Loch Lomond weekender - 10/5/2008 - 11-5/2008

With a goal of an inexpensive weekend away, Brian and I became slaves to the weather and headed west to Loch Lomond. Forecasts suggested it would be the least wet, foggy or windy. It was -- the weather was well behaved on both days, bordering on warm.

We arrived to the car park in the early afternoon, just as the annual hill race was finishing. Our hike up to Ben Lomond summit was spent dodging descending runners. We were impressed that they had just run up what we were walking. I was slightly jealous on the way up, but certainly not on the way down. It took a certain amount of madness to run down the hill. We took the tourist trail, but it wasn't littered with tourists. We were never really alone, but we never really had to fight our way through a mob either. Unless you count the rocky traffic jam about a mile into the walk. Small clumps of straggling runners mixed with race officials, hillwalkers and one fearless disabled guy descending in a strange looking buggy. We snuck through pretty quickly on a path that looked less appealing to the descending.

We had a very late lunch atop the summit, enjoying the view and the slight wind blowing the midges away. Just as we were about to head back down, we spoke briefly with a backpacker who had just summited via the less walked trail and talked more to his dog. The dog seemed pleased with his accomplishment but not so interested in carrying on with his person. We felt bad because the guy never gave his dog any water. When it was clear the guy was about to leave, the dog looked first at Brian and then at me for rescue. We apologised for his person being so cruel, but could not offer more than a sympathy scratch behind the ear. They left with the dog on leash, but the sheep were in no danger. We hoped that they would find one of the tiny streams so the dog could have a drink. They disappeared off the trail not quite a mile from the summit, probably to set up camp a good distance away from the main trail.

Next time we walk a hill like that one, that should be our plan, too. Brian said Loch Lomond is Glasgow's place to get away from it all. Our neighbours locally and all along the loch seemed like instead they brought it all with them. We had dueling stereos for a good part of the night, with the more annoying coming from across the loch. Eventually, I think the drunk neds from down the way found their way closer and shouted to each other as they wandered aimlessly. Several somebodies were shouting drunk anyway. It was a long night, punctuated by a sleeping punch from Brian, who was bundled into his sleeping bag to avoid any midges who may have found their way into the tent. I slept in my bug net, because i didn't think it was midge-tight either. By dawn, the neds discovered quiet and the generous people across the loch put their music back on. Never again. It's a shame, really, because Loch Lomond really is a nice place.

In the morning, Brian spoke with one of the park rangers who had the unpleasant job of cleaning up after the considerate people. Indeed, that was her least favourite part of the job. With a slightly tired start, we took our bikes on the delayed ferry across from Rowardennan to Inverbeg. We combined two routes in the little red book, cycling north to Tarbet as Loch Lomond constricts. I didn't necessarily want to get all the way to Tarbet, but I wanted to get as far as the constriction. Tarbet wasn't all that much farther. We had our first picnic there, enjoying ice cream (Brian) and a popsicle (me) in the village green. From Tarbet, we had the best view of the Ben Lomond summit.

We doubled back and continued south, passing some of the considerate people from the night before as we followed the West Loch Lomond Cycle Path. The sun felt warm and the wind was gentle. We stopped again in Luss and I discovered that my back was soaked. My Camelbak, which I was excited to not cause me pain, had sprung a dire leak. It had to be retired. I got some bottled water from the shop as replacement.

We continued south from Luss with the cycle path leading away from the obvious shoreline about where the wallaby island sits in the loch. Sadness as I couldn't wave to the wallabies or show Brian the castle on the tiny island that he's not allowed to get. Occasionally, we could see Loch Lomond, but the path never really found its way back until Loch Lomond Shores. Tourist mecca #2, but a good enough place to stop for lunch. We laughed at the speed(ish) boat that was drifting away because the guy forgot to beach it or tie it off and we watched a swan argue with a dog that was defending its stupid person who probably threw stuff at the swan to begin with.

Cycling onward after lunch, we dodged congestion in the Balloch Castle Country Park before reuniting with NCN route 7. The little red book describes this route as mostly flat, which I guess might be true if you consider the hill surfaces to be flat as they go up and down. Rolling hills is more accurate, though it makes me wonder what they consider a hilly cycle to be. NCN 7 followed mostly B roads and the occasional rough track.

We arrived to Drymen just a bit after 4pm and took another break on the village green. Eleven miles to Rowardennan, eleven definitely not flat miles. Much of the ride was with the cars, though the occasional trail was welcome. Past Balmaha and the wall of midges at the turn, Brian was led astray by one trail that I opted not to follow. My legs were fading and I wasn't interested in bumpy trail to agitate them more. He caught up with me on the road with a mile or two left to Rowardennan and beat me back by a minute or three. My legs were going at their own pace and would get there eventually.

Sunday evening far more peaceful with sun shining across the lake as we rested by the shore. On the drive home, the weather transitioned from sun and (relative) warmth to fog and mist. The red sheep were still visible at the Pyramids, but only just. The active parts of the weekend were great, but perhaps better enjoyed in the off season.

Three and a half miles from base to summit, it felt like the hike up the hill was faster than the hike down but it wasn't.

The signs near the bottom warned that tourist trail was not waymarked on the open hillside. It didn't really need to be.

Brian looks like he's up to something. In reality, he is just failing to avoid the camera.

Our squinty summit pose

The southwestern summit view across Loch Lomond photographed hazier than it looked.

Looks like one of the rescue squads was out training, buzzing the summit of Ben Lomond on their way to the southeastern end of the loch.

The baby sheep always look far too shiny and new, like they need to find some mud and play for a while.

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.

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.

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.

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)