim. Callum explained the concept of the ferryglide. The river was slightly swift so it didn’t take long for the streambed to be examined. The warm weather and great big fireball in the sky led to a strange but welcome change in EKC trip practices. We stopped for lunch.

After lunch, PLF kicked in full bore and from a carnage perspective, the trip got much less interesting. Brian got better at following me, too. He stayed well back so that by the end of each wee rapid, he was mostly caught up but not ahead. He did remarkably well at the one spot where I crunched over some very exposed rocks.

The last rapids of the day were under the bridge just above the get-out. At higher water, some nice waves may have been there and perhaps a nice stopper, too. Instead, it was a rocky ledge. We ran it sort of ducky style, one after the other, although it seemed to get a little congested once we were through. A short float took us to the getout.

The get-out is a bit personal. A right of way to the river runs between two properties, so the walk to the cars felt very much like we were walking across somebody’s back garden. We carried our boats as far as a convenient wide bend in the road and the drivers brought the cars to meet us there. Getting changed there felt a bit exhibitionist. Here we were among a bunch of houses and presumably families doing something that paddlers are not always modest about doing. As far as I’m aware, no complaints were filed, so it all ended well.

We piled back into the cars and headed back to Edinburgh. The rest of lunch was good. The red sheep were still there, but they were far enough from the road that photos would not have distinguished them from regular sheep. Tragically.

Break-in and ferry glide practice

Derek demonstrates a break-in.

Dueling photos

An EKC rarity: tea time on the river bank

Brian was certainly in better spirits than I would have been had I swam four times.

Occasional traffic jams littered the rocks.