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| Click on this image for our track in Google Maps |
Sooooo, this is my second entry only, in something like a month. The reason behind this is actually pretty simple: Starting in late July, I have been hosting a linear progression of family & friends, that started with 1 person in late July, 3 persons in early August and, right until last week, 5 persons. Now, while I am currently getting a little respite, I'll be back it again next week with 7 people expected to arrive at my place. That's a perfect arithmetic progression if I ever saw one. How I'll manage to find a bed for this whole menagerie, we'll see...
And that, my friends, is the real danger of living in Ireland, especially when you are located in a remote yet attractive location: Even if you don't know that many people, these people will find a way to come visit you! Not that I really mind anyway. After all, I am the one who's been inviting folks at every opportunity I got, and, even if this late summer is quite charged, I am indeed thrilled to show these newcomers some of the inspiring places I know of...
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| Aghla More, veiled like a newly wed bride with the tiniest hint of a cloud |
What this also means however is that, since none of these people share my interest for medium or long hikes (or rather, because they tend to pop up encumbered with kids, which makes planning for such hikes a bit more arduous), I haven't been able to satisfy my thirst for a decent walk in quite a while. If we're going to quench it, then, better do it fast, before the next wave of visitors crashes onto our shores...
Well, Aghla More is one of these hikes. Therefore, to Aghla More we go!
Besides, since I've done Aghla Beg (from the east) and Mackoght (from the west), I might as well bring you to the the third of the siblings (and of course, to complete the picture, we'll use a southern route this time).
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| The forlorn greys of Mackoght, with its western neighbour (Errigal) firmly in the clouds |
Ideally, this is a hike we prefer to carry through when it's dry and sunny. However, we don't have the luxury of getting much leeway in our timeframe, therefore this Sunday will have to be as good a day as ever, even if we expect the ground to be be fairly wet on account of yesterday's rain.
And so, after parking the car at our usual space on the R251 (the one that sits right after the bridge), we head onto the turf cutter's path, down towards the lush valley where, once we jumped over the stream, we come face to face with a couple of somewhat intrigued grazing locals.
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| "Why are you here? We didn't expect you back so early!" |
Now, past the stream, you basically have two choices. Early in my travels here, I used to prefer ascending Aghla More through the more direct western ridge route, since it tends to offer awesome views of Altan Lough as you climb. However, whereas the picture above might give you an idea as to the kind of terrain you can expect, what it doesn't clearly express is how completely waterlogged much of that ground is until you're about a quarter of the way on the southern slope.
Therefore, while it is an inviting path, problems do start to accumulate as soon as you leave the track and forge your way across heaps of uneven ground, devious mounds of bulrush and, much more annoyingly, hidden puddles and streams. Even with the best waterproof hiking boots, your feet can end up getting very wet indeed.
Which is why, while this damp untrampled underfoot does last for that long a stretch and is navigable if you pay enough attention to it, I will still take a pass on it today, on account of the recent rain, and instead use my usual alternative south eastern route, i.e. the one that naturally presented itself the day a large chunk of the forest that covers the eastern side of the valley was felled.
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| The forest at the bottom at the valley |
In other words, once you decide not to stay on the path that follows the stream, you will find a short one through the forest, that leads precisely to the recent clearing where trees were cut:
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| Tree bark and leftover trunks from the felled area |
After that, once you go over the fence and through careful progression, you can simply walk over the mounds of tree bark and old trunks, and progress north towards the end of the very visible forest road.
I have to say however that, while this cutting across the felled area used to be a relative breeze when the felling was still recent, now that a couple years have elapsed, and the organic matter has started to decompose, getting a proper foothold is starting to feel a bit trickier.
I suppose, next time I'm here, I'll use the old waterlogged but more direct route...
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| The view from the end of the long forest road |
Once you have reached the forest road however, things become much simpler and you can just follow the perpendicular climbing path, that sits between the forest and the fence, to make your way towards the goal. As you do so, you will also start to get some views that should elate your mind. Now that's better!
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| More of Mackoght and a truncated Errigal as we climb |
Of course, because we are mostly on forest grounds, there are loads of foresty elements to be found, like mushrooms (no idea whether they are edible... or hallucinogenic - if you try, you tell me) as well as all kind of other flora and fauna (while climbing, I looked up just in time to witness a rather majestic deer trot back into the woods), including a busy female spider hurrying along with her very distinctive egg sac.
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| If I was an arachnologist, I could tell you what exact species this friendly yet rather large critter is, but sadly, I am not... |
Now I don't particularly mind spiders, even if, were a large wolf spider or something similar be thrown onto my lap, you're probably hear me scream a couple of octaves higher than you'd think possible for a grown man. However, I do tend to find small spiders surprisingly cute, especially as they hurriedly and fearfully scurry along and you'll always will find me go out of my way to catch and release outside any medium or large spider I might find in my home (again, I don't mind the tiny ones). Plus, I have to say that some of the common spiders we do have here in Ireland, especially the ones with the orange and translucent striped legs, are positively stunning.
Thus, we'll leave this proud mother to her scurrying along, and continue on our way, as we presently arrive at the edge of the forest.
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| As you can guess from the state of the fences, not that many people come around here. |
Once we emerge from the trees, we head left (west), crossing a few more streams and rocky outcrops and simply head for the ridge. We might choose to climb against a gentle slope but, because there have been small scale landslides here and there along the part that sits below the ridge, we make a conscious decision to use a steeper climb and reach said ridge sooner rather than later as a precaution. From there, the views finally opens up and we get a good feel how much ground is still to cover in order to reach our destination.
Oh, and of course there's a lake past the ridge. This is Ireland after all: there's always a lake.
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| Lough Feane and, towering above, Aghla More |
Did I have to furiously refrain myself from walking around this lake? That's something that shall for ever remain between me and my OCD therapist...
Another quick climb, throught terrain that can be best qualified as "lunar" (and therefore suits us exceedingly well) and we are granted with exactly what we came for: a stunning view of the other side of Lough Altan along with some of the summits that surround it. Indeed, this world can feel quite small when you're standing on top of it, and even if we are scraping the clouds, it sure feels peaceful up there...
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| Lough Altan, Errigal (breaking from the clouds) and, in the distance on the left, Poisoned Glen. |
However, as we are observing our surroundings, we can't help but notice that there is a definite large cloud formation zooming straight towards us and that, at its current rate, it will engulf us within its mist, in a minute or two.
We'll use this opportunity as a means to recount to you one of the many typical Irish legends you'll hear, should you happen to spend any length of time in a Donegal pub. Or at least, this is the place where I heard it (though, since I only happen to have heard it once, and more from trying to surreptitiously overhear what the person at the next table was recounting than through direct conversation, don't blame me if what I recall from this tale happens to be wildly different from any more "official" version).
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| The swarm of clouds that's about the engulf us |
Because this is a typical Irish legend, I should also forewarn you that, if you expect a nice happy ending or some "happily everafter", you will be left sorely disappointed. As much as I wouldn't mind it at times, the prospect of a joyful denouement is quite the rarity in the Irish lore...
Thus starts the story of Siobhán. But before I start, I first need to communicate to non-Irish speakers (of which I am), that Siobhán is the Irish equivalent of "Joan" in English (or "Jeanne" in French or "Johanna" in German) and should be more pronounced more or less like: shee-von... Not that this bears any major significance to our actual story, but we might as well get some of the linguistics out the the way.
Now, our Siobhán happens to be a typical late 18th or 19th century Irish young woman, living in the countryside in a place not too dissimilar to this one. She is married to a young Irish lad (whose name the legend does not reveal) and the both of them, along with a couple of children, are spending their days in an isolated cottage, near a valley at the bottom of a mountain.
Obviously, because I happen to have heard this legend in a Donegal pub, I will always assume that this story took place in county Donegal, possibly in the very place we are visiting today, as it very much fits the bill. Especially, the abandoned cottage we caught a glimpse on in the valley, as we started our ascent, strikes me like exactly the type of dwelling our protagonist could have lived in...
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| Siobhán's cottage |
Early in the morning, on a day not unlike today, Siobhán goes up the mountain to forage for food and for combustible wood or turf.
There, as she is busy walking high above her house, gathering whatever she can find, falls a sea of cloud and mist, that soon engulfs the whole mountain.
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| Something like this... |
After continuing her activities for a while, and because of the dense fog that doesn't seem to want to abate, Siobhán decides to go down the mountain, and traces her steps back to her home and family.
But as she approaches her house she then realises that something is amiss: the house she left only a couple hours ago now appears to be completely deserted and furthermore, stands in a very apparent dishevelled state that leaves her wondering if, maybe, she didn't lose her way and come down to a different dwelling on the other side of the mountain. Yet the general topography is too similar for this not to be the same place, so she pursues further towards the house.
The clearly unkempt house is devoid of any human life though, and by now our young woman is starting to be worried sick about the fate of her children, who should have kept close by. She therefore heads to her nearest neighbour, but there again, all she finds is a vacant household, with no sign of life whatsoever...
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| Possibly Siobhán's view as she came down from the mountain |
As she heads even further along the road, she is struck by the fact that she recognises almost nothing of the dwellings and path she used to walk through, on an almost daily basis.
Eventually, she meets with an old woman, who seem to be the only dweller left in the small village that's supposed to be nearest to her place. Yet, whereas she doesn't recall ever seeing that old woman, the latter says she recognizes her.
"Siobhán! Siobhán!", she cries out whilst crossing herself, "is it possible that you have come back from the land of the dead as youthful as the day you disappeared. Why, you have been gone for one score and another five years now and there is not a wrinkle on your face. Quick, let me call your son, so that he too can ascertain your demeanour!"
On hearing these words, it suddenly starts to dawn on our protagonist what might really have happened... And soon enough, she is presented with a 30-something man, whose features she barely recognizes, but who instantly and joyfully starts to cry: "máthair" (i.e. 'mother' in Irish). Upon hearing and seeing this, she finally realizes that the fog she ventured in did not only keep her away from the sight of her dwelling for a mere hour or so, but it did keep her from everything and everyone she knew for more than 25 years, even as, for her, that amount of time elapsed instantaneously.
From there, her son, who is all too happy to see his mother back whom he assumed had been lost forever, tries to welcome her into his own family. However, a great melancholy seems to fall on her when she learns that her small daughter has now become a grown woman and has emigrated to a far away land.
Eventually, as the tale goes, the whole thing concludes with our time-stricken mother jumping off a cliff or jumping into a lake, "for what woman can bear not watching her own children grow".
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| Possibly the lake where our protagonist met her sobering end... |
As I said, this is not a story is not supposed to leave you with a fuzzy feeling. But then again, that's true of almost all of Irish mythology.
At any rate, our clouds are being chased away now, as we have been quietly standing in the thick midst of them while recounting our story, and we are somewhat relieved to find out that, as far as we can tell, 25 years have not elapsed while we weren't looking. At least, the configuration of felled trees and growing forest does look the same as the one we saw, when we were climbing.
Not that we would mind establishing further proof, if need be, for the theory of Relativity, as a lone half of Langevin's Twins. Besides, if we do get our way, we are going to be playing with portals very soon, and who knows what might happen with a successful spacetime jump... But more about this once we get there. Or perhaps, if it goes both way, I might even be enticed into picking a one way ticket back to August 1993 to find out, for sure, if time is as immutable as I suspect it is...
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| Still, I could swear I saw these exact same sheep, 25 years ago... |
But all that is left for us to do now, since we have talked enough about the passage of time, is to start our own climb down, mostly through the same route as the one we followed to ascend here, while keeping silent about the timeless and "unfixable" small annoyance that are midges.
One thing I will point out, as I did manage to get tricked into sliding a foot in a waterlogged hole while going through the felled area, is that bulrush can become a minor pain in this season - it does make progress that inconspicuously harder and it sure does provides great cover for all of these hidden traps you're doing your darnedest to avoid.
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| One view of the track that is still to cover |
Suggested Sound Track
Alright. I did rack my brain to find a suitable track. Or rather, I racked my brain to try to find a different suitable track. But I guess we're going to go with this one. Not because it's a weak track or anything, but because I wasn't exactly planning into bringing you that far back. Just like Siobhán of the story, this is a time jump that I wasn't willing to make, first of all, because this track is in French, and what's more, even if you are a competent enough French speaker, it's in old-ish French, which might make it difficult to comprehend. Plus, it is one of these records that goes way back. So much so that I'm not really sure it is that wise to share. As with anything, it's just a matter of trying to anticipate possible consequences, unintended or not. But then again, as long as you're not asking me to venture talking about side B...
Sooo, whether you're fluent in French or not, here we have the story of a man who is coming back after seven years of warring with the military on a large naval ship, to the wife and family he has left behind. Sure, we're not exactly talking about 25 years here, but the song does explicitly mention the weariness of not being able to see one's children grow in its lyrics. Plus I already used tracks from Simple Minds' Street Fighting Years, so talking about Mandela's "25 years ago" would certainly feel utterly out of place as this prisoner has long be freed... Likewise, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's "Four & Twenty Years Ago" from the aptly titled Déjà Vu is out of the equation, because, if I do get my way, I might use the title track at some other stage (You have NO idea the amount of planning that goes into the Suggested Sound Track selection... only to be usually thrown out at the last minute). Therefore, 7 years will have to do for our purpose.
Now, of course, there is no time skip in this song's story. Only the overall theme of returning to one's life. But the desire for normalcy, even after the passage of an extended amount of time, and the tiredness and regret linked to having missed one's family for years on end are definitely present.
Plus, even if sung in French and replete with semi-funky drums, bass and electric guitars, this is probably as Celtic a track as you'll ever get from me here. Even more so than the Corrs.
But I'm not here to give you an extended commentary. Either just enjoy it, or consider it as a weird curiosity from a long bygone era...
Additional Pictures
