Tralee to Camp

After a very comfortable slumber, complete with colorful dreams of singing Irishmen, I woke before 7am. I peeked over at Lauren, not surprised to find she was still in the grips of a deep slumber, burrowed beneath her down quilt.  The windows were open, letting in the chilly morning air.  It brought with it the sounds of morning traffic and sidewalk conversations.  I closed my eyes and tried to slip back to sleep, but was too excited about our adventure.

Before going to bed the previous nights, we'd made arrangements with the inn keepers to take breakfast at 8:30.  I had a lot of time to kill.  After a hot shower, I tip-toed around the room reorganizing our gear and packing away regular clothes to be transported along with our laptops to the next night's accommodations.  I began waking Lauren around 7:45 and finally dragged her down to the dining room at 8:20.

We met Kerry's lovely wife, Mary.  Talkative and friendly, she made us feel very welcome.  In the wrong B&B, you can feel uncomfortable sitting at a dining room table, clinking the owner's silver and drinking from their tea cups while they cook for your in their kitchen.  Not so with Mary.  She's no Margaret Brunskill, (Remember her from our Coast to Coast Walk?  She and her husband, Les, are the proprietors of the Brooke House in Shap and no one can match her legendary hospitality.) but she tried and we appreciated her efforts.

We dilly-dallied over our respective plates - Lauren had scrambled eggs, broiled tomatoes, toast, and tea.  I had toast, tomatoes, bacon, and coffee.  If you followed our last travel blog, you might remember that I became seriously addicted to bacon buddies.

What:? you say.  Get a crayon and write this down; you will thank me later.  Generously slather toast with butter - do not let me catch you using spray butter or margarine.  Go big or get the Hell out of the Motherland.  Top the buttered toast with bacon.  Make into a sandwich and devour.  Wipe your face with back of hand and make another.  Can you manage it from there?

After breakfast, we strapped on our gaitors, pulled on our boots, settled our tab, and headed out to the town grocery to stock up on provisions for our 11 mile walk.  Less than two blocks from the B&B, we spotted Owen, Lauren's dwarf, walking on the other side of the street.  There was much grinning and waving of arms.  He looked like he was in a game of Frogger as he tried to cross the main road.

After a short reunion, we set off in the direction of Camp.  We didn't do very well.  I blame the dwarf.  He's walked this damn trail before, so I didn't feel the need to consult the map or the check for signage.  I was too busy oohing and ahhing over the views.  Suffice to say, we were lost in short order.

There's one thing you should know about dwarfs.  They don't like to admit to being lost.

"They've changed the route!!!  They do that every so often to preserve the heather," he said.

Lauren and I exchanged a knowing look and pulled out our map.  Yep, we were lost.

Not a great start to be sure.  After wandering down the wrong lane for a mile or so, we hit a dead-end, turned around and headed back.  As we stood on the side of the main road, consulting the maps again, the Dingle Way Gods sent an angel our way.

A small car approached from another lane and I waved.  The driver stopped and after hearing we were lost, insisted on delivering us to the trial head himself.  We crammed ourselves into his clown car and listened to him talk about walking.  I didn't hear much of it, my left ear is still completely blocked and it hurts like the dickens.  Its hard to concentrate on much, but his voice was lovely.

Our wonderful friend saved us at least an hour and a half of back-tracking and we couldn't thank him enough.  He insisted it was nothing and was gone again as quickly as he appeared.  I hope someone does something kind for him today - in fact, I told him so before he drove away.  He just smiled and patted my hand that was resting on his door frame before tearing off at lightening speed around tight corners.

Snatched from the lost and put back into the found, we started off again.  The trail was sooooo reminiscent of England's C2C.  The trail was littered with big rocks, boggy patches and small streams.  Although the view was stunning, we were forced to look at the ground to keep our footing.  After a couple of hours, we stopped to rest on a rock, nibble a baguette and drink water.  During a brief consultation with the map, we patted ourselves on the back because we'd already covered almost half the day's distance.

The joke was on us.  An hour or so later, the dwarf's demeanor turned ugly when he realized we were no where near where he'd judged us to be.  (This is one reason I don't look at the map very often.  I follow the trail and occasionally look for markers, but I don't obsess about it.  This may be another reason why we are often lost.  That's only a guess.  However, the point of the walk is to enjoy the journey.  Lauren's dwarf wasn't enjoying the journey because he was too busy being frustrated about how much further we had to walk.)  He decided we had three or four more hours of walking.

Talk about a buzz kill.  Lauren and I shrugged and kept walking.  And walking.  And walking.  What other choice was there?

Our progress was very slow as the terrain became more difficult to navigate.  I lost my balance once, fell a short distance into a mucky mess.  Lauren slipped on the downside of a ladder (these allow humans to cross fences while keeping livestock inside) and fell down four rungs to the bottom.  Neither of us were really hurt. Lauren's dwarf is so low to the ground that he doesn't fall, and even if he did, he wouldn't admit it.

I noticed Lauren's lilly-white skin was turning a brilliant shade of pink, but it was too late to do much about it. Owen gave her his sunblock, but the damage had been done.  Who would have predicted a FL Keys girl would come to Ireland and get sun burned?  The wind was blowing pretty regularly too, so we're all a little wind burned, but my girl got the worst of it.

We crossed seven or eight gurgling streams that were picture-perfect.  You'll have to trust me because I didn't get any pictures.  The uphill climbing takes its toll.  There's just no way to train for this kind of terrain in Islamorada and it'll take a few days for our legs to adjust to the strain.  By the time we finally arrived in Camp (12 miles or so and six hours later), we had spaghetti legs and and sore feet.  To the left was a steep, uphill drive to our B&B.  To the right was a down hill entry to a pub.  I'm confident you know which one we chose.

A couple of pints of Smithwick's, a pitcher of water, and some good food revived me.  I was ready to walk again.  Lauren's mood went the way of her dwarf because her skin continued to turn a deeper red and she was in pain.  It was time to go.  The pub owner graciously offered to drive Owen to his B&B, which was another kilometer or two uphill.  I hope it improved his mood.  We agreed to meet him at the church at the other end of town at 10am tomorrow.

When we made it up our B&B's steep drive, we were greeted by John Doyle, owner of the lovely Camp Junction House.  We left our boots outside (he promised to bring them in if it rains tonight) and he showed us to a comfortable room.  A quick rummage through my first aid supplies was disappointing.  I had nothing to treat Lauren's burn and she was in a bad way.  I padded in my stinky socks down the hall until I heard voices. Mr. John Doyle was chatting with other guests in the lounge.  I inquired about a Chemist (that's local speak for Drug Store) only to learn that the nearest one was back in Tralee and already closed.  He indicated that the town store was also closed.

I guess my poker face needs work because he quickly asked what was wrong.  Within minutes, we had "after sun" in our hands.  Apparently, John called his sister and she brought him what she had in her medicine chest at home.  How kind!  Lauren headed for a cool shower and I set off outside to pull on my boots and head down to the pub to buy a few bottles of water with which to rehydrate her.  The owner has eagle eyes. He came outside and asked where I was going.  Upon hearing my response, he insisted on driving me into town.  He wouldn't take no for an option, so I hopped into his car.

His eyebrows went sky high.  "There's no way under God's Heaven you're driving this car!"

Opps, I'd gotten in on the wrong side.  It's hard to change a 46-year-old habit.  I slid over to the passenger seat and buckled up.  We flew at high speed up a steep hill and around hairpin curves.  If I hadn't been dehydrated, I'd have pissed my pants.  We screeched into the parking lot of a gas station where I bought 5 litres of water and a fresh bottle of "after sun".  (Call me a dumb ass because I didn't buy any sunblock for the rest of the walk.  Argh!)

I tried to thank John, but he wouldn't let me get a word out.

"Hush.  Hush, now.  That's enough of that.  You need a shower.  You stink."

That was fair.  I did stink, but getting something to soothe Lauren's painful burn and parched mouth had been my biggest priorities.  That was approximately three hours ago.  She has slathered layer after layer of meds to her arms, chest, neck and face.  She is RED, but I'm hydrating her and babying her the best I can with a non-working ear and sun burn of my own.

Tomorrow will be here soon enough and I can only hope my girl is in better spirits and a lot less pain.  I can ignore my ear, the cold sores and my burned skin, but I can't ignore a hurting, unhappy Lauren.

We were given many gifts today by some very generous people.  I don't want to be greedy, but I'm hoping the Dingle Way Gods shield the powerful Irish sun tomorrow with thick, UV-blocking clouds and that Lauren wakes up pain free and happy.

Until then, it's a few Advil, more cold sore meds and lights out.  Sweet dreams.  I know mine will be.