This 15-mile walk felt like 115 and not a meter less. Never before has a walk taken the mustard out of me so. Whew, but it was worth every aching joint and blister. Here's what happened:
Our normal morning routine calls for me to get up and get dressed/ready to walk and then start packing. At the very last moment, I wake Lauren and we go down to breakfast. When we get back to the room, she applies a few layers of burn meds, waits for them to dry and then dresses. Then she applies sunblock. By that time, I've fought with our bags and stumbled down the inevitable flight or ten of stairs, stacked them by the door and settled the bill.
"Who drank all these pints?" is a frequent question from me.
"Herself," is typically the answer. Odd.
No matter. Off we go on another day's adventure. The day to Cloghane meant climbing Mount Brandon. Mount as in "mountain". Meaning a monster-sized hill with an attitude. And this particular mountain is Irish. Lord love a duck, as my parents used to say. What the hell that means, I've no idea, but it seems to fit the situation.
After a two and half mile climb up and out of the town of Feonaugh, we found ourselves at the foot of Mount Brandon. Think about that for a moment....climbing two and half miles before even getting to the mountain. Lord Jesus.
The climb was very, very steep in many places. My billy goat (Lauren) came alive as she does at times like these and scrambled uphill like she was on one of Miami Airport's people movers. Out of respect for her Mum, she stopped every so often to let me catch up before she scampered off again, leaving me in her dust. My calf and Mount Brandon don't care for each other very much at all. Need I say more?
We started the day under a heat advisory, which meant we were the only people crazy enough to climb a mountain. Full sun, high temps and no shade to be found. Brilliant!
About five hours or so after leaving our B&B, we approached the summit, but in typical European style, Brandon was sporting a fake summit. If you've never climbed a mountain, you may not know what that means, but let me assure you it's nasty business. Here's the basic idea; you climb like a sun of bitch and when you are almost at the top, ready to drop dead from exhaustion, another summit appears! What you thought was the top was just a fake! The altitude prevents climbers from seeing the real and true summit.
Aside from the shenanigans of a false summit, the views were scandalous. Never before have I been given the gift of such beauty. The agony of the climb was worth it for just two minutes at the top. Wow!
Lauren and I baptized the summit. Sorry, but we had to. We drank over a gallon on the way up. After answering the call of nature, we stopped to scarf down a quick sandwich. All too soon, it was time to begin the long trip down the backside of Brandon. Unlike the front side, his back was nearly straight down in spots and muddy. Aw feck and shit, too. There were many times on the way down that I held my breath while watching Lauren jump a section of ground, hoping she landed right. That's a mother's curse, though, isn't it? Matters not how old they get, I suppose.
About two hours later, we were back on the flat with an ugly, hard stone road to follow. At the risk of sounding like a complainer, the damn road just refused to end! On and on it went, under a relentless sun without so much as a twig of a tree to hid under. Water was running low, along with our energy. There was nowhere to find shade and our feet were on fire. We followed a stony switchback path that eventually turned into a sheep's trail and the going slowed as we fought our way through prickly wisps of this and that.
The appearance of speed limit signs is always a good thing; it means you're approaching a village. I nearly kissed the first one we saw. A mile or more down the road we found ourselves in town. Owen parted our company at the hostel while Lauren and I continued on.
Our B&B was of our favorite flavor; it was a pub. O'Connor's doesn't disappoint. Immediately inside, we found the Brits we've been walking and bunking with since Dunquin. I call them Flopsey and Mopsey, don't ask why because I can't tell you. Their real names are Derek and whatever the Welsh name is for William. They are funny, silly boys in their late fifties/early sixties and we had a lot of fun with them. Those two clowns took a taxi from Feonaugh, unwilling to have their assess handed to them by the mountain. We walked in stinking like the business end of a sheep, disheveled, limping and hungry. They were fresh as spring daisies, enjoying a pint and the company of a couple from Northern Ireland. We exchanged insults, the last of which involved me telling them that "we men" climbed the mountain while the girls were pampered all day in a taxi. It made for an interesting night.
Lauren and I grabbed hot showers and headed back downstairs where we shared a few pints with Flopsey and Mopsey. Only a few moments after mentioning a craving for pasta, the proprietor stopped by to let us know about the evening special; penne alfredo with mushrooms! Talk about luck. I then said I was craving a billion dollars, but nothing happened. I suppose I was being greedy. It was the first pasta we'd had in about nine days, and I expected my girl to lick the bowl clean. Instead, she ate a bowl of soup and gave more of her pasta to her dwarf, who ate all of his pasta and most of hers. I guess she was too tired to be hungry.
After the Brits and Owen called it a night, Lauren and I hung in the lounge where she made use of their wifi - I was unable to connect. Around 11:30pm or so, we headed off to bed. Mount Brandon kicked my ass. I had blisters, achy hips, my shins burned and my calves were on fire. The back of my legs were sun burned and I had several horse fly bites. Lauren's burn wasn't happy, her hips were screaming and her feet hurt. Whenever one of us had to move, there was grunting and moaning, much like you'd expect from a nursing home pair.
I am happy for my aches and pains. I climbed a mountain and won!! We did it! We climbed Mount Brandon and kept going. We were so high at the summit, we could see the curvature of the Earth! That's something everyone should experience at least once.
I am dead on my feet. I never want to move again. Tomorrow is another 17 mile day, most of along the beach. In the words of Scarlett O'Hara, I'll think about that tomorrow.
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