Struggling up Croagh Patrick this afternoon, I was sure this was to be one of those landmark feats that I’d want to write a lot about. But maybe that won’t happen.
Is it a hill or a mountain? It’s not very high, only 2500 feet or so, but its ruggedness and steepness make it seem more like the latter. It was a tough walk, much harder than I expected. Beyond the statue at the foot of the… mountain, the path quickly becomes a hard, rocky climb for an hour or so. Then a brief respite with a few hundred yards of grassy track, and a chance to gape over your shoulder at the view across Clew Bay and the tiny communities it services. This gentle, grassy stretch with its heart-stopping vistas acts as a kind of joint recharge: spiritual and physical, and you need it for the murderously steep final ascent to the summit.
The walk to the top took a steady two hours, but I felt well-rewarded by the panorama, which takes in miles of the Mayo coastline, and, to the south, the raw beauty of Connemara. Stupendous. Just wordlessly stupendous.
The descent is, arguably, even harder. The final, sheer, climb is on loose shale, and coming down it is treacherous. You’re constantly slipping and sliding, and falling against sharp rocks. You’re tired now too, making it harder to concentrate on where you’re putting your feet. A stick is essential. Before I left, my uncle gave me a stout, newly-cut length of ash to take with me, and I don’t think I’d have managed without it.
The whole jaunt took just under 4 hours. Driving through Westport on my way back to my B ‘n’ B in Newport town, I picked up a pizza, and once I’d wolfed that down with a glass or two of Beaujolais Villages, and had a shower, I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to see all of Ireland’s World Cup Qualifier, a draw with Switzerland.
My bag is full of running gear, but somehow I doubt if I’ll do much this week, so this was a welcome workout. For anyone reading this who may find themselves in Western Ireland sometime, I urge you to spend an afternoon on Croagh Patrick. If you’re around at the end of July you could take part in Reek Sunday, joining in the mass ascent of up to 20,000 pilgrims, many in bare feet, some crawling up on hands and knees. Sounds like good marathon training.
