Tag Wicklow mountains

Wicklow Diaries Part 4

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Day 7 – There’s a reason Ireland is so green

A very fine morning enjoying the comfort of the Glenmalure Hostel gardens

As we sat sipping coffee in the warm sunlit garden of Glenmalure Hostel it was easy to imagine a glorious day of weather ahead, but by now I knew better. The sun may be shining in the valley in the early hours but I knew things could be quite different on the ridge and sure enough after bidding farewell to my new found friends following a fabulous breakfast of fresh pancakes I began the climb back up the trail to Black Banks Pass and could already see dark clouds closing in.

I hoped to reach four mountains today strung out over more than 20miles of rough terrain including a long ‘out and back’ to Lobawn. I had considered cutting this from the route in order to make it back to Dublin on time but after a good night’s rest I was feeling confident that I could make the distance today. In fact things went pretty well out to that summit, it was not yet raining and after some peat hag obstacle negotiation there was something of a faint path to follow and I made some good early mileage. I could clearly see a wide band of heavy rain heading my way and on the way back down reluctantly pulled out my rain gear again before it hit.

Possibly the wettest week of my outdoor life!

It continued like this for a while – heavy downpour followed by short, windy dry spell until the cloud dropped once again, visibility faded and the wind and rain became more persistent. I’ve long since learned that short cuts are rarely quicker or easier but decided to drop down into the valley to avoid a long route around the ridge and steep descent. It was slow going and very wet but I was rewarded with stumbling into the largest group of deer I had yet seen in these mountains. Sika deer were introduced to the Powerscourt Estate in Co. Wicklow in 1859 and they soon escaped and started to breed with the closely related native Red deer. Most of the deer are now likely hybrid as there are very few Red Deer remaining. I marvelled at their grace and easy agility as their barks and whistles alerted the herd to take flight up the gully onto the ridge. I could only wish I was able to move with such flow through these hills. How impossibly heavy and cumbersome I felt in comparison. I watched as they kept pausing to look back at me but ultimately decided to create a good distance between us.

This short cut left me the wrong side of a ‘stream’ and I had a worrying sense of deja-vu when the cloud cleared enough to catch a glimpse of waterfalls coming off the hills and the loud roar of fast moving water. It was certainly bigger and trickier than I expected but after about ten minutes of scouting about for a good place to cross I picked a safe way over around the rocks, no more than knee deep and was back on a path!

On the other side of the valley my route up the next mountain was a bit, shall we say, ‘unconfirmed’, on the map. Leaving a road I entered a forestry track where I got the feeling hill goers weren’t really welcome. My onward path turned quickly off the track and continued promisingly upward in a negotiable line between the trees where others had clearly passed, albeit not often. Crossing the track again much higher up my path continued for a short way then fizzled out to nothing but a tight clump of trees. Pushing through to see if there was any onward route it was clear I had reached the end of the line. I returned to the track and reluctant to retrace all my uphill efforts right back down again followed the forestry track up in the vain hope it might pop out onto the open hillside. I wasn’t too confident as the map showed it just coming to an abrupt end in the forest and shortly that’s exactly what it did.

At that moment I spotted another deer just ahead of me and was impressed that for the first time the deer had not seen me first. That was until three others leapt from the trees, covered the track in one bound and leapt effortlessly up a three metre high cutting and back into the dense tangle of trees. For sure, they had seen me coming! I couldn’t fathom how they so easily melted into the trees, the branches and undergrowth were so thick and tightly packed it barely seemed possible for anything to squeeze through let alone such a large animal. The open hillside was less than 100 metres through those trees but there was no way I could even wriggle through on my elbows so I started back down eagerly searching for some space through the dense forest. Eventually I came to a small area that had been recently felled and a churned up machinery track wove up it to reach open land and the National Park boundary. Again I was aware I shouldn’t really be on this spot and eager to get back on National Park land I slipped and slid up the muddy channel as quickly as I could to tumble over a low battered fence onto the moor for once feeling extremely grateful to be back on that boggy rough heathery and pathless terrain which was far more accommodating by comparison.

Wet feet guaranteed!

Gaining height the weather deteriorated badly and I was soon being blasted by strong side winds and sheets of very heavy rain all the way to the summit which then required a bit of bold negotiation in thick clag over a featureless and peat bog plateau. This would be the shape of things for the next few hours as I had to hold my nerve to navigate in some of the worst visibility so far over 5 miles of featureless moorland. Keeping the wind at my back I followed a bearing through the murk hoping not to come across too many peat hag bogs that would try to throw me off course in this eerily gloomy landscape.

The small direction post was the only feature to navigate to on a misty Moanbane summit

I was concentrating so hard I barely noticed the heavy sheets of whipping rain that intermittently caught up and overtook me. Finally over the wide expanse of Billy Byrnes’ Pass I dropped to lower ground and as evening crept up gaps broke in the cloud to allow a glimpse of a vast shimmering sheet of grey-silver far below – Poulaphouca Reservoir, known locally at Blessington Lake. I scoped out some wet ground that was slightly less wet than all the other wet ground and the weather was kind enough to stop raining for just enough time to get my tent up, shake off my layers and crawl inside.

I even had enough time to get the stove going to fill a flask with hot tea and cook my three minute moroccan cous cous meal. A brief but beautiful cloudy view of tomorrow mornings’ and the final mountains of my journey faced me across the valley before the cloud gently closed in again and I closed up the tent zips as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Day 8 – Dublin bound for a drop of the black stuff!

Final Day in the Wicklow Mountains

It was 46 kilometres and four final mountains to the end of my plotted trail back to Dublin which I had to reach today as it was time to return to work. I suspected the terrain over these final hills would be a little easier going than that in the heart of the National Park and now I had eaten most of the food in my pack it was weighing in a few kilos lighter. It was still an ambitious distance and I was pretty tired from the tough week but I was lucky to meet Avril, a very kind lady from Larack, herself a keen hill-goer who insisted on giving me a lift along the long road section of my route to the foot of Seefin, a popular summit with an ancient Passage Tomb burial chamber situated at the top.

The Passage Tomb on Seefin

Though I did originally want to complete the entire circuit on foot I had already had to make a few adjustments due to delays and so wasn’t feeling so purist about these road miles. I was there, after all, to summit the mountains so I happily accepted her offer and we zipped along the rural back lanes exchanging outdoor adventure stories and her tales of Wicklow life while I tried to apologise for the seriously rank smell that was by now a constant emanation from my wet feet. Before long we were wishing each other farewell and I stood at the bottom of a climb to Seefin summit now with a much more manageable 34 kilometres ahead, just over 21 old-school miles!

A fantastic spot by the river for an early lunch cook-up.

Today turned out to be the best weather day of the entire adventure. Sunny spells and not a single shower hit me – it felt as though the mountains were finally rewarding me with a show of glorious beauty for all my tenacity battling through everything they had thrown at me over the week. It was certainly a perfect way to finish the journey with long views back over the wild mountains I had traversed. I tip-toed over a couple of easy stream crossings, enjoyed the riotous colour of swathes of hillside heather and followed well used trails over these final mountains – I even saw five other people out in the hills today, a veritable crowd by previous standards!

Reaching Corrig Mountain and Seahan the entire city of Dublin was laid out below and it was quite a contrast to look north over the vast developments of the city and its surrounds and then glance back over my shoulder to the miles and miles of wild, deserted moorlands through which I had passed.

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A long view toward Dublin Bay

It would be odd to return to the frenetic pace and noise of the city and I really wished I had more time to pitch up my tent and watch the bay from afar, especially as it was now, suddenly, brilliant wild camping weather! But all that was left was the long downhill to the outskirts, suburbs and increasingly urban landscape below and a couple of hours later I was sat in a pub celebrating my ‘Wicklow Round’ with the obligatory glass of Guinness.

A VERY welcome celebratory Guiness!

I had covered 208km (130miles) on foot with 7600m of elevation gain and loss and managed to ‘bag’ 35 of the 39 mountains. Considering how testing the week had been I was pretty happy with the result and the four elusive mountains that remained meant that I would soon return to this beautiful region, after all, surely the weather couldn’t ever be any worse!?

Leaving the wonderful, wild, Wicklows for now…..but I’ll definitely be back!

During my #RunningtheSummits challenge I hope to summit 1000 Mountains of the UK and Ireland – you can vicariously join the adventure at Running the Summits on Facebook with regular posts about fantastic routes (and #type2fun days😉) in our fabulous hills.

Happy trails😁👣

Wicklow Diaries Part Three

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Day 5 – The Glendalough Skyline

My dramatic relationship with the weather would not be over yet but for this day at least I would have a reprieve. With most my gear drying out in the hostel I took the advantage to create a circular loop of the mountain summits of the Glendalough skyline. With seven mountain summits over a distance of 29km this would be a good catch up on time lost in the Tonalagee struggle. It also meant I could travel light and do some real running in these hills. The mountain weather forecast I had been following seemed to be remarkably accurate at predicting weather once it had passed but a little more vague when it came to future weather forecasting. In fact it seemed to be updated several times a day to reflect what the weather was actually doing rather than accurately providing any kind of advance ‘heads-up’. If the weather forecast for ‘tomorrow’ didn’t transpire it would be reforecast for the following ‘tomorrow’. By this point the best thing seemed to be just to look at the sky and generally expect to get wet at some point.

Incoming shower…

Today looked like a mix of sun, cloud and heavy showers which was a massive improvement on the story so far and after a moody start it turned out to be a great circuit, with only the section in the middle full of the peat hag assault courses I was becoming accustomed to. With wonderful views of the sea, coastline and valley below it seemed a shame only to see two other people in the mountains all day. When I joined the Wicklow Way back down to Glendalough and reached the valley floor with its jaw dropping views however, I discovered that’s where EVERYBODY was.

The very photogenic Glendalough valley

This stunning glacial ‘Valley of the Two Lakes’ is very famous and extremely popular with an estimated one million visitors a year to the valley and particularly busy on an August Sunday afternoon. The contrast between the solitude of the hills and the bustling crowds in the valley was entirely overwhelming and several smartly dressed, camera toting visitors tip-toeing along the edge of the lake gave me quite a wide berth as I ran down the hill soaked with sweat and walked straight into the cooling waters of the lake with my shoes still on! “Clearly a madwomen” they were probably thinking. It’s true that the more time I spend outdoors in all the elements the more, almost feral I become. Usual inhibitions seem to fall away as I become relaxed and at home in my outdoor surroundings and I sometimes have to remind myself that things I might do in the mountains are just not socially acceptable when strolling around Tesco!

Day 6 – Big ‘ol mountain day and the (almost) forgotten valley of Glenmalure

After a more than arguably generous day yesterday, todays skies promised much the same – a bit of sun, a lot of cloud and those ever present highly localised furious downpours. At least you could see them coming from the mountain ridge and be prepared for impact! After losing so much time with the river crossing shenanigans I would have to cut out four outlying mountains in order to complete my Wicklow Round in the time remaining. Frustrating, but it meant it would possible to complete the route with three big days over 15 mountains. And the mountains would still be there another time! Today included Lugnaquilla, the highest mountain in Ireland outside of Kerry and yet the straightforward grassy plateau made this possibly the easiest summit to reach during my whole time in the Wicklow Mountains despite the nasty weather that hit as I was heading up.

 Lugnaquilla provided an easy and gentle summit despite looking uninviting from below!

After another seven summit day over 29km with 1500m of elevation I crossed a stream – easy enough on this occasion and found a decent camping spot sheltered though still fairly waterlogged. However, I was a bit torn because close by in the valley bottom was Glenmalure Hostel, a simple mountain lodge described as ‘basic’ on account of having no running water, electricity or indoor plumbing of the toilet variety. It was really a cosy bothy where evenings would be spent in candlelit conversation around a roaring log fire and was quite famed for a warm welcome and its idyllic location…oh, and of course, its resident ghost, ‘Scary Mary’ who apparently is a kleptomaniac for cosmetic accessories!?

The welcoming cosy hearth of the Glenmalure Hostel…..and no sign of ‘Scary Mary’

The valley has seen many battles over the centuries and some of the trails are said to be haunted by marching ghosts of deceased soldiers. Despite the spooky stories I felt it would be a shame to miss out on visiting this legendary place. It was just 4km down into the valley although that would mean a 4km climb back up in the morning, but it seemed well worth it and I could hang up my wet things again overnight.

Down into the peaceful Glenmalure valley

I arrived just in time for dinner which was a very unexpected and welcome surprise. The hostel is cared for by volunteer wardens and as well as a wonderful welcome they prepare delicious hot meals. It was a great evening as we put the world to rights over a glass of wine or two by the fire as the river raged by outside the window. During the previous rough spell of weather the track over the river here had been impassable too and they had been unable to get out for a couple of days. Seemed the storm had caught many people out. Not a bad place to be ‘trapped’ though. After a hearty meal, great conversation, feet warmed in front of the fire and that glass of wine I had the best sleep of this whole adventure!

The Wicklow Diaries – Part Two

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PART TWO

Day 3 – The Epic…

After the maelstrom of the previous night I awoke, although that does suggest I was sleeping!?, into a very soggy half light of morning. The rain was solidly falling in sheets, cloud was down around me and there was considerable wet ‘seepage’ into the tent – hardly surprising when every spot you stood saw your feet sinking a few centimetres into the sodden, wet ground. It was not exactly the scene of an idyllic Instagram‘able wild camping trip! (As I really didn’t get many meaningful pictures of these two days some of the following photos are from the previous day which did allow me to briefly see the beauty of these mountains!)

Brighter times the previous day!

I packed up quickly in the rain, impressed again at how the tent had seemed to take the conditions in it’s stride though not sure the same could be said for me. My goal for now was to get to the road, climb the mountain on the other side of the valley and reach the shelter above Glendalough valley. With visibility poor I used the line of a fence to make some progress upward. It was hard going as there was no path and the terrain was steep with thick, deep heather and rocks and everything was wet and slippery. All too soon I had to navigate across the open hillside to get back onto the ridge for the climb to Tonelagee, the provinces third highest summit. Emerging from the sheltered side of the ridge all hell seemed to break loose approaching the summit plateau. Gale forces winds pummelled me and I had difficulty staying on my feet. The wind whipped the rain sharply, lashing it painfully against my face. Tonelagee or Tóin le Gaoith literally translates as ‘backside to the wind’ and as soon as I had reached the summit trig pillar I took the name as sensible advice, turned away from the onslaught and hurriedly found my route off the top.
I had been looking forward to stunning views of the heart shaped lake of Lough Ouler below but there was only thick, misty cloud swirling in the void below, a smoking basin below a precipitous drop. I had been so focused on reaching the small road at the foot of the valley and distracted by the intensity of the weather I had almost forgotten about the small matter of a river crossing between me, the road and my onward route. The map showed a definite crossing place and suggested another (albeit without a bridge of any kind) but it had been raining heavily for over eighteen hours by the time I reached it and the Glenmacnass river was now in spate, churning wild white-water over the rocks between fast moving deep channels that appeared to be easily chest height in places. I would not be crossing so easily!

Stopped in my tracks!

It was slightly surreal to come off the mountain and see the road and small parking area right there, barely ten metres from where I stood but with no way to reach it. To the left stood a forest and the map showed some buildings and potentially a bridge over the river about 2km downstream. The forest was not too dense and although quite flooded in places I could make relatively easy progress through it. However, I very soon came to an abrupt halt at the huge Glenmacnass Waterfall head as it raged over a rocky precipice and vanished, out of sight, to the valley far below. I had completely underestimated the tight band of contour lines on the map which were realised here as a long, steep drop to the flat land of the valley and my potential escape route. Peering over the edge there was a short section of smooth rock I could have climbed down but with no way of knowing exactly what was beyond and considering I would have some major difficulty getting back up this rock, particularly with my heavy pack I reluctantly wrote off this route and turned to pick my way back through the trees.

The Glenmacnass Waterfall – even on a calm day like this I doubt I would be attempting the climb down!

My next plan was to follow the river upstream where I hoped it would eventually be crossable. This was a hard slog and there were many tributaries that had sprung up, all pouring into the river from the mountainside and they all had to be crossed, often involving lengthy clambers inward to higher ground to find safe places to get over. Eventually I reached the section where the river split into two and was able to cross one part but the main torrent didn’t seem to let up at all. I caught a glimpse of another huge waterfall coming over the edge of a sheer corrie wall which was clearly feeding into the river. It was obvious there would be no way to safely get over this river and any onward route would involve a very steep climb up the corrie sides to get to the top of that waterfall. This was not really a feasible option, it was too late in the day to end up back on top of a mountain in the conditions and the climb could be fairly treacherous as it had been raining heavily non-stop the whole day. I made the decision to retrace my steps immediately in order to get past the tributaries before they got worse and potentially impassable which would have left me cut off and stranded. After five hours battling along this river I made camp for the night on slightly higher ground to rest and think about the other escape options. Again I managed to find some shelter from the worst of the wind, although all the ground was well waterlogged so pitched over a patch of heather to try to stay above the water. One advantage of no one being around meant I could freely strip off all my dripping wet clothes and leave them outside before diving into the tent to warm up. My impromptu pitch was quite sloping and I had to literally hook myself over a thick, gnarly heather stalk that was sticking up to avoid constantly sliding off the air mat but I was warm and relatively dry inside so long as I kept away from the water pooling in the corners of the tent so hunkered down for another wild night on the side of the mountain.

Looking and feeling pretty frazzled after unsuccessful hours trying to cross the river!

*This day brought home to me the importance of having the right gear and level of experience for your chosen outdoors activities. I was certainly pushed outside my comfort zone but at no time felt scared or overly concerned, a good part due to the fact I was carrying food for a week, shelter and a set of dry thermals wrapped in 4 layers of dry bags. There were several ‘escape’ routes so it was certain one would pan out and even if not I could have hung out for several days if need be until conditions improved, it would have been uncomfortable and pretty miserable but I would have been fine and at least would have no problems finding water!

Day 4 – Escape from Tonelagee Mountain…

Perhaps unsurprisingly it was raining still as daylight broke. I was surrounded by sheep who, quite frankly, were all looking a bit miffed with me for spending the night on their favourite patch, the only tiny square of non-flooded ground to be had as far as the eye could see. It was the first time I have noticed that very wet sheep shake themselves dry in exactly the same way as dogs do!? Fortunately they hadn’t chewed through my tent in retaliation and despite the little pools of water in the corners it had held up excellently once again. A bit of cold food and an uncomfortable nights rest constantly shimmying back up the tent after continually becoming unhooked from the pokey heather stalk I had ‘hooked’ my hip over had given me plenty of time for problem solving and I had devised a plan! The only other potential escape route on this side of the mountain was short and would get me back on track but with it’s own potentially problematic water crossing and a couple of areas of ‘unknown’ I decided not to even bother. The most sensible option was clearly to climb back over the mountain and get off the other side. I had avoided this option as, (a) I felt a bit lazy about climbing back up and over the three summits I had already climbed the day before and (b) I didn’t fancy revisiting the insane wind conditions up there – I guess the second excuse was a valid argument! From the summit of Tonelagee there were three options – a very direct route straight down off the mountain to the road – my clever use of maths in relation to contours and height lost over distance gave me the calculated result of “it’s a bit steep” and I dismissed this as steep was more tricky with the heavy pack and would undoubtedly be very slippery and possible a near vertical mud slick by now, not to mention it would be straight into the gale force wind. The second option was to follow the south east ridge for five miles towards Glendalough. This was my initial choice but not knowing what surprises that five mile ridge might contain and given that it would be fully exposed and the cloud was down with very limited visibility I wimped out and went for the third option which was to retrace the way I had come yesterday and use the forestry track ‘escape route’ I had identified on my previous camp. This was further and meant some seven miles of hoofing it along the road to get back on track but I knew the route, there were no hidden surprises and no watercourses potentially out of control. There was a vague possibility that a bridge before the road could have been damaged or washed away but I figured some things were just beyond my control.

Plan made, I wrung out as much water as I could from my sopping clothes and put them back on (that was a particular joy!) It was still not going to be an easy day. I had a long steep climb back up and the wind was just as violent as the day before but at least once I got over Tonelagee plateau it would be behind me. There was a short, sketchy section to navigate over rough ground in very bad visibility to get to the forest and avoid dropping too far back into Barnacullian Bog but fortunately it only had a few small peat hags to negotiate. It was no small relief then when I finally hit the forestry track and started to believe I may actually get off this mountain today. Crossing the fully intact bridge and suddenly being spat out onto the road into a world of people whizzing by in their warm, dry cars was a bit surreal after literally seeing nobody for three days in the hills. I imagined in good weather there would have been far more hill-goers enjoying these mountains especially as it was technically summertime but they were probably all far too sensible to be wading about in these conditions.

On the long slog along the road I had time to think about what to do next, something I had put off, simply focusing on getting off the mountain before anything else. I really wanted to find somewhere to regroup, dry out all my wet gear and think about how get my ‘Wicklow Round’ back on course. It was bad timing that it was Saturday and I knew the very popular Glendalough Hostel was fully booked all weekend but I decided to give it a try and perhaps appeal to their sympathies to at least allow me to hang my stuff in their drying room for a few hours.Just a mile from the hostel a couple of ladies in a car stopped and insisted on giving me a lift down to the hostel. They had abandoned their own planned Saturday afternoon group walk along the St. Kevin’s Road due to a river stepping stone crossing being washed out and since it was still raining had decided to go to the pub instead.
Standing, dripping in my own slowly growing pool of water at the Glendalough Hostel reception they did indeed go above and beyond to help me out. Not only was I welcome to use the drying room and even take a wash for no charge they also promised to find me a bed somewhere. Personally, I was quite happy to put my sleeping mat down in the corner by the vending machine but this was a welcome opportunity to dry everything out, repack and study the maps to get this mountain challenge back on track and all accompanied with a luxurious supply of hot coffee!

I already missed the beautiful scenes from the first day I entered the Wicklows!

Despite everything that had happened over the last couple of days, with my kit on it’s way to being dried out and some warm food and drink inside me, it really wasn’t too long before I was itching to get back out there!

The Wicklow Diaries Part One – my first Irish Mountains.

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In august an off-grid week of wild camping and mountain summitting in the desolate beauty Wicklow Mountains, my first foray into the Irish summits had all the makings of a fantastic adventure. Things certainly didn’t quite turn out as planned but nevertheless, an adventure it certainly was! Here is Part One of the four part drama!

I had plotted a 220km route looping from Dublin to include the 39 mountains in and around Wicklow National Park. With over 8500m of elevation gain, very rough terrain, notoriously fickle weather and the surprising remoteness of the area I looked forward to a week long, fast-packing, wild-camping adventure which in reality turned into the toughest mountain week I have experienced to date! It was definitely NOT a week of instagrammable camping sunsets but more of a special forces training expedition for one!

The Wicklow Diaries : Day 1 – The Calm Before…

Just under 10km through Dublin city from the Ha’Penny Bridge over the Liffey is Marlay Park, the official start point of the popular ‘Wicklow Way’, a 127km upland trail. I would dip in and out of a couple of small sections of this route as it doesn’t visit any summits but skirts mostly along the eastern side of the range.

Fuelled on a small Guinness I began following some easy paths of the Wicklow Way and soon the first mountains gave a hint of the nature of the terrain in this region. Though granite at their core these mountains are blanketed with peat bog which on many summits and cols form the impression of a ground that has been stretched and ripped resulting in boggy mazes of peat hags and channels.

It’s really surprising just how remote and desolate these mountains can be when you consider they can be reached on foot from the bustling capital city of Dublin in just a few hours. Heavy, intermittent rain showers were the order of the day but my only real challenge on this ‘warm up’ section was the uncustomary weight of my pack – a hefty 17kg – I was carrying a weeks food as my route would not pass any place to restock after the second day. This was quite something to contemplate hauling up and over 39 mountains but at least it would gradually get lighter as I munched my way through the supplies!

Day 2 – Closing in….

Setting off, my pack must have easily been 500g lighter after last night’s dinner and a hearty porridge breakfast! An ambitious 20 mile route over 10 Mountains was the plan and I made good ground through the morning, even dumping that monster pack halfway up a hill for a quick ‘out and back’ on Kippure – after all, (a)there was nobody around and (b)if anyway did try to hoof off with it they would not have been making a very fast escape under that load so I was confident I could give good chase!

After six summits I was a bit behind schedule having been slowed by the bogs and was yet to cross Barnacullian Bog – an expanse of peat bog generously described in guidebooks as “complicated ground”. This desolate landscape is an obstacle maze of peat hag islands, black holes and channels deep enough to be described as crevasses, all ready to swallow the unsuspecting hill goer.

Distracted by the task of navigating over the saddle to begin the climb to my last three mountains I had barely noticed the bad weather closing in and thick dark clouds dropping to smother the mountains as the wind began to rise. Heavy weather and high winds were forecasted but not until the following day and I had been planning sensible shelter for the Friday night but this was 24 hours early and suddenly looking grim. It was 6pm and at the speed I was making it would take some time to get over the next three mountains and down to more sheltered ground. Not knowing the terrain ahead and with Tonelagee summit looking less inviting by the second I made the decision to start scouting out a camping spot amidst all the bog. Dropping down off the main ridge in the lee of the increasing winds I found a pretty good spot sheltered by some large rocks and on well drained ground. Putting up the tent in double quick time I just got everything thrown inside including myself before the downpour began.

And so began a very long night as my tent was tested for the first time in torrential rains, high gusting winds and then to my absolute horror, a thunder and lightning storm. The lightning was an unexpected and un-forecasted additional worry factor as I was a little higher than I would have liked to be at 590m elevation and next to some pointy rocks. But I was off the ridge and perched on my air mattress (for all the good that would probably do) and had even formulated an escape route should my tent blow away so I curled up inside and nervously watched the lightning illuminate the tent as menacing cracks of thunder drew ever closer and louder…suffice to say I didn’t feel like I slept at all but (spoiler alert) I obviously survived the night, yet as I peeked out from the comforting bubble of the tent as daylight grew the weather was not improving and it looked certain it would be a challenging day ahead…