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.