Aghla More - Siobhán's climb down

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...

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).

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.

"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.

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:

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...

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!

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.

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.

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.

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...

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).

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...

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.

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...

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".

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...

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.

One view of the track that is still to cover

Suggested Sound Track

• Tri Yann - Guerre, Guerre, Vente, Vent

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

 

 

Aghla Beg - Superheat

Click on this image for our track in Google Maps

Still nowhere near clearing the backlog of entries we have accumulated over the past month. Oh well, we'll deal with those as we see fit, and concentrate instead on the new ones.

Today, even as the unending warm and sunny weather remains squarely upon us, we altered our plans yet again, on account of planned rain that was supposed to come in late in the afternoon, but, thankfully, never manifested...

The unmistakable Muckish plateau, standing proud over the forest

Therefore, unlike what the unmistakable silhouette above might lead you you believe, our destination for today is not good old Muckish, but one of the summits that stands between it and the Errigal: Aghla Beg.

We actually did this hike not so long ago, some time in late January/early February, which we recall vividly. This time however, our mindset is about as different as the weathers we've had on these two separate occasions. Gone are the glacial moody winds, the dull, overcast skies and the quest for that little bit of warmth that engulfed our soul then. Instead, this Sunday is as sunny and warm a one of continental summer.

Bit too warm and sunny actually, because having to keep the camera in the hand becomes a bit of an inconvenience (no jacket = no pockets large enough + this camera model doesn't suit a lanyard), and we are also childishly hating having to waste precious minutes applying sun screen, when we should out be and about already!

Here's what we are climbing today

We do like this long walk though, especially in dry weather like today's. For reasons that I can't really explain, the Aghla summit remains one of these places we enjoy best. Plus there's definitely something about the smell of an evergreen forest during a hot sunny day...

Before we get to climb the mountain however, there's a fair bit of travelling that needs to be done, across the forest itself. But since that forest is exploited, we benefit from a very large path to do so, along which we find, zipping around, a very large amounts of butterflies, as well as the occasional dragonfly.

A green veined butterfly (Pieris napi), which is commonly found all across Ireland

Now, taking a picture of a butterfly is peanuts, even without a zoom: you just wait until it tires of flying, head slowly to where it landed, and Butterfly Bob's your uncle.

Taking a decent picture of a dragonfly, however, is a whole different story.

For one things, and much more than the bees who gave their names to the expression "beelining", these insects sure seem to have a straight goal in mind when flying, and are not wasting a single second trying to accomplish it, especially when they are covering the usually large distance that separates them from that goal. Plus, even if it so happens they chanced to land in relatively close proximity to you, the slightest motion on your part and they will take off again.

All this to say that the following is the best (and only picture) of all the dragonflies I saw that I can provide. And please don't count on me to attempt producing any more pictures of these temperamental flying devils - it's just too much of a hassle!

Find the dragonfly hidden in this picture, and win no prize!

At least, the presence of dragonflies is a tell-tale sign that there is plenty of water around. But that doesn't really come as a surprise in these parts, even if the ground we trample on this large forest path is about dry as a Saharan dune.

The forest path, with some stacks of recently fell timber

Now, as I mentioned, and as you can see from the picture above, this forest area is being actively exploited. Almost a bit too much for our taste because, as we arrive at the fork where we head right, in order to get closer to Aghla, we fondly remember how there used to be a dense area of high Sitka spruce, on the west and now desolated side of our path, that provided both a much welcome shadow as well as the unmistakable feeling that we were truly standing at the heart of a forest. Before those trees were felled, and after taking that turn, you felt that you had suddenly entered the kind of place where all sort of wildlife might cross your path, and where you got a very direct sense that, unlike what they want to believe, human beings are not the real stewards of the earth.

On a hot day like this, we could truly have used being surrounded by tall conifers on each side, especially as our path is now starting to climb up under this most implacable sun.

The patch of forest that was felled, a few years ago, replanted with young spruces

Besides, one of the problem faced with any tall forest being exploited in Ireland is that, as soon as you start felling an area, the ones next to it suddenly do get subjected to our strong tumultuous winter storms, with some dramatic results:

Some trees, on the east side of the felled patch, that got uprooted by the winds

Still, this large area of forested land we are crossing does shine with a unique beauty, and even if not being able to obtain some precious shadow inconveniences us slightly, we are fond of observing the slow renewal of nature, as we watch it evolve whilst crossing the same paths year after year...

Presently however, we are going to deviate from what has now become our usual way in for this hike (ever since Coillte, a.k.a. the organisation that does most of the silviculture in Ireland, fell another area of forest that made our access to the southern side of Aghla a lot more convenient) which is the one we also took in Jan/Feb, and switch to our "old" means of accessing the mountain. To do so, we simply abandon the path in the middle of its largest bend, and cut right across the forest. With the sun still out in full force, this little shortcut where we are going to obtain a much desired shadow, is all the more inviting.

Heading towards the heart of the forest, wondering what kind of mysteries await...

As soon as you step within the trees, it is truly a foray into another world, and one can't help but wonder how, venturing no more than a few meters inside the woods, completely changes one's perception and overall feel of a place. I guess evolution may have hardwired us mammals to be equally fearful and relieved about finding ourselves in the presence of dense tall trees. Still, today, I have to say I do feel mostly relief, on account of being able to dodge, at last, this much treacherous sun.

Yet, we don't need to venture that far into these woods before we come unto a hidden clearing, known only to us... as well as anybody who can read a (recent) map:

The clandestine spectacle of an exclusive secluded clearing

A short walk to cover the length of that clearing, then cross across another small patch of forest and we find ourselves, at last, on the welcoming banks of Lough Aluirg!

Lough Aluirg

Of course, we pause a little to enjoy these most inviting arms. If we wanted, we could certainly see ourselves spending a most lazy afternoon here, feet dangling in the waters. But that is not our goal and I still have plans to bring you back to Aluirg in other circumstances anyway.

Therefore, we begin the real climb. First by putting this annoying camera back in our backpack so that our hands are free of this inconvenience at last, and also by adjusting our clothes, to breathe unhindered. Now that's better!

Much to climb, still

There again, since we are starting further west than usual, we're going to apply a variation to what has now become our usual path, and forget about ascending Aghla Beg (South) directly, but instead move towards the north as we progress up. This'll bring us to the gap that stands right in the middle of the two summits. Not that we mind the straight climb of the south face (as a matter of fact, we tend to find the direct south route liberating and there is a memorable experience that I could relate about this), but since we are doing this hike often enough, we might as well stir just that little cloud of change in our tea.

Looking east, towards the path we just covered

Besides, we're not ready to let Aluirg off our sights just yet, and through this fine route, we do get the better views of it:

Lough Aluirg, with Muckish in the distance

And thus, in a matter of minutes, we reach the gap between the twin Aghla summit twins, leaving us with the ability to wander at ease towards whichever one we choose.

The northern Aghla summit

Now, I'm going to be a bit cruel here, and offer just one view from the top.

It's certainly not for lack of photos, as there are many more I took today (too many, in fact), that I could most certainly share especially since, no matter where you turned to, this place offers a striking display of what Northwest Ireland has to offer. However, I have decided that I will keep some of the perks of being a Donegal hillwalker to myself, even more so as this is one of my favourite hikes, and I'll have plenty of other occasions to make you discover more images from up here.

And if you are dissatisfied with data being rudely withheld from you, then I will tell you that you should stop reading a blog that'll never do justice to the beauty of this place anyway, and just head here already!

Lough Feane, whith Mackoght and Errigal in the distance

We stay here a while, and oscillate between the two tops... before it's finally time for the climb down, using the direct south face route. The sun has now started its long setting course (yet there still are a great many hours before the night) which completely changes our colour palette once again and as we start on the way down, we can't fail but spot a large bush of thrift, in full bloom, adding to our already sky high enjoyment of the place:

A most striking example of thrift (Armeria maritima) on the southern face

Soon enough, we are nearing the border with the forest. A fence stands in our way, but we use our usual place to cross it, the one where there exists a large helpful stepping stone:

By now, we are at this other area that was felled, which I mentioned earlier. As we are arrive there, we scare a lone female deer that navigates the leftover tree stumps as she flees, doing so with a dexterity that can only leave us envious, and then rushes into the forest patch on the right.

The area that was felled

And so, without much trouble, we too manage to find our way back onto the forest path, right in front more stacks of timber.

All that's left now is to head back, but not without taking a few last glances are our surroundings in the quiet evening light.

A satisfying walk in a satisfying place - we'll be back here again, that's for sure!

Suggested Sound Track

• The Gathering - Liberty Bell

Now, I wasn't really planning on getting back to The Gathering that soon, especially as I am never short of different artists to populate these addenda. Yet, today is a special and unfortunate occasion, as I did learn right before I set off that Al Bean, the 4th man to have walked on the Moon and probably my second favourite astronaut of all times (after Pete Conrad, who is pretty much the sole reason I have been calling myself Pete around these parts) has sadly passed away.

In a yet unpublished post (that I am not entirely sure I will ever publish) I did write how much of a complete Apollo buff I am. It also turns out that, mostly on account of its genial crew, Apollo 12 is by far my favourite Apollo mission. And just in case you doubt, let me ask you this: how many people do you know happen to have both volumes of the NASA Apollo 12 mission reports in their library?

Exhibit A: Proof that one can be both an Apollo nerd, and a hillwalker

But I digress... The fact remain that Al's passing is something is something we should all be saddened with, as everything I learned about the man leads me to believe that he was exactly the kind of person you want to send into space: One who has had enough artistic sense to be able to relate what he saw up there, as well as enough humanity to make us feel, when recounting his experiences, that we were an active part of it.

If you've ever heard Al talk, and how, in every interview he's made, there transpired a contagious and characteristic sense of wonder and gratitude, you know exactly what I mean. Pete Conrad's flair, for selecting him as one of his two acolyte, for the second Moon excursion, really did this world a great favour. But I will most likely talk some more about Pete Conrad's low-key genius, in future posts.

I can therefore only mark this sad occasion with a track that has everything to do with an Apollo mission (albeit the one that came right after - for the record, the spoken background audio you'll here comes straight out of Apollo 13's EECOM console loop), even if it may seem out of place with today's walk.

But then again, when is space never out of place?

Additional pictures