With
Glenveagh two weeks ago (unpublished yet), the
Poisoned Glen last week, and now
Slieve League, it certainly looks like we've decided to hit all the major Donegal landmarks of late...
Well, I suppose we're kind of expected to go through some of them, to fulfill the purpose of this blog... So, we might as well do away with this oh-so-unbearable chore. ;) Plus, there is a good reason we are going way south today: The unabridged string of sunny weather we've been having over the past two weeks is starting to show some cracks and there is some not-so-fierce-yet-annoying-enough light drizzle at home. Therefore, with the days being long, we'll take a chance and head down south, to see whether the weather treats us any fairer hereafter.
As it turns out, the cloud cover that had us worried during the long drive (our fear being that the high ground at our destination would be engulfed under a thick layer) happened to be a non-issue. Thus, we breathe a definite sigh of relief on arrival as we find out that not only the coast, but also its higher points, are as clear as can be hoped on a day like today.
Now, that is not to say that
Slieve League cannot be experienced in bad weather: We definitively have done so on occasion. But it certainly makes the whole experience a lot more enjoyable when your gaze is able to encompass an uninterrupted view of the cliffs from the top down. Once you have climbed them for a while, the 'lost in the fog' dimension does tend to lose some of its appeal...
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| The sight of the cliffs as we arrived |
As you can see from the above, good fortune was definitely ours today: Not only is the cloud ceiling past the highest summit, but there also happens to be some decisive sunny spells making headway from the west and turning the Atlantic, at times, into a sight typical of the west coast of Ireland. When the ocean sets its mind on being a playful partner to the clouds and the wind, odds are that you end up with a most rewarding bet indeed!
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| Our view towards the Atlantic as we set off |
Also, even though the cliffs sit at the opposite end of the county (I said "county" not "country"), therefore requiring a slightly longer drive than we are accustomed to, we should also probably mention that even this drive was a blast. I mean, find me a person who doesn't feel elated going through
Ardara, then up
Glengesh Pass, and further venturing further through the desolate but stunning countryside that extends south, up to the southern
Donegal coast, and I'll show you a poor soul who has lost their sense of wonder...
But of course our late departure, combined with the somewhat extended drive, means that we arrive at our destination quite late in the afternoon... which suits us. This is a "touristy" destination after all and, if you haven't figured that out by now, we abhor crowds.
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| The end of the cliff, graced by the tiniest hint of sunshine |
But before we venture into the gist of our hike, let me also give you a pro-tip here, the very same I got from a benevolent fellow the first time I came here: As you arrive, presumably by car, you will encounter a rather new and welcoming car park that appears to mark the end of the public access road. That is to say; you may think that any progress past this parking is closed to motorized vehicles on account of the large cattle gate standing there. Therefore, you may be tempted to abandon your car here, and continue onfoot.
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| The only kind of individuals the gate is meant to prevent access to |
You fool! Don't let a mere cattle gate trick you!
By all means, that fence is not meant to forbid car access. Instead, as its designation indicates, it is only there to prevent the cattle grazing beyond from escaping their precipitous pastures. You are therefore entitled to open it as you please and continue to
drive onto the road beyond in order to reach the second, more convenient & spectacular car park, i.e. the one that sits on the edge of the cliff.
Then again, you may also
choose to park further down, if you want the experience of walking on the road that leads to the cliff, as, notwithstanding the cars and bikes that may pass you by, it is still a captivating way to approach the site, with imposing views to be had of the sea and the lesser vertiginous slopes along the way.
I should also probably mention that the second car park is not especially large, so, if you do arrive during the peak hours of peak season, it may be wiser to leave your vehicle at the first car park, as spaces further up may be sparse...
But in our case, considering the hour at which we present ourselves at the (cattle) gate, as well as our plan to walk up the cliff path for some time, we do of course laugh at the face of the cattle grid, which we promptly get open, and drive off to the much more breathtaking location, where, despite its smaller size, we have little trouble finding a good spot to abandon our vehicle since most of the visitors we encounter are already in the process of leaving...
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| Looking down from our parking spot |
Temperature-wise, the weather couldn't be better. In other words, it has ceased to be a bit too hot to enjoy a brisk walk, and long gone are the days of sorely missing having a jacket with large pockets, where we can stow our camera, without also dying from heat exhaustion. In fact, as we are coming back from the highest point of our climb, we'll almost miss not having brought a pair of gloves, as a sudden definite chill seemed to breathe upon us...
Therefore, even if the cloud cover is a bit heavier than we'd like, this is still perfect hiking weather and it is with a light foot that we set off onto the path, and onto a new adventure!
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| Livin' on the edge |
Now, I must admit that
Fáilte Ireland (the Irish tourism board), or whoever does takes care of this location, is doing a pretty fine job of ensuring that the path is welcoming to visitors, be it with adding stone steps here, gullies for drawing out excess water there (which, thankfully, aren't of any use at all today), as well as other enhancements. It's not that often that we experience such a well maintained track, so good job lads!
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| Even the sheep seem appreciative of the track... that prevents tourists from trampling their food source |
Still, even with that much of an inviting path, and as we begin our climb, we don't seem to encounter that many people on our route... which of course we are perfectly thrilled with! I guess the late hour, coupled with the fact that most people come here simply for the view of the cliffs near the second car park mean that, even if
Slieve League is the most visited
free attraction in Co. Donegal and even as we are at the start of peak season, we somehow managed to have the whole hiking route pretty much to ourselves.
Now, speaking of cliffs, whereupon we were
perusing the ones at Horn Head, I already explained my views about what I qualify as a "true" cliff, and how, even as these are advertised as the tallest sea cliffs in Europe, I can't actually bring myself to call
Slieve League a proper cliff.
Sure, it is high alright. Quite high even. But it does lack the sheer precipitous verticality that one associates with the word "cliff". As I have said before; if it leaves you with the impression that, should you ever walk over the edge, you do have a minuscule chance to brake your fall and get out of it alive, then what you have under your feet isn't a cliff. End of story.
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| I mean, if vegetation can take a hold... |
Yet, as the pictures clearly show, but of course not as good as being there in person, that doesn't mean the place isn't impressive in its own standing, or should be apprehended without caution. But we'll talk more about caution and warning below...
We do enjoy walking here though. The ascent to the ridge, with
unadulterated views of the sheer coastal face, is a brilliant ride. And then, as we are walking the track that skirts the edge, the idea of the vertiginous drop just a few metres to the left, provides plenty to keep our spirit on its toes.
Our plan for today is simple: Go as high as we can, while keeping as close to the edge as we deem safe, which pretty much means following the path all the way north, until we reach the actual
Leabh summit, and its 601m.
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| A couple of crows, not paying much heed to the lone wanderer approaching |
As we are walking the long way towards our final destination, we pass near an intermediate summit's stone marker, adorned with fairly passive crows (ironically called
"The Eagles Nest" on our map). I guess that, just like the sheep we met earlier, which seemed unnaturally unfazed by our presence, these guys must be used to meeting human bipeds too, and not eager to let these frequent encounters get into the way of their foraging for some food. I therefore manage to snap a good picture or two of some of these black chaps, until our small murder of crows decide that they've had enough of my shenanigans, and fly away from their promontory.
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| Considering how the song goes (suggested below), I'm not sure I wanna ask of my future from that raven... |
From the place they have just flown, we too get to discover some more of the landscape we are in, and especially the other means of accessing the top of
Leabh, also known as
The Pilgrim's Path, that rises from the valley on the other side.
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| The Pilgrim's Path |
If we weren't so late in the day, we might even use that path to create a nice looped walk. However, considering the long drive back, we're going to have to leave that variation for yet another day. Besides, with the path being in a valley, we'd miss the views we get from skirting the precipitous ridge, and there also does appear to be a handful
of walkers on that path, whereas our cliff one is about as deserted as can get, if you
don't account for the crows and the usual random sheep here and there. Besides, since we're standing so close to the edge, we'll take another opportunity to snap another prime example of the game that is afoot between the sun and the sea, along this most contrasting of cliff side:
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| The typical late afternoon light, reflected off the Irish coastal waters |
Boy, do we ever like precipitous paths! Maybe too much for our own good, so that it may end up being our literal downfall, one day...
But this one is well marked and for the most part uneventful. That is, until Mrs. Nature decides to take matters back into her own hands, and throws an obstacle only she has the secret of, in order to confound the casual hillwalker.
Now, I had been leisurely looking at the map before driving here, and recalled that, if you followed this here track we're on, you would eventually reach a ridge called
"One Man's Pass", the name of which had definitely stricken us. But then again, not having paid much heed to the actual location of that spot, our imagination ran with that information and started scrutinizing our surroundings, looking for an actual super-narrow pass where two persons would not be able to cross one another, with the goal of being able to document this picturesque aspect of the walk for this blog.
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| A lamb blindly following its mother on a path that could qualify as anything but safe |
Presently then, as we are still following the edge of the cliff and passing an adventurous mother sheep with her young lamb, grazing a bit too close to the abyss for comfort, we are finding ourselves right in front of a sharp rocky crest, almost needle like, of perhaps 30 or 40m in height, and probably no more than 60 cm at its widest.
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| Fake "One Man's Pass", a.k.a. "Real Man's Pass", a.k.a "Crazy Man's Pass" |
"Surely, we say to ourselves,
this has to be 'One Man's Pass'!". What with the remnant of the path leading us straight to here, and this somewhat flat inclined stony ridge, that clearly precludes two people engaged on it from passing one another safely. Plus, now that we are standing at its foot, and can appreciate the obvious precariousness of its configuration, we do feel like the name could have been amped further up, into something like
"Real Man's Pass", since we can't escape a definitive vibe that, should any man trip here, it may very well mean certain death!
As a matter of fact, had the weather been anything but dry, I don't think I would have ventured to walk on these rocks, because this certainly doesn't feel like the safest of paths. And also, please understand that, in wanting to call it
"Real Man's Pass", I'm not trying to take anything away from women (especially as I am acquainted with some women who, in my opinion, do seem a bit too eager to take as many crazy risks as men, if not more, as will be recounted below), even more so as my qualifier is intended to be entirely derogatory since, from my experience, it is
mostly men that are deranged enough to point of noticing a super precarious rock face or some other rickety construction, and
immediately utter;
"Hey, I wanna be up there!"...
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| "Real Man's Pass", post climb |
Besides, since I deliberately chose to avoid coming back through this narrow rocky path on the way back, I guess I can only qualify to being half a real man... which doesn't come as that much of a surprise anyway, considering that the other half of me is mostly busying itself with trying to uphold a presence in the virtual worlds...
Now, even if there's a path leading here, and I have no doubts that loads of people have been using this rocky crest to progress forward without making that much of a fuss about it, as you should have surmised by now, this stony ridge is
not the real
"One Man's Pass" at all. In fact, the genuine article is much further up the road and doesn't present even the slightest hint of danger or challenge, as you can see from a picture I provide further down.
Still, if you are stupid enough to read my description of
"Real Man's Pass" as an invitation to try a potentially dangerous challenge, and especially if the underfoot is not as dry as it is today, then I guess it is time to give you the rather long and cautionary tale of the most precarious situation I ever found myself in while hiking, which doubles as a warning of why you should never blindly follow in somebody else's footsteps, no matter how much you feel you have something to "prove" in replicating their track.
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| This is especially true as great views like this one can be had, without having to put your life even remotely in danger |
Thusly, here is a tale, that takes us to the
Pyrénées in the south west of France, something like 10 years ago. Having been invited there by one of my good friends and his newlywed wife, they asked me if I was interested in hiking to one of the many high lakes they have around the superb mountain range that constitutes the
Pyrénées, which of course I eagerly accepted. In this instance the lake we all went hiking to was the
Lac de Gaube.
Now, as the ever-arduous hillwalker you've come to know, and since I was leading the party once we got there, I decided it would be a great idea if we tried to loop around the lake, starting from the eastern shore, even more so as there seemed to be an inviting path here (seriously; what's with me and always wanting to walk around lakes?).
Off we went then on our merry way along the eastern track, with things looking peachy and spirits high, even as we had already climbed a bit to actually get to the lake. Soon enough however, we found that the once inviting path stopped abruptly, giving way to a boulder field crossed by a stream, with any progress beyond the torrent further closed off by a rather imposing rock formation (as seen by
this 360° view from the other shore). Add to that that the weather hasn't exactly been dry (low clouds I believe), making the overall stone faces pretty slippery and, even if the walk we set to wasn't supposed to be of the challenging kind, you have the beginning of a recipe for disaster...
Now,
stupidly (had I
encountered a fox that day, maybe I would have paid heed to signs pointing to the obvious mistake I was in the process of making) and not wanting to admit defeat, I decided that I would still try to press on forward to see if there was a some kind of path we could use across the rock face... but without any clear idea as to whether such an endeavour was manageable, and even less as to what perfidious traps might lay in wait, ahead or below.
It wasn't long before I found a somewhat round rock face, perhaps 7 to 10 metres in radius, that looked a bit like a huge kneecap and that, to a non-expert eye, seemed to suit itself to being skirted, as long as one could remain close to the top of the "knee".
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Add a huge vertical pillar on top, remove all protruding grips and switch the limestone for wet and smooth granite,
then set the incline somewhat steeper, and you may get an idea of the kind of rock formation I was trying to skirt... |
After venturing there a bit however, it soon became obvious that this steep granite surface was way more slippery than anticipated. Not totally treacherously so (in other words, not like algae covered rocks you can find by the seaside), but enough to make you start to
really wonder if those hiking shoes you are wearing are going to cut it, and continue to provide enough grip all the way through... Yet, since I didn't want to go back and admit defeat, I decided to press on further.
Now, anything that relies a bit too much on parameters that are outside your control when hiking, and especially "luck", is bad news. This is even truer when trying to skirt a wet rock face. As such, spending long minutes on a route where you are left to wonder which of your soles' adherence or the slippery surface is going to have the upper hand, doesn't exactly make for a pleasant hiking experience...
It was therefore with a definite sigh of relief that I eventually found myself on the other side of this all too slippery "kneecap", uttering a well deserved couple of "
never again"'s that were aimed more at my own stubbornness and stupidity, from not having properly assessed the danger beforehand, than a wish not to ever walk around these parts again (which I'd still do in a heartbeat!).
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| It's a long way down is what I'm saying... |
Yet, this is not the end of our cautionary tale. Had that been just it, I don't think I would even be mentioning this experience here. I mean, obviously, I do feel some relief that our tale didn't end up with this idiot taking a vertical plunge into a field of boulders and whatnot, some 10 or 30 metres straight down. But then again, had that been the outcome, I believe I could make my peace knowing that the only person involved in paying the ultimate price for my own stupidity was me and me alone. Heck, there are much dire ways to go than depart from this world during a hike through a stunning landscape.
Still, as I pointed out, this is far from the end of this tale... Shortly after I had managed to negotiate that treacherous rock formation, probably more through pure dumb luck than anything else, I heard my friend's wife, still on the other side, who, having witnessed my going across the rock face, expressed the intent of doing the exact same thing!
Well, there's no nice way to put this, so I'm just going to ask it straight:
"Am I speaking a different language here? I mean, what the heck is wrong with the ever growing list of people who completely disregard cautionary insights I provide them, about obvious problems that I am all too aware, usually from having threaded there, and instead decide that, whatever I am telling them, must surely be in jest?"
Even as I have warned people very explicitly, on occasion, about impending disaster, I really can't remember a single time where said people decided to alter their course as a result, or even actively paid heed to my advice... which I can't help but find quite disheartening. And then, after they ignored my advice, things unfolded exactly as I warned they would...
Hate to sound like a Cassandra here, but is there something in the manner I express myself that somehow makes folks think that, in the exceedingly rare instances I do utter solemn words of caution, I am not to be taken seriously? Because, from what I recall, there really was no equivocal, or alternate meaning, when I advised this young woman that what she was about to do was a
"super bad idea" and that
"seriously, you want to find another path higher up, coz this one is way too slippery".
To this day, I still don't know how on earth I failed to make it abundantly clear that trying to skirt this rock face, as I had stupidly done, was downright suicidal, and that, was she to proceed on the same path, the risk of a fall was way too high.
Yet, to my utmost horror, my friend's wife decided to ignore all the warning and caution I was spouting, and engaged in the same route I had taken.
And now we are in serious trouble here...
It's one thing to jeopardize your own life by doing something stupid.
It's another to jeopardize somebody else's.
Of course, I insisted that she immediately turns back, but she wouldn't listen. And soon enough, exactly as I anticipated, she got in trouble, as she began to feel that the rock was way too slippery for comfort, with either choice (going back or progressing forward) being equally uneasy.
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| This picture of a cliff edge to remind you that, if you see some idiot climbing there, you probably shouldn't follow... |
So here we are, with me, mostly angry, first at the fact that I had made a stupid move, and second, that people wouldn't listen to me telling them that following the path I had taken was a bad idea. Then my friend's wife, stuck half way on a steep slippery rock, with what I knew to be a precipitous drop underneath, probably starting to wonder how long she'll manage to keep her grip in that position. And finally, after a couple minutes, her husband, climbing down to where I was standing, as he at least managed to understand that trying to skirt the wet rock was a very bad idea indeed and had gone further up, as I suggested, to find a safer route. Of course, now that he is becoming aware of the seriousness of the situation, that husband is also starting to freak out, on account that it is pretty clear that his wife is in genuine danger here...
Not knowing what to do, he is presently asking me to go way back onto the steep slippery face, to try to help her...
However, the fact is that, since I have just been there and know that there is no griping position that can effectively support a human being, I also know that going back that far won't do any good. If I do get there and offer a helping hand, then, should our companion slip, the end result will be two dead people at the bottom of that rock face, instead of just one. Thus, even if it may sound cold hearted, or even cowardly, I have to apply cold logic and decline going because it will just place more people into a precarious situation than offer any real possibility of rescue. There just is no positive outcome I can see to anyone trying to go back to the slippery place where that woman is standing: Having been actively looking for them earlier, I know there simply aren't any hand- or foot-holds, to properly support a single individual back there, let alone two...
Yet, it is clear that we have to do something! So I go back a little, on that damned wet kneecap that I vowed never to set foot on again, up to the very last position that offers the possibility of a hand grip which, I hope, might support the weight of 2 people should it be required. It is still quite a long way off from where the wife stands, but now that we are somewhat closer, my friend and I can get into the process of trying to reassure our companion, as she still very much fears that she is going to slip, and eventually encourage her to calmly progress forward to where I am standing, which hopefully isn't too far away.
Thankfully, as she eventually starts to move across the "kneecap", we don't have to find whether that grip I had found (which was still a bit too slippery for comfort) can really support the weight of two people without footholds and, through slow yet measured progress, my friend's wife eventually manages to make her way up to the position I am, and then back to safety.
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| Here's a picture of the actual "One Man's Pass", to celebrate an adventure that didn't end in disaster |
All this to say, if you're going to try to follow on somebody else's track, you may want to consider that: a) that person may be an idiot, or someone with little regard to their own life, or both and b) that this seemingly cool-looking passage may actually be a lot more dangerous than it looks and that there's not even an imaginary pressure forcing you to "prove yourself", ever.
Thus, to come back to the passage that is of interest to us today, and in retrospect, I'm just going to state that my choice of continuing over that precarious ridge was probably not the wisest decision (since it was mostly due to misreading a map) and therefore, I would advise you not to try to follow it, especially if your doing so may put
other people at risk if they feel inclined to emulate you. Especially, if it's even remotely damp, which it almost always is here, I would urge you not attempt this path.
That's not to say that I regret having gone through with it. After all, I was alone (there wasn't even a single remote onlooker or group of onlookers, whom I could have inadvertently "inspired" to follow in my tracks), taking a calculated risk and, were I to have misstepped and fallen through my death, I don't expect many people to be mourning over me, really. But if you do come here as a group and think this needle-like ridge is a great invitation for a dare, then I have nothing but scorn for you (as well as for myself, from somehow having given you the idea that you should follow in my footsteps, which is the precise opposite of what I'm trying to convey here)!
But enough of this, let's come back to the rest of our uneventful hike.
From
"Crazy Man's Pass" and then through the actual
"One Man's Pass" (which couldn't be more undeserving of its name), we soon arrive at a plateau with more breathtaking views of
Slieve League now firmly behind us.
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| Looks like his majesty the sun is set on making a grand entrance today |
On said plateau, some people have laid out a little bit of rock art. There is also a big warning sign that says something about being extra careful, if choosing to proceed further, and not trying to walk too close to the cliffs. I'm going to assert that this is destined for people coming up the
Pilgrim's Path and deciding to walk back south towards the cliffs (therefore towards
"Real Man's Pass") rather than people walking north, as I haven't really seen much that required out-of-the-ordinary caution from moving further up, whereas I have to wholeheartedly agree with the sign if proceeding south. Also, just to bring the point home, I'm also going to mention that,
usually, a warning sign gets erected after one or many fatal accident have happened... Just sayin'.
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| Rock art |
Now, what else is there to recount? Somehow I get the feeling that I have talked long enough, so maybe I should let the pictures speak for themselves. Especially the contrast of the sun and the clouds over
Rathlin Island, (well,
Rathlin O'Birne Island if you want its middle name too, as this is a different
Rathlin Island from the one you find across the
Giant's Causeway) is not something I'd want to spoil with words:
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Rathlin Island in the setting sun
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If you are interested in legend, St Patrick's coppersmith is said to have lived as a hermit on that island for many years, and there are still remains of a monastic site there.
Oh, and to keep up with our dark theme (and sadly, this is not a legend), you may want to know that there appears to have been a few relatively recent shipwrecks, around the island, where the whole crew perished. So while it may look deceptively beautiful in these pictures, be warned that waters surrounding the island can also be especially treacherous.
Now, in direct alignment with the island is where you'll find the very picturesque
Malin Beg cove and strand (too far right to be visible in the picture below), which you should definitely visit if you have a chance, as well as the very prominent signal tower:
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| Malin Beg signal tower |
The views we get in the almost infinite setting sun (being so far north and so close to the solstice, we still have hours and hours of light ahead of us) are so breathtaking that we can't help spending a few moments, past the actual
Leabh summit, to take in the awesomeness of what is display in front of your eyes. It may be a long, at times precarious walk to get there, but it's hard not to feel like it is all worth it, once you get to marvel at the sheer beauty and remoteness of this place.
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| Yup, it was definitely worth coming here even as the weather was uncertain |
Still, we're a long way from the parking, so much so that we need to zoom in to see it in the camera. And we do remember that there is that relatively long drive back...
Therefore, as much as we are tempted to walk further away it is probably time to turn around and head back, even more so as there appears to be a certain chill coming around. Come on summer! July is not even barely there, for crying out loud, and you're making me wish I had brought some gloves?
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| That parking sure looks small from up here... |
Now, regarding the drive back, I will mention that we passed through
Killybegs.
I don't know why (or, more accurately, perhaps I know
all too well why), but I certainly do enjoy going through
Killybegs, especially around dinner time when everybody seems indoor and the lone traveller that I am can let their imagination run wild at the sight of the many large fishing boats that hang around the quays...
I mean, who wouldn't want to loiter around these ships and fish for a chance to offer an extra set of hands to a willing crew, on the mere promise of leaving the land, as well as everything behind, for the prospect of heading out to sea. Trust me, for the person who is writing these lines, this actually is a very tempting proposal...
So, if you no longer see new entries from me on this blog, for weeks or month on end, you probably should consider that, maybe, this is just what I have done...
But even as we are incredibly enticed to ditch everything and sail for foreign lands, as we have done before, we do remember, just in time, that there is still that barely touched apricot tart waiting for us at home...
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| Exhibit B: The only reason we're not on a fishing boat in the middle of the North Atlantic right now... |
I guess today is yet another day where we'll refrain from setting sail. Barely...
Suggested Sound Track
Going back to
House Carpenter's Daughter, which we used a few weeks ago, but which, given all of the above, we'll be damned if we don't use again. Especially, on account of the raven we met and other stuff we discussed, the following track seems quite applicable even if we don't recall ever using Michael as a name for any of the many alter-egos we have...
Additional Pictures
