THE WICKLOW WAY.
This was to be my first foray outside of England for a LDP. I have relations living in Ireland, and decided to combine a visit with a walk. My sister Maureen accompanied me, but didn't walk, instead opting to get transport between the stops, just coming along for the famous Irish 'craic' (of which we had PLENTY).
THE
WICKLOW
WAY.
(Sli Cuallan Nua.)
Prologue.
After a very uneventful flight to Dublin with my sister, who was not taking part in the walk but seeing me each evening for the 'craic', we were picked up by my uncle and taken for some lunch. The flight had cost £59-00 with Aer Lingus and it took about an hour and ten minutes from East Midlands to Dublin.
On Sunday morning, my uncle Sean dropped me off at Marlay Park, where the Wicklow Way starts, and waved goodbye as I set off into the Grey morning.
Day One - Marlay Park to Glencree - 12.5 Miles (20km)
I started walking shortly after ten o'clock, the time the park opens, and started the steady meander through the pleasant woodland paths of Marlay Park, dodging the Lycra clad joggers who were there in abundance. There is no chance of going astray, as there are plenty of the little yellow way markers to guide you.
When I reached the car park gates, I turned right out of them, then after a couple of hundred yards left, then left again, before starting the steady climb up Kilmashogue road. I got a toot on the horn from a passing lady driver - my first taste of Irish friendliness - or the fact I was wearing shorts?
When the car park entrance appeared on the left, I noticed that to the South West I could see the famous 'Hellfire Club' which, in it's time, was one of the greatest dens of iniquity in Irish history. I screwed a long lens onto the camera and took a photo'.
The terrain underfoot changed from Tarmac to forest trail and the steady climb continued up into Kilmashogue forest.
I reached the 4km mark and the views to the left of Dublin, the bay, Howth and Irelands eye were getting better the higher I climbed. I met several people out for a Sunday stroll, and all were only too willing to stop for a chat and pass the time of day.
The forest became denser for a while and people became scarcer. I started to see the odd rabbit and I also spotted a deer in a small clearing. I took a quick picture with my 'ever ready' camera, but as I tried to get the telephoto lens out, she disappeared into the undergrowth. Still guided faultlessly by the little yellow arrows I continued on, listening to all the bird song.
I had had a giggle at the instruction book description of these way mark arrows. i.e.
Arrow left = go left.
Arrow right = go right.
Arrow straight on = go straight on - have you got that? Good.
I turned right up a stony path that I had been looking for some time, as the instructions said; 'as soon as the masts come into view, look for a stony path to the right'. I needn't have worried as the trusty yellow arrow pointed the way.
I put a bit more effort into things now, and removed my fleece, as it was warm in the forest but as I reached open moorland the cool wind chilled me, I put it back on.
I turned left at the wall, and followed it as, after a short distance, it turned right. Fairy Castle and its masts were now behind me as I walked along the first ridge. The view to the left was huge. Great and little Sugarloaf mountains were the dominant features, and were to remain so for a couple of days.
I again entered woodland as the path dropped downwards. A stretch of uncomfortable but quiet Tarmac road walking now followed before I re-joined a forest trail. I again warmed up as I climbed steadily up a track. The East West mapping company were spot on with instructions as I followed a clearing upwards and was totally exposed.
I reached a plateau and crossed a section of ground which was a little boggy, but I welcomed the soft conditions after the last few miles.
I lost the way a bit through Curtlestown wood, but it's not a problem. I just headed on down and turned right at the next track to see the next yellow way marker.
Sugarloaf reared even more majestically now and all around the views were crystal clear. Another section of Tarmac followed before I turned onto the track which skirts Knockree Hill. Here I saw the first of many incidences of dumping. Someone had just turfed out an old washing machine and several plastic bin liners full of rubbish. I can't understand how someone could defile such a beautiful place.
When the path reached the road again I turned left and walked the couple of hundred yards to Knockree An Oige (Irish Y.H.A.) hostel. It was only three o'clock so, knowing the hostel didn't open until five, I sat reading outside in the sunshine. I was presently joined by the warden who came out to greet me. He explained that he was going out for a couple of hours, but I was quite welcome to stow my gear and have a shower. The only problem was that the shower in the gents’ dorm was being re-furbished, so he said I would have to use the one in the ladies. I would be ok, he said, as they were walking all the way from Powerscourt and would not be here until about five o'clock. I said that was fine and so I followed him as he proceeded to show me the common room and the shower. He bid me goodbye and said he would sort me out for food, etc, when he returned. I proceeded to get undressed and have a shower. I had just finished and dried myself, and got my trousers on, when the door suddenly burst open and in walked two women and a girl. She looked at me in surprise and said; "Oh, sorry......am I in the wrong place?". I explained she was in the right place, but the wrong time as it was only four o'clock and I told her that the warden said I would be o.k. until about five. He hadn't bargained with the fact there would be 'bag carriers' and here they were, early, having driven from Powerscourt. I thanked my lucky stars that they weren't a few minutes earlier!!
I spent the evening surrounded by lively 15 to 16 year old girls, and it would have been lonely without them, as, apart from them, I was the only one booked into the hostel that night. I told them all about Darren, my blond-haired blue-eyed son, and they all vowed to write to him. I giggled to myself as I gave them all his address and tried to imagine his face when he started to get the first of the promised 21 letters.
The warden had arrived back later in the evening and looked after me admirably. He supplied all my food requirements for tea, breakfast and a packed lunch the following day. I couldn't believe it when he told me it would only cost one pound fifty pence
Day Two - Glencree to Laragh - 17.5 Miles (27.5km)
I had a very comfortable night in Knockree hostel with no snorers to disturb my slumber. The morning was cool as I went about cooking breakfast and packing my sack for the day. I finished up and said goodbye to the girls before I crossed the stile opposite the hostel and descended the fields to cross the river. In Crone woods I saw quite a few Red Squirrels. I half expected to be seeing deer too, as the morning was still and my footfalls light but today I was disappointed.
I reached Ride Rock and had a commanding view over Powerscourt deer park and its impressive waterfall (the longest single drop waterfall in Ireland). I wanted to get pictures of the fall from its base and, although it looked a long way down, I could see a track on the opposite side of the valley. I pressed on along the path, which dropped left through the woods to cross the river Dargle. Sure enough a path led off into the woods so I followed it.
I knew it would be a steep drop to get to the bottom of the falls, so I concealed my sack in the forest and just took my camera with me. I got the photo's I wanted and returned to my sack. It was just starting to drizzle a little, so I took shelter under the dense canopy of trees and ate elevenses while it blew over.
I re-joined the Way, and spits of showers came and went for the next couple of
hours. I made my way up Djouce mountain, not forgetting to look back at the splendid view behind me, and marvelled at the other view which was starting to open up to the South East.
As the panorama widened I was treated to a very warm spell of bright sunshine. I crested White Hill and saw that the rain was coming from the North West. I took the hint and put on my waterproofs.
Rain, hail and high winds soon replaced the pleasant sunshine and I wished there were trees for shelter. It abated as I reached the memorial stone to J.B.Malone, the founder of the Wicklow Way. The lough in the background made a lovely backdrop for the inevitable photo'.
A bit more Tarmac bashing followed before I turned into Balinfunshoge woods. Here it rained again for a short while, but I took advantage of the tree cover and ate lunch and when I had finished, so had the rain.
What followed was an eerily quiet walk through Balinfunshoge woodland trail. Not much bird song, but lots of lovely views.
I caught up with two other walkers, it was two o'clock and these were the first people I had seen all day. They were Dutch and apparently Wicklow is very popular with Dutch people, and I can't fault their judgement.
I plodded up the road from Oldbridge, which is quite steep, before dropping into Laragh. It immediately struck me as a touristy place. The day was still warm and I passed the time of day with a guy outside a local restaurant, trying to get the gen’ on where to eat that night. He said he thought blokes like me were heroes, carrying all that stuff on our backs day after day, and how did we remember where it all was? I didn't have the heart to tell him I just spread it all out every night to find out!
As I had been told the Wicklow Way hostel in Laragh was good, I went to it, only to be disappointed as a sign on the door said; 'only open weekends in winter'. As I stood there in the warm summer sunshine, I couldn't help but think that their clock must be a bit slow....about two months I think!
I went in the pub next door to buy a glass of thinking juice and decide on my next move. When I came out I saw a girl walking down the road and at the same time I saw a sign saying; 'Old Mill hostel 300 yards'. I asked her if she knew the place and she said she did. I asked if it was o.k. and she said it depended what I meant by o.k. I asked if it had hot showers and she said yes. When I remarked how well she knew the place, she informed me she was the warden. I decided to follow her.
When we got to the hostel, the common room was quite pleasant so I booked in. I paid my money and went to take my sack to my room and have a shower. When I saw the dormitory I was a bit taken aback. It was crammed with beds and very damp and dank. The beds looked as though they were An Oige cast-offs. When I went back upstairs Joanne told me I'd better bring my duvet upstairs to dry it out. I was also told I had to switch on the heater and wait for about 1/2 hour for the water to get hot. I did get a hot shower, but didn't shave as the washbasin only had a cold tap! I left my evening wear on the bed next to me overnight and it was really damp the next day. I would only use one word to describe the place, DIRE! If it hadn't been for Joanne being so pleasant it would have been a really awful stay as the owners, who went through from time to time, barely said hello. I was the only one at the hostel that night. The only thing going for it is that it is right on the Wicklow Way so I had no trouble when setting off the next morning.
Day Three - Laragh to Aughavannagh - 18 Miles (28km)
The windows of the dorm' were running with condensation this morning when I woke up and everything was damp. I did breakfast and set off at 9:15am on a cool and overcast morning. As I walked along the forest trail towards Glendalough I saw many red squirrels and Jays. My muscles were a bit sore from yesterday so the first mile or so was a bit uncomfortable. I saw the tower of the Monastic City come into view and I stopped to take a picture, using the flaming yellow gorse as foreground. The wild flowers were noticeable for their absence; spring here in Ireland was dragging her feet, just as she was back home.
As I turned the corner the lower lake of Glendalough started to appear and I marvelled at the peace of the place. I could see why the monks would choose this place above others to make their home.
I soon reached the visitors centre, which was closed, and was treated to the sight of the upper lake in all it's splendour, set deep in the glacial valley. The way turns South here to climb up the South West flank of the Derrybawn mountain. There are a series of very pretty waterfalls here called Poul An Eas, which were thundering, down the valley. Unfortunately the light wasn't as good as it could have been for photo's but at least it was a feast for my eyes.
A very long, steady climb followed, during which the views of Glendalough became better and better. As I climbed higher I spotted some forestry workers on the other side of the valley plodding rhythmically upwards to work. This was the first human life I had seen today.
I left the clearing and the trees closed in once again obliterating the views. I finally reached the edge of the forest at Borenacrow. This short section before you re-enter the forest is really brilliant. As I stepped out onto open ground I felt my spirits soar.
The feelings of solitude, wilderness and insignificance as I looked around were indescribable. I could see clearly for miles and, where the path turns right to go downhill back into the trees, I sat on a rock for a good while just to appreciate all that was before me. Apart from the waterfalls of Carawaystick brook, I also noticed the zig-zag path on the other side of the valley. According to the guide, this was the path the donkeys used to wend their way up to get to the top plateau to fetch the turf. It looked wonderful from my vantage point, but I wouldn't like to think I had to labour up it every day, day in day out, for the span of my useful life.
I arose and continued on my way, slipping and slithering down the badly eroded path. The path follows the North East flank of the valley before joining the minor road at Drumgoff. There was the sound of forest workers here, and I also saw the single largest group of people I had seen so far. They looked like a walking group, and the tail-enders were a couple of women. I was most grateful for the wolf whistles I received from them (those shorts again), and it brought a smile to my face.
I stopped off at the Glenmalure Inn and had a pint and a very expensive burger, after which I continued past the old military barracks to start the next long climb.
During this section I heard the first Cuckoo I had heard this year. I also saw more deer and squirrels, as this was a very quiet part of the walk.
I crossed the road and followed the track, which led up and around Carrickashane mountain. On a clear day, the views from here must be impressive, but it was a little hazy on the horizon today so I missed out to a certain extent, but at least I had kept dry today, as there had only been the odd spot of rain blown in the wind.
The track continued down and eventually I reached the bridge over the river Ow. There stood a bungalow on its own, and I assumed that this was the place Brian, my host for tonight, meant when he said there was somewhere I could 'phone from. I noticed two Border Collies in the garden, so was not too keen on walking in, but as I had no alternative, I sallied forth. The dogs never murmured as I rapped smartly on the door. They seemed far too interested in each other. Presently, and after several more knocks, an old lady appeared from around the back of the bungalow. She seemed surprised to see me so I gave her my most disarming 'I need your help' smile and asked if I might be permitted to use the 'phone. She said she didn't normally let strangers use it, but; "it's through here, follow me". I noticed the old farmer sitting at the table in the back, and it occurred that he must have heard me knocking but chose to ignore me. I still greeted him cheerily before ringing Brian.
Everything arranged, I thanked them, paid for the call and went outside to wait.
I sat across the road observing the Collies. It soon became obvious that they were of different sexes, as what followed made me laugh out loud. The old dog was chasing the bitch and trying to mount her at every opportunity. She was trying everything (except turning nasty....didn't want to put him off too much) to stunt his progress. Every now and then she would jump up and run off, hotly pursued by the dog. When she stopped, the whole game started again. I could just imagine the old man saying to his wife; "I think I'll get old Rover a mate", and this was the outcome. What a way to spend your days, far better than rounding up sheep!!
Brian Groves arrived shortly, and we became acquainted on the short drive to the Annacurra Inn . He told me if I had turned left after crossing the bridge, I would have found another bridge and a house that I could have also rung him from. He informed me that my sister had arrived at the pub, so I looked forward to her company for the evening. My first impression of the Inn was good, and I never altered that during our entire stay, which was longer than I anticipated as I decided to play hooky for a day to go and see Avoca village. Avoca is famous for the meeting of the waters, its hand weavers and the T.V. series Ballykissangel that was filmed there. Brian again came to our rescue and dropped us off in the village. We had to use the local transport service to get back again, i.e. thumb a lift!
Day four - Aughavannagh to Tinahely - 12 miles (20km)
The room I was in had a Dormer window in the roof, and this serves to act as an instant indicator of the weather, as I awoke to the patter of rain on it first thing.
I said goodbye to Brian’s family and he then took me to the bridge where he had picked me up so I could re-join the Wicklow Way.
I waved and set off upwards along the familiar forest track to skirt the Ballygobban mountain in the chilly morning air. I had had a lazy breakfast and it was now well after ten o'clock. I crossed a road before re-entering the forest as the way turned south. Just then I saw a tractor chugging towards me along the track and, as it got closer, I could see two Wicklow way markers in the bucket at the front. The driver smiled at me as he passed, and I wondered if he had uprooted them, ball of concrete and all, to cause mischief, so I made a mental note to pay particular attention to the map just in case. I needn't have worried though as the markers throughout the wood were exactly where they should have been, so I wonder where he got them?
As I was padding quietly along, I surprised two deer that were standing on the track. It was the closest I had been to deer so far, and with a bark and a leap they disappeared to my left. My hand had automatically moved to the camera case on my belt, but they were gone. I relaxed and went to continue and as I did so, a third one sprang across the track right in front of me. I watched their white rumps vanish in to the gloom.
After Moyne I descended a lovely grassy track, all too rare on this path, and met my first people of the day. Again they were a Dutch couple and we passed a short while in chit-chat before I carried on to try to find St Colmcilles well, which is marked on the map and mentioned in the guide.
I, along with the Dutch couple, could not find it. It went into the 'things not seen' file.
I crossed Sandyford bridge, noticing the rich brown peaty water, and followed a quiet back road with grass in the middle, which led to another lovely springy green lane. The next thing I didn't find was a cross, which is in a wall somewhere between Garryhoe and Rosbane. I wasn't alone in my disappointment as I met Terry, who was doing his own version of the Irish coast to coast. He didn't see it either, but he said he had met my sister in Murphys pub in Tinahely, so at least I knew she was safe and sound. Terry was also going to cross Scotland when he had finished this little stint, and I couldn't help admiring the fact that he was carrying a video camera. I had brought camera's myself, but I ruled out a video due to the weight of the paraphernalia that goes with it. Not only was he carrying all that, but he was backpacking a tent etc too!! I was tempted to see if he had a shirt with 'S' on it under his coat. I wished him well and fair weather, and pushed on towards Tinahely. At Mangons there were signs for a short cut to a B&B in the village, but as it was still early I decided to keep following the trail proper.
The weather was still dry as I walked along the Coolafunshoge lane. More evidence of people dumping stuff anywhere but in a bin was evident as I contoured and then dropped down towards the Derry River. At the road, I would have walked into Tinahely. In fact I started to, but there is no footway and it is quite busy so I stuck out the trusty thumb. The third vehicle to come along, a large truck, stopped and took me the two km into the village where I was re-united with my sister and had a well earned cuppa. I asked her if she had made any enquiries regarding accommodation and she told me that Murphys was 24 pounds a night. I thought this a bit steep and said so, so I decided to ring round for a better deal. I think pubs have got it all wrong as, if they were to charge the same as the local B&Bs, they would do well out of the deal, as you would probably have your evening meal there, and also do your drinking, so to overcharge loses them more in the long run.
I consulted the trusty guide book and found the number for Orchard house and rang Alice D'arcy. My sister had seen the place as she passed it earlier and it looked o.k. Alice had room so off we went.
We found everything to be just perfect. When we arrived, we were shown to our rooms, and Alice was just finishing making the bed in mine. She was also taking a picture off the wall, it was the (in)famous 'crying boy'. I said I was surprised she had left it up so long, considering it's reputation. She didn't know what I was on about so I proceeded to tell her of the dire events that usually followed houses that it was hung in, and how there had been fires and all that was left standing in the ashes was the picture. She said that it was strange, but her now late-teen son had always inexplicably cried at the picture...eerie or WHAT!
Not only did Alice make us most welcome, but also she dried some washing for me, organised tomorrow's B&B and even offered to transport my sister to Clonegal. The price of the B&B here is only sixteen pounds, the same as at Annacurra.
Day 5 - Tinahely to Clonegal - 20 miles (31km)
Last night we went down to the village to one of the pubs (not Murphy’s) and fell in conversation with two local lads. We had a really good night of putting the world to rights and all, coupled with a few jars of the 'old Liffy water'. You always know when the locals have accepted you as the language gets a bit fruity! They use what we would consider to be bad language all the time, but not in the same context so it's not offensive. Anyway, it transpires that Damien, one of the two, was the son of the local butcher and my sister wanted to take some the lovely local white puddings back with her to England. Thing was, it was Thursday and we weren't due to fly back until the following Tuesday. "No problem, missus, we've got one of those vacuum wrap machines, it'll keep them fresh for weeks"; said Damien.
The next morning, just before I set off walking, Alice met us at the bottom of the stairs and said there was a funny burning smell, and she at first thought something was on fire. When she had gone into the room where an elderly Dutch couple had spent the previous night, she realised it was coming from there. With a knowing smile I asked if I could have a sniff. As soon as I entered the room my suspicions were confirmed. The old guy had been smoking cannabis! I told Alice and her face drained. "Oh God, DRUGS!" she said. I calmed her and explained that in Holland they sometimes smoked it for pain relief from arthritis. Then she remembered that the man had said he suffered from it, and his wife had asked Alice if she minded if he smoked a couple of cigarettes. Alice had said she didn't mind at all. If only she'd known it was 'wacky baccy'!!
I said goodbye, and Maureen went into to the village to see Damien. She also wanted to take some of the soda bread home, and wondered if Damien could wrap that up too. "No problem missus, give it here". With that, Damien disappeared into the back of the shop with the bread and white puddings. After about ten minutes and some hefty cursing, he reappeared and said; "Jayzuz missus, I 'tink the machine's a bit too feckin’ strong for the bread". With that he produced what looked like a large Yorkshire pudding and when Maureen saw it she collapsed in apoplexy. Damien spluttered apologies and even offered to buy more bread, which Maureen refused as she knew that the loaf he had 'wrapped' would provide endless laughs back home. Even Alice wanted us to 'destroy the evidence' but we have it still as a family heirloom.
While all this was going on, I had begun the final leg of the Wicklow Way. Although there was a cool wind blowing, the morning sun was really beginning to make its presence felt. The sky was a powerful blue and the odd fluffy white cloud scudded lazily across it. I joined and followed the grassy and pleasant Muskeagh boreen and the views became more dramatic as I gained height. I looked back and was surprised to see that the highest mountain had acquired a sprinkling of snow overnight. As if the views weren't good enough already!!
I dropped down a minor road and made my way into Mullinacuff village. I called at the post office with the intention of purchasing and posting a few postcards but the plan was thwarted by the simple fact that here was a post office that didn't sell postcards? Ah well, I would just have to tell folk how lovely it all was.
Between here and Stranakelly crossroads the sun seemed to get quite a bit stronger. There was no traffic at all and I was left to enjoy the pastoral sights and sounds of the lush valley.
When I reached the crossroads I came upon a real postcard pub. Small and white with empty barrels outside, it looked very inviting but as it was only eleven o'clock, I gave it a miss.
I climbed the short hill and took a few photo's North and Northwest. I hadn't expected the views to be as good as they were today so I was pleasantly surprised.
Near Kilquiggan I approached the imposing St Finians church. I looked around but didn't see the rainbow! Something else I didn't see was the head and socket of an old Irish cross, reputed to be in the fields to the East of the church. I searched through the gorse, getting scratched legs in the process, and I even asked the guy mowing the grass in the churchyard, but he didn't know where it was either. It too went into the 'sights not seen' file along with St Colmcille's well.
Later on I at last left the Tarmac to join a forest trail. This time it was the turn of the mountains in the South and Southwest to figure largely in the views, and I took picture after picture, using all three of the cameras I had brought. It may sound a bit over the top, but I always carry a compact camera on my belt for those quick shots you may miss, and I like to carry a manual camera for such as waterfalls. The extra camera was a panoramic, which weighed next to nothing so it was no task to add it to my pack.
If the weather is clear, the path around Stookeen has arguably some of the best views on the walk. I was certainly being treated today and attempted to record of much of it as possible. I rounded a corner to be confronted with a forestry lorry completely blocking the path. He was loading up with freshly cut timber and the air was heavy with the pungent smell of the freshly cut wood. When they saw me, they stopped what they were doing and paused to wipe their brows and offer greetings. I got the usual "howaya" greeting and returned their salutation before pressing on to what the guide says is a muddy farmyard. I just couldn't believe how muddy and deep it was!!
I tried to wade forward, but feared it would go over the top of my boots. I did eventually manage to get by to the left, using stones and dry patches of mud, and continued along the farm road.
I again returned to tarmac and followed the quiet road around Moylisha hill. As I rounded a corner, I saw two sheep with their lambs standing in the road. As I approached them they moved forwards, keeping a respectable distance between themselves and me. This continued for about 2km and I was worried I was walking them away from where they should be but suddenly they turned into a gate that was open slightly to join the rest of the flock in the field. I closed the gate as I passed by.
It was all road walking from Urelands on and as I walked over the Wicklow bridge, I realised that the only things I could hear were my own footfalls and the bird song. I stopped to revel in the tranquillity and beauty of it all. I doffed my cap, metaphorically speaking, as I passed the road which leads to where Eastwest mapping 'live', as I had found their guide and map faultless and informative (even though I'm tempted to believe that the old Irish cross and St Colmcilles well were spurious admissions!).
The first clue that I was close to Clonegal was the sight of a church perched on a hill to my right. Shortly I saw the sign for the village and I had my photo' taken by an ever-friendly local, before walking into the local pub for a celebration pint of 'Liffy water' (what Guinness is colloquially called). It is true what they say about the Guinness in Ireland, it has no equal.
I rang Bridie Osbourne, my B&B hostess, and was promptly whisked to the small hamlet of Park Bridge where her farm, Park Lodge, is. I very strongly recommend Park Lodge. Proper Irish people, proper Irish welcome, proper nice place. Bridie immediately made me most welcome. She showed me to my room, and a huge affair it was, with great big beds with cast iron headboards and hand sewn quilts. It was also en-suite, and all this for just sixteen pounds a night! My sister was already here and her room was just as nice. We went downstairs and I was asked if I would like 'a little something to eat'. It was late notice but Bridie 'rustled up' soup (home made), a steak done in some sauce that had my taste buds squealing with delight, and a sorbet for afters. I was also offered some of her homemade pie, but even I couldn't eat another morsel.
I had originally intended to head down South for a day or two, but changed my plans as I didn't want to leave Park Lodge...EVER! Besides, there was a traditional music night planned at Egans bar, the local pub, for the following night, and I wanted to go. I'm glad I did, as Larry and his wife made it a really special night. Larry asked if I liked the traditional music, and when I said I did, I was invited into their kitchen, where another session, besides the one going on in the pub, was taking place. Well, we were there until the wee small hours and it was one of the best musical nights of my life, a really fitting end to a smashing holiday.
The next day, Bridie took my sister and I to Bunclody (the great Metropolis) where a rare sight could be observed...buses pulling in to town! We caught the bus that would take us North with Bridie waving us off.
Epilogue.
First the bad points. The Wicklow Way suffers terribly from what seems to be a favourite pastime - dumping! There are enough scrap cars to start a scrap yard, and every roadside ditch holds its share of plastic carrier bags and bin liners full of rubbish. It despoils the most beautiful places.
The fact that there are no public footpaths in Ireland, apart from the designated trails, inevitably means that a lot of time is spent walking on public roads or forest trails. Wicklow is described as a 'walkers paradise'. I would dispute this. It is probably nearer the mark to describe it as a cyclist’s paradise, as with so many quiet back roads it is ideally suited for bikes.
On the positive side, the Guinness really is the best! All the people are so very friendly, they even wave as they pass you in cars and have time to spend with you to help or just talk. The Groves, D'arcys and Osbornes of the world steal your heart with their warmth and their; "sure, no problem” attitude. The mountains and valleys are beautiful....exceptionally so, and I looked back on my holiday and sighed as I boarded the plane for home.
You will find everyone readily gives you "c'ead mile failte" - a thousand welcomes, and you will want to say to them, as I do to everyone who befriended me, looked after me, and made me feel so good;
go raibh mile maith agat
(Thank you very much)
© Les Singleton
May 1996
I crossed Sandyford bridge, noticing the rich brown peaty water, and followed a quiet back road with grass in the middle, which led to another lovely springy green lane. The next thing I didn't find was a cross, which is in a wall somewhere between Garryhoe and Rosbane. I wasn't alone in my disappointment as I met Terry, who was doing his own version of the Irish coast to coast. He didn't see it either, but he said he had met my sister in Murphys pub in Tinahely, so at least I knew she was safe and sound. Terry was also going to cross Scotland when he had finished this little stint, and I couldn't help admiring the fact that he was carrying a video camera. I had brought camera's myself, but I ruled out a video due to the weight of the paraphernalia that goes with it. Not only was he carrying all that, but he was backpacking a tent etc too!! I was tempted to see if he had a shirt with 'S' on it under his coat. I wished him well and fair weather, and pushed on towards Tinahely. At Mangons there were signs for a short cut to a B&B in the village, but as it was still early I decided to keep following the trail proper.
The weather was still dry as I walked along the Coolafunshoge lane. More evidence of people dumping stuff anywhere but in a bin was evident as I contoured and then dropped down towards the Derry River. At the road, I would have walked into Tinahely. In fact I started to, but there is no footway and it is quite busy so I stuck out the trusty thumb. The third vehicle to come along, a large truck, stopped and took me the two km into the village where I was re-united with my sister and had a well earned cuppa. I asked her if she had made any enquiries regarding accommodation and she told me that Murphys was 24 pounds a night. I thought this a bit steep and said so, so I decided to ring round for a better deal. I think pubs have got it all wrong as, if they were to charge the same as the local B&Bs, they would do well out of the deal, as you would probably have your evening meal there, and also do your drinking, so to overcharge loses them more in the long run.
I consulted the trusty guide book and found the number for Orchard house and rang Alice D'arcy. My sister had seen the place as she passed it earlier and it looked o.k. Alice had room so off we went.
We found everything to be just perfect. When we arrived, we were shown to our rooms, and Alice was just finishing making the bed in mine. She was also taking a picture off the wall, it was the (in)famous 'crying boy'. I said I was surprised she had left it up so long, considering it's reputation. She didn't know what I was on about so I proceeded to tell her of the dire events that usually followed houses that it was hung in, and how there had been fires and all that was left standing in the ashes was the picture. She said that it was strange, but her now late-teen son had always inexplicably cried at the picture...eerie or WHAT!
Not only did Alice make us most welcome, but also she dried some washing for me, organised tomorrow's B&B and even offered to transport my sister to Clonegal. The price of the B&B here is only sixteen pounds, the same as at Annacurra.
Day 5 - Tinahely to Clonegal - 20 miles (31km)
Last night we went down to the village to one of the pubs (not Murphy’s) and fell in conversation with two local lads. We had a really good night of putting the world to rights and all, coupled with a few jars of the 'old Liffy water'. You always know when the locals have accepted you as the language gets a bit fruity! They use what we would consider to be bad language all the time, but not in the same context so it's not offensive. Anyway, it transpires that Damien, one of the two, was the son of the local butcher and my sister wanted to take some the lovely local white puddings back with her to England. Thing was, it was Thursday and we weren't due to fly back until the following Tuesday. "No problem, missus, we've got one of those vacuum wrap machines, it'll keep them fresh for weeks"; said Damien.
The next morning, just before I set off walking, Alice met us at the bottom of the stairs and said there was a funny burning smell, and she at first thought something was on fire. When she had gone into the room where an elderly Dutch couple had spent the previous night, she realised it was coming from there. With a knowing smile I asked if I could have a sniff. As soon as I entered the room my suspicions were confirmed. The old guy had been smoking cannabis! I told Alice and her face drained. "Oh God, DRUGS!" she said. I calmed her and explained that in Holland they sometimes smoked it for pain relief from arthritis. Then she remembered that the man had said he suffered from it, and his wife had asked Alice if she minded if he smoked a couple of cigarettes. Alice had said she didn't mind at all. If only she'd known it was 'wacky baccy'!!
I said goodbye, and Maureen went into to the village to see Damien. She also wanted to take some of the soda bread home, and wondered if Damien could wrap that up too. "No problem missus, give it here". With that, Damien disappeared into the back of the shop with the bread and white puddings. After about ten minutes and some hefty cursing, he reappeared and said; "Jayzuz missus, I 'tink the machine's a bit too feckin’ strong for the bread". With that he produced what looked like a large Yorkshire pudding and when Maureen saw it she collapsed in apoplexy. Damien spluttered apologies and even offered to buy more bread, which Maureen refused as she knew that the loaf he had 'wrapped' would provide endless laughs back home. Even Alice wanted us to 'destroy the evidence' but we have it still as a family heirloom.
While all this was going on, I had begun the final leg of the Wicklow Way. Although there was a cool wind blowing, the morning sun was really beginning to make its presence felt. The sky was a powerful blue and the odd fluffy white cloud scudded lazily across it. I joined and followed the grassy and pleasant Muskeagh boreen and the views became more dramatic as I gained height. I looked back and was surprised to see that the highest mountain had acquired a sprinkling of snow overnight. As if the views weren't good enough already!!
I dropped down a minor road and made my way into Mullinacuff village. I called at the post office with the intention of purchasing and posting a few postcards but the plan was thwarted by the simple fact that here was a post office that didn't sell postcards? Ah well, I would just have to tell folk how lovely it all was.
Between here and Stranakelly crossroads the sun seemed to get quite a bit stronger. There was no traffic at all and I was left to enjoy the pastoral sights and sounds of the lush valley.
When I reached the crossroads I came upon a real postcard pub. Small and white with empty barrels outside, it looked very inviting but as it was only eleven o'clock, I gave it a miss.
I climbed the short hill and took a few photo's North and Northwest. I hadn't expected the views to be as good as they were today so I was pleasantly surprised.
Near Kilquiggan I approached the imposing St Finians church. I looked around but didn't see the rainbow! Something else I didn't see was the head and socket of an old Irish cross, reputed to be in the fields to the East of the church. I searched through the gorse, getting scratched legs in the process, and I even asked the guy mowing the grass in the churchyard, but he didn't know where it was either. It too went into the 'sights not seen' file along with St Colmcille's well.
Later on I at last left the Tarmac to join a forest trail. This time it was the turn of the mountains in the South and Southwest to figure largely in the views, and I took picture after picture, using all three of the cameras I had brought. It may sound a bit over the top, but I always carry a compact camera on my belt for those quick shots you may miss, and I like to carry a manual camera for such as waterfalls. The extra camera was a panoramic, which weighed next to nothing so it was no task to add it to my pack.
If the weather is clear, the path around Stookeen has arguably some of the best views on the walk. I was certainly being treated today and attempted to record of much of it as possible. I rounded a corner to be confronted with a forestry lorry completely blocking the path. He was loading up with freshly cut timber and the air was heavy with the pungent smell of the freshly cut wood. When they saw me, they stopped what they were doing and paused to wipe their brows and offer greetings. I got the usual "howaya" greeting and returned their salutation before pressing on to what the guide says is a muddy farmyard. I just couldn't believe how muddy and deep it was!!
I tried to wade forward, but feared it would go over the top of my boots. I did eventually manage to get by to the left, using stones and dry patches of mud, and continued along the farm road.
I again returned to tarmac and followed the quiet road around Moylisha hill. As I rounded a corner, I saw two sheep with their lambs standing in the road. As I approached them they moved forwards, keeping a respectable distance between themselves and me. This continued for about 2km and I was worried I was walking them away from where they should be but suddenly they turned into a gate that was open slightly to join the rest of the flock in the field. I closed the gate as I passed by.
It was all road walking from Urelands on and as I walked over the Wicklow bridge, I realised that the only things I could hear were my own footfalls and the bird song. I stopped to revel in the tranquillity and beauty of it all. I doffed my cap, metaphorically speaking, as I passed the road which leads to where Eastwest mapping 'live', as I had found their guide and map faultless and informative (even though I'm tempted to believe that the old Irish cross and St Colmcilles well were spurious admissions!).
The first clue that I was close to Clonegal was the sight of a church perched on a hill to my right. Shortly I saw the sign for the village and I had my photo' taken by an ever-friendly local, before walking into the local pub for a celebration pint of 'Liffy water' (what Guinness is colloquially called). It is true what they say about the Guinness in Ireland, it has no equal.
I rang Bridie Osbourne, my B&B hostess, and was promptly whisked to the small hamlet of Park Bridge where her farm, Park Lodge, is. I very strongly recommend Park Lodge. Proper Irish people, proper Irish welcome, proper nice place. Bridie immediately made me most welcome. She showed me to my room, and a huge affair it was, with great big beds with cast iron headboards and hand sewn quilts. It was also en-suite, and all this for just sixteen pounds a night! My sister was already here and her room was just as nice. We went downstairs and I was asked if I would like 'a little something to eat'. It was late notice but Bridie 'rustled up' soup (home made), a steak done in some sauce that had my taste buds squealing with delight, and a sorbet for afters. I was also offered some of her homemade pie, but even I couldn't eat another morsel.
I had originally intended to head down South for a day or two, but changed my plans as I didn't want to leave Park Lodge...EVER! Besides, there was a traditional music night planned at Egans bar, the local pub, for the following night, and I wanted to go. I'm glad I did, as Larry and his wife made it a really special night. Larry asked if I liked the traditional music, and when I said I did, I was invited into their kitchen, where another session, besides the one going on in the pub, was taking place. Well, we were there until the wee small hours and it was one of the best musical nights of my life, a really fitting end to a smashing holiday.
The next day, Bridie took my sister and I to Bunclody (the great Metropolis) where a rare sight could be observed...buses pulling in to town! We caught the bus that would take us North with Bridie waving us off.
Epilogue.
First the bad points. The Wicklow Way suffers terribly from what seems to be a favourite pastime - dumping! There are enough scrap cars to start a scrap yard, and every roadside ditch holds its share of plastic carrier bags and bin liners full of rubbish. It despoils the most beautiful places.
The fact that there are no public footpaths in Ireland, apart from the designated trails, inevitably means that a lot of time is spent walking on public roads or forest trails. Wicklow is described as a 'walkers paradise'. I would dispute this. It is probably nearer the mark to describe it as a cyclist’s paradise, as with so many quiet back roads it is ideally suited for bikes.
On the positive side, the Guinness really is the best! All the people are so very friendly, they even wave as they pass you in cars and have time to spend with you to help or just talk. The Groves, D'arcys and Osbornes of the world steal your heart with their warmth and their; "sure, no problem” attitude. The mountains and valleys are beautiful....exceptionally so, and I looked back on my holiday and sighed as I boarded the plane for home.
You will find everyone readily gives you "c'ead mile failte" - a thousand welcomes, and you will want to say to them, as I do to everyone who befriended me, looked after me, and made me feel so good;
go raibh mile maith agat
(Thank you very much)
© Les Singleton
May 1996
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