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Art O'Neill Challenge

The Continuity Art O’Neill (Saturday 8th February)

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On Saturday 8th February, twelve walkers set out from Bohernabreena (near Tallaght in Dublin) to walk 45 kilometres over the mountains to Glenmalure Lodge in Wicklow. I started to write a long piece about the Continuity Art O’Neill Challenge to accompany the article in the Wicklow Times. After four hundred words, I hadn’t reached us actually coming up with the idea, let alone the organisation and walk itself. So, instead, here are some of the highlights:

While in the taxi towards the rendezvous point, one of our walkers got lost on a straight road, panicked and called me. It was not an auspicious start.

We started walking at 6.30am. It was windy, raining and pretty horrible. The lady in the taxi depot thought we were taking the piss.

The first leg included a diversion from the official Art O’Neill route. When I had checked the detour out the week before, my path had been blocked by a dead horse. It was Friday 31st January, the first day of the Chinese year of the horse. Let’s hope that wasn’t an omen.

Approaching Checkpoint 1, we had to manoeuvre around various groups of wild looking cattle which were blocking the roads. They had big horns and looked angry. We shouted and waved our hands. We won.

Despite the weather and the cattle, we covered the first 16km leg about 45 minutes quicker than expected. This meant we had to wait in the cold to rendezvous with our guide. While waiting we watched another cow who was looking nervous after being cut off from the herd by our presence.

Crossing one of the muddy streams on Billy Byrne’s Gap, one of the lads got his boot stuck in the mud. When he tried to pull it out, the boot stayed put so his sock landed in the wet and get soaked. Rather than changing into dry socks then, he immediately plunged the wet sock into the dry boot to ensure discomfort for the rest of the day. Ha ha.

I had a drop box waiting at Checkpoint 2 with a few goodies for everybody. I had brought enough water, jellies, chocolate and tissues for fifteen people. The first thing everybody grabbed for was the little packets of tissues. All the chocolate and jellies were eaten. Nobody bothered with the water. I still have 13 litres of Lidl Spring Water in my car if anyone is thirsty?

The emergency drop box also contained two Christmas puddings which had been going cheap in the January sales. The cold weather had made them shrivel and shrink into a sort of hard frozen lump. I still liked them, but I have one of those left over too.

After walking with us the first 25km, one of the lads took one for the team. He sacrificed himself and his walk to make sure we got a good table in the pub and hitchhiked the rest of the way. He was picked up by a man with a jeep and two rifles in the back seat.
“Are you a hunter or a killer?” asked our hero, meekly.
“You’re not one of the damn Art O’Neill bastards who is ruining the countryside, are you?” responded the armed man in an angry voice.
“Oh bugger”, said our hero to himself, as quietly as he could.

The last leg of the trek took longer than expected, so that it was approaching nightfall when we reached the track system which leads to the pub. I found the discarded leg of a deer on the path, which is an odd thing to find when there is no three-legged deer nearby.

Some of us hitched the final few kilometres to the lodge, rather than walk along the winding road in the dark and rain. I took a lift with some more deer hunters. They had no more space in the front, so I sat in the trailer, with two beheaded deer staring at me and blood sloshing about it on the bottom of the trailer.

As I got out of the truck at the pub, the man who had beheaded the two deer and had a truck dripping with blood, told me he might join me for a multi-day mountain climb in the near future. That should be fun.

We were met in the pub by a representative of the Glen of Imaal Mountain Rescue team to accept the small donation that our walkers had put together to thank our guide for preventing us from having to call the Glen of Imaal Mountain Rescue team.

Thank you and well done to everyone who took part!

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Article in The Wicklow Times, 18th February 2014

 

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Walking at dawn near Kilbride Camp. (Photo: Gareth Lowe)

 

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Crossing Billy Byrne’s Gap. (Photo: Gareth Lowe)
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Landscape over Ballinagee. (Photo: Ev O’Farrell)
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Before Art’s Plaque. (Photo: Ev O’Farrell)

 

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Team at Art’s Plaque. (Photo: Eoghan Connolly)
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Team at Art’s Cross. (Photo: Eoghan Connolly)

 

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After Art’s Cross. (Photo: Ev O’Farre
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Handing over donation (Photo: Darren Grant)
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Post walk team in t-shirts (Photo: Warren, Camera: Darren Grant)
The Moonlight Challenge, Uncategorized

The Moonlight Challenge (Sat 16-Nov): Part 4 of 4 – Call-Outs, Moonlight and Baby Seats (9.30pm to 1.30am)

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Heading down the hill from Checkpoint 2, we passed one of the Mountain Rescue team as he drove a Rescue Jeep up the hill in a hurry. A few minutes later, he passed us again on the way back down, this time with someone sitting in the passenger seat. He stopped long enough to tell us there had been two rescue call-outs so far.

“Who’s the plonker who caused the call-out?” asked The Grocer, laughing.

“Me”, said the man in the passenger seat.

DoubleD is a medical professional but made no effort to help The Grocer remove his foot from his mouth.

For someone so tiny, Ms NornIron moves very fast. I used to think it must either be drugs or magic. That night, she had an extra-large flask of triple strength French press coffee with her. She gave me a me thimbleful to perk me up. Immediately I could feel my blood scratching at the insides of my veins trying to get out. She drank the remaining 2 pints of strong coffee in a single swallow that would have intimidated the giant anaconda from the film of the same name. Drugs it is.

At one point, I saw bodies floating in the woods a short distance from the path. They were ten feet off the ground. They didn’t move but reflected the beams from our torches. I can think of three possible explanations: they may have been the spirits that touched Gappy in the graveyard; a playful use of some spare hi-vis outfits; or hallucinations brought on by Ms NornIron’s industrial-strength coffee. I haven’t decided yet.

We turned off our head torches on the final stretches of the walk. The full moon was so bright we didn’t need them. It only occurred to me then that the night had been selected because there would be a full moon. I’m a little slow at times.

We finished up at the lodge at 11.45pm. Not adjusting for rests, it took us a little over six hours to cover under 25km. Like I said, I’m a little slow at times. It wasn’t a race anyway, except to get a good seat in the pub, but that ship had sailed before we even left the lodge.

We were welcomed at the finish line with a team photograph, a goodie-bag and a bowl of either stew or vegetarian goulash. By popular option, the goulash was held to be the tastier option of the two, but I wasn’t sharing.

The goodie-bag contained a Moonlight Challenge buff for each of us and a flier for next year’s walk. We immediately made plans for next year, when we could all dress as gay pirates just like The Grocer.

Five of us hung around for a drink in the lodge. Between us, we found one seat hidden in a corner. We took turns using it, but the seat was so tiny, each of us could only it fit one bum cheek on it at a time.

I was designated driver. I agreed with my two passengers that we’d stay for two pints before hitting the road. They had Guinness and I made do with Alkoholfreies Paulaner. When we were halfway through our second pint, the third round arrived. They agreed that this would be the last moments before ordering another, and another, and another.

The organisers came looking for me at about 1am. The car park was being locked up and they needed me to move my car. I was impressed that they took the time to look for me in a busy pub before locking up. One volunteer drove me a mile down to the car park where another volunteer had been standing in the cold for twelve hours guarding all the participants’ cars. I got back to the lodge to find RedBeard trying to recruit strangers for more fundraising walks next year. I hope he doesn’t expect volunteers to stand in the cold for hours. The Mountain Rescue fundraisers seem to attract a hardier breed of volunteers.

Despite starting at 6am and having a 2 hour drive ahead of her, Ms NornIron stayed with us in the lodge till the bitter end. All I all she made a fair attempt at staying out for a full 24 hours, all to walk 24.5km to fund a mobile command unit in a county 200km from her home. She was as feisty and full of energy at 1.30am as she was at 1.30pm. I’m sure there’s something dodgy in that coffee flask of hers.

The next day I booked accommodation in Glenmalure for the Moonlight Challenge 2014. I’m already looking forward to doing it all again.

The Moonlight Challenge, Uncategorized

The Moonlight Challenge (Sat 16-Nov): Part 3 of 4 – Green Lights, Sore Arses and Promises of Crisps (7.30pm to 9.30pm)

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From Checkpoint 1, we walked up the miners’ road beside the upper lake. We passed multiple scout troupes coming the other way, down the mountain. They were walking in the dark as they had no torches. We could see lights floating around on the lake from people in canoes. Some people do very strange things for fun, I thought, as I was hiked through the night in the rain in the winter with bats painted on my face.

Two large green floodlights lit up the old miner village at the end of the upper lake. It was very atmospheric. They did a really good job with this, I thought to myself. I wished I had enough imagination to come up with such a creative idea: two huge green lamps to light the walkers’ path. As we climbed the hill I realised I was jealous of the creativity and turned to look back at the green lamps shining up from the valley below. They were like giant eyes in the night, I realise, like a big green-eyed monster…

At the top of the valley, we crossed the bridge and moved towards the top of the Spink on the wired boardwalks made from old railway sleepers. These boardwalks are a great solution for walkers on the boggy ground around the Wicklow hills. They protect the soft ground from walkers’ boots and protect walkers’ boots from the nasty sucking smelly mud. Be warned, they’re as slippery as Teflon soap when icy.

Apart from the size, the only difference between Gazza’s jacket and The Grocer’s, was that the Grocer had a bottle of whiskey in his. He refused to open it until we reached the top of the hill. At the top of the Spink, the boardwalks ended and we were sent climbing through the mud up another hill. We were spurred on by the promise of a free bag of crisps at the top. That was a tough hill. We urged each other on. To make it up, we had to be tough and ruthless. Requests for rests were refused. Calls for a stop were ignore. We were intent on the crisps and the crisps. When we got to the top, there were no crisps. There wasn’t even any whiskey. We just kept walking. I little while later, I fell on my arse.

It was no more than I deserved after refusing to stop going up the hill. From the top, the muddy path leads back down the hill to Checkpoint 2. A guide rope helped people climb down without falling. I held tight to the rope. I still fell on my arse. My bum was a little damp and very muddy, but that’s why I wear black pants. Important hiking tip: if you’re going to fall in the mud, wear dark colours.

We passed a big yellow waterproof bag on the way down the hill. It was labelled “Van Party Pack 2”, which sounded very promising. Unfortunately my arse was too sore for me to make use of the emergency party solution.

There were more grateful volunteers and more muffins waiting for us at Checkpoint 2. We shared chunky mint Kit Kats (they were minty), salted peanuts (they were salty) and a few swigs from the Grocer’s naggin of whiskey (it was peaty and smoky and delicious, it warmed my belly and my toes).

As we rested at Checkpoint 2, I met some friends of a friend. They had a dog. I wished I had a dog. With our secret aliases and adventurous demeanour, if our team only had a dog, we’d be able to fight crime, solve mysteries and discover lost treasure and hidden booty. But we have no dog, so we’re left swigging whiskey and falling on our booties*.

*my booty, specifically

The Moonlight Challenge, Uncategorized

The Moonlight Challenge (Sat 16-Nov): Part 2 of 4 – Thunderbirds, Seashells and Powers in the Dark (5pm to 7.30pm)

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The ten of us really looked quite spiffing with all (but one) of our faces painted. The vibrant face paint complimented the hi-vis colours of our hiking gear. The Grocer and Gazza wore matching luminous green jackets. The jackets said “guide” on them, but the two lads weren’t guides. They just bought the jackets to look cool. Gazza is big and the Grocer is little; they looked like a parody of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in Twins. It was very cute.

The rest of us didn’t think to wear matching outfits. All the ladies wore wearing pink (so did RedBeard). Ms NornIron even wore a pink Pippi LongStocking hat that she had knitted while waiting for us to turn up. The Rabbit of Infinite T-Shirts wore infinite t-shirts.

Once the team had been gathered, watered, fed and painted, we tried to get on a bus to the start point. Rather than wait in line with everyone else, we tried to skip the queues to get an earlier bus. Our argument was clear: “there are lots of us together, so…, eh… please??” It didn’t work. We went back to queuing and got the second last bus a few minutes later.

One of the organisers made a speech after we boarded the bus. He thanked us profusely for our support, gave us some instructions for the trail and wished us the best. He told us the evening’s fundraising was to fund a mobile command unit for the Mountain Rescue team. For each rescue call-out, the MCU would be deployed immediately to coordinate and manage the rescue resources on the ground. I immediately thought of Thunderbirds. I looked eagerly to see if the roof of the pub would split in two and a brightly coloured jet/rocket/hovercraft would launch from a secret underground hanger. It didn’t.

The box of pink coconut mini-macaroons was passed around on the bus. The lads even offered mini-muffins to all the strangers who were on the bus with us; it’s that type of event. I was sitting at the back of the bus, so I used my head torch to light everything. My torch meant that people could see each other and see the box of macaroons. I was very helpful. I still only got one macaroon.

The conversation on the bus was about climbing adventures. The Grocer and Gazza talked about their adventures on Mont Blanc (4,810m) where they had bought their matching guide jackets (they weren’t guides there either). RedBeard mentioned that he’d found leopard prints* outside his tent while climbing Mount Kenya (5,199m). I thought it was relevant to mention that I had seen no leopards while climbing Mount Kilimanjaro (5,895m). Everyone was silent for a moment, until Paleface chirped up and told us about climbing Island Peak (6, 189m). Some people are terrible story-toppers.

When we started walking, I saw that a few of the group ahead of us had sea shells on their bags, a sign that they’d walked the Camino de Santiago. I got chatting to them about it. The girl I was talking too had started from just before Astorga and stopped in Santiago (about 200km). I told her proudly that I had walked from St Jean Pied de Port through Santiago and all the way to Finisterre (about 900km). Then Paleface butted in and told how he walked from St Jean to Finisterre, from there on to Muxia, then back to Santiago (about 1,000km), and finally he took a bus to the Portuguese border, so he could walk back from there. Some people are terrible story-toppers.

We also caught up on our respect social and working lives. People talked about wives and girlfriends. I thought I’d do The Grocer a favour by telling everyone about all the different times he got engaged. Apparently that was inappropriate. It turns out we weren’t playing the story-topping game anymore.

We’re thinking of climbing a mountain together next year or the year after. If we all climb the same one, we won’t have to story-top each other anymore. We’ll just story-top the people who aren’t there. We’re thinking about Aconcagua in Argentina (6,961m). It requires a three-week stay on the mountain, staying in flimsy tents in freezing conditions, carrying heavy packs and struggling to breathe the very thin air, but we’re all okay with that. Then we were told we would need to carry our own poo down the mountain when we leave. We’re reconsidering.

The walk started high in the Wicklow Gap above Glendalough. In the floodlights, the bare rocky starting area looked like the surface of the moon. It was very atmospheric and moving. We argued about which team was which and who should carry the tickets. As we all acted like children, Lady Captain reluctantly agreed to continue being in-charge of everyone and tucked the tickets away in her soft-shell.

All of the volunteers helping out on the walk were very friendly and grateful. Even as they stood in the dark, waiting in the cold and listening to our squabbling, they thanked us for turning up. They acted as if we were doing them a favour. It was quite lovely to be made feel so welcome. They had marked the path with glow sticks and luminous flags so we couldn’t get lost (although Ms NornIron gave it a go). After ten minutes we passed a lone tree decorated with glow sticks. It looked almost Christmassy. Everyone thought it was a very nice gesture. I wonder if someone just got bored and threw all their glow sticks in one spot. If so, it worked.

We arrived into Glendalough Valley from the back. It was like sneaking into someone’s back garden. We came down an empty laneway, up some steps and through a back gate into the graveyard. A dry-ice machine pumped out spooky fog, in case the dark night in the medieval graveyard under a full moon wasn’t atmospheric enough. As we walked through the eerie graveyard, Gappy thought she felt a felt a power touching her. I suspect Gazza.

The first check-in was a large inflatable white bubble beside the upper lake. We had another moment of confusing about who was in whose team and we were served muffins. The Grocer spent some time adjusting his buff to make sure he got the right look. He finally settled on gay pirate. It suited him.

*actual paw prints from a big hunting cat, not his own discarded underwear.

The Moonlight Challenge, Uncategorized

The Moonlight Challenge (Sat 16-Nov): Part 1 of 4 – Codenames, Face paint and Spring Rolls (2.30pm to 5pm)

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The Moonlight Challenge is an annual fundraising event for the Glen of Imaal Mountain Rescue Team. It’s a 24.5 kilometre night-walk through the Wicklow Hills from Glendasan, through Glendalough to the lodge at Glenmalure. It’s a fun event, very well organised, a brilliant friendly atmosphere and a lovely warm pub at the end.

My friends and I took part in the same challenge the year before. We enjoy fundraising for the Mountain Rescue team as we’re exactly the sort of people who are likely to need them. All members of the mountain rescue team are unpaid volunteers. I follow them on Facebook and always read the descriptions of their call-outs and rescues. I make note of the errors and issues that lead to other hill walkers needing to be rescued. This is important; whenever I need to be rescued, I want it to be for something completely original, foolishness at a level previously unheard of.

Ten of us took park this year, joining about 450 other walkers and 60 runners. To protect the innocent and avoid charges of slander, I have given each teammate an alias in the following account. Including me, there were ten of us in the team, three charming Moonlightettes: Lady Captain, Ms NornIron and Gappy; and seven manly Mooners: Paleface, DoubleD, RedBeard, Gazza, The Grocer, The Rabbit of Infinite T-Shirts and me, Baldfeet.

Through the wonderful power of mutual confusion, all ten of us believed that check-in opened at 4pm. An early check-in would mean an early bus to the start line. It’s important to start early on these challenge events; it maximises the possibility of getting a good seat in the pub at the end. We had bullied one of us into being in charge for the day and our reluctant Lady Captain grudgingly instructed us to meet for lunch in the lodge at 2.30pm. This would ensure everyone would be ready when check-in opened.

I volunteered to be designated driver for those members of the team who lived near me, RedBeard and The Grocer. Unfortunately, in an attempt to keep them occupied in the car, I let my passengers act as navigators on the outward journey. We covered most of County Wicklow, a chunk of County Kildare and a good helping of South County Dublin, before we arrived in Glenmalure an hour late for our lunch. The two lads blamed my Garmin GPS for the delay. I know it’s said that a bad workman always blames his tools; I definitely blame the two tools who were doing the navigation.

Ms NornIron had been the first to arrive. For reasons known only to herself, she left her home at 6am to begin her 2 hour drive. Despite various attempts to waste time while en route (she wouldn’t have the greatest sense of direction), Ms NornIron arrived in Glenmalure at 1pm. She was there to witness check-in opening two hours earlier than we had expected. She also had time to nurse her grievances at those of us who arrived late, and to let those grievances stew, ferment and fester before being served to us on arrival.

While waiting for the rest of the team to congregate, we took the opportunity to ensure we had enough nutrition and hydration for the challenge. The waitress arrived to take our order while I was in the bathroom, so the lads ordered for me. I got a traditional walkers’ meal of deep-fried spring rolls served with sweet chilli sauce and a side of chips; grease and spice being two key elements of the endurance athlete’s food-pyramid. The two lads each had a few pints of Guinness before produced a box of pink coconut mini-macaroons to eat on the bus.

After check-in, fundraising volunteers offered to paint the faces of any walkers who wanted it. Some of the volunteers were make-up artists and some were beauticians, talented and creative experts at decorating the human face. I picked someone else.

Around me I saw people with butterflies and flowers painted on their faces. Others had blue flames and red tendrils and purple leaves. In honour of the event, my face painter made my face into a white night sky, as my large bald head made for search a good moon. She added glitter around my eyes so they shone like stars in the big sky face of my face. It was as subtle as gold glittery eyeliner can be on a bald man with a ginger beard. She then added a handful of bats.

The Rabbit of Infinite T-Shirts (Rabbit for short) went to a different face-painter. He also got bats. While my bats were simple little black silhouettes, (stick-bats if you will), Rabbit’s face was adorned with a cloud of three-dimensional monsters with leathery wings, evil red eyes and sharp fangs. “Damn it”, I said when I saw him, “your bats are way better than mine”. His face dropped. So did the faces of the rest of our team. They were looking over my shoulder, so I turned. My face painter was standing right behind me as I loudly attacked her work. I cringed. I blushed. I felt embarrassed and guilty. I apologised, but the damage had been done. I am a bad person (and she is a bad face painter)*.

Paleface had let us know early on that he wouldn’t make it for lunch at 2.30pm. At 4pm, he let us know he wouldn’t make it for 4pm. At 4.15pm, he let us know that he wouldn’t make it for 4.15pm. Then he let us know that he’d gotten lost. He turned up shortly before the last bus left. As a penalty, he was sentenced to completion of the walk without getting his face painted. Not even a dab of blusher or a dab of gold sparkles. It was a cruel punishment. I know the shame affected him deeply. 

*In retrospect, I realise that the face painter was actually a lovely, charming lady who had very generously donated her time to help strangers have a fun and enjoyable night. She didn’t deserve my criticism on the night, nor does she deserve any criticism now. She was a better face painter than I will ever be. The simplicity of the bats on my face was clearly due to her exhaustion from covering the whole of my extremely large forehead in white paint. No one can be expected to do their best work after an ordeal like that.

The Moonlight Challenge, Uncategorized

Winning A Book & New Posts

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I won a book!

I won this great book “The Summit”, about one of the deadliest days on K2, the world’s most dangerous mountain. Thanks to The Great Outdoors Adventure Shop for the brilliant prize and well done to Pemba Gyalje Sherpa and Pat Falvey for bringing the story of The Summit to the big screen. I’m really looking forward to reading the book.

Next week I’ll be posting a few blog posts about a much smaller adventure of my own, doing The Moonlight Challenge, a brilliant fundraising walk for Glen of Imaal Mountain Rescue.

GreatOutdoorsWin

Camino de Santiago, Uncategorized

Camino de Santiago, Day 36: The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (Tue 22-Oct)

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Startpoint: Olveiroa; Endpoint: Capo Finisterre; Distance walked: 35km; Steps taken: 44,961.

I think I may be in the opening scene of a horror movie. It’s a couple of days before Halloween. I’m taking a hot bath and drinking a hipflask of cheap whiskey in my room in a small remote hotel. The hotel is in an old lighthouse in an area called the Costa da Morte (the Coast of Death). It’s 3km to the nearest town; it’s a dark, windy, rainy, stormy night outside; and my room is lit up every ten seconds by the revolving lighthouse. I’m the only guest in the hotel. The only other person in the building is the doorman, an ex-lighthouse keeper disgruntled by losing his traditional way of life to technology and automation…

Nobody ever survives the opening scene…

Okay, so the only other person is actually a very charming hotelier with very good English and an open and friendly manner, but the rest of it is true. I am the only person here tonight; the receptionist didn’t even ask for my name or ID – she’d been expecting me. The water in the bath is brown rather than clear, but that’s okay if I’m not going to drink it. Brown water is Mostly Harmless, right?

Okay, back to the blog… I’m finished! I made it to Cape Finisterre! My feet are in bits (hence the bath), so hopefully I can get a taxi to the bus stop tomorrow.

I started late today. My clothes were still drying from yesterday’s surprise arrival of the sea in my rucksack. I begged a few refuse sacks from the lovely people in the hostal so that any further downpours wouldn’t leave me with a choice of either eating dinner naked or dripping. I wrapped everything up in at least 2, if not 3 waterproof layers – naturally it barely rained at all.

When we were kids, every summer we’d go to Brittas Bay for the holidays. Driving down from Dublin took about an hour. When we were getting close to the campsite and driving from Jack White’s Pub on the N11 towards the public carpark, there was always a little competition between the four kids to see who could see the sea first. There was one hill on the road which got us high enough to see over the sanddunes, but we never remembered which hill that was. We climbed every hill with held breath, waiting to shout ‘I can see the sea’ before anyone else. Today felt like that.

I knew I’d reach the coast eventually today, so every hill I climbed expecting to see the ocean on the far side. It took longer than I expected. I can see the sea now. I can also hear it and smell it.

Approaching the town of Finisterre, about 3km back from the headland, I walked along the beach for about 10 or 15 minutes. Recent tradition dictates that pilgrims on the Camino carry a scallop shell to show that they’re pilgrims. I always thought the rucksack and hiking boots were sign enough. At one stage, a very generous Englishman gave me a small scallop shell for my bag, which he had blessed by a priest in Lourdes. I attached the shell to the front of my bag as it lay on the ground and pushed the bag under my bed for safe keeping. As the shell hit the bedframe, it shattered. The generous chap happily gave me a second blessed shell.

I attached the second shell only the next day, so the same thing wouldn’t happen. After two hours I dropped my pack to the floor while I had a coffee and the second shell broke. I decided then that I’d wait until I got to the sea myself and pick my own shell rather than pay for one or risk the entire Lourdes stock.

I found a shell. It’s a bit old and battered, but it portrays the general idea. As soon as I picked it up, the Galician rain started up and soaked me, almost like in spite. I walked away wondering if the Province of Galicia is really out to get me and other questions about life, the universe and everything, but then decided to eat a bag of mixed nuts, which was considerably more satisfactory.

Finisterre means ‘end of the earth’. This headland was previously thought to be the most westerly point of Europe (it’s not), of the Iberian Peninsula (it’s not), or of Spain (it’s not), but it is pretty far west. I arrived in time to enjoy sunset and beers with a few pilgrims who’d travelled here from Santiago either by foot or by bus. One of the pilgrims gave me an excellent caricature he’d drawn of me (see below). Another chastised me for taking too long, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.

The wind was so strong coming off the ocean that it nearly knocked me off my feet a couple of times, but seeing the (cloudy) sunset over the ocean was worth both the wind and the bit-part in a horror movie.

Two of us ate dinner in the hotel restaurant – we were the only diners. The menu was entirely fish dishes – understandable considering our location. They were good enough to make allowances for me being a vegetarian and cooked me some scrambled eggs, which was a nice change from the fried eggs, the omelettes and the eggy flan. When we finished eating, one of the hotel staff had to drive her back to her hotel down in the town, as reportedly all the taxi-drivers had all gone to bed. At 10pm. Leaving me alone with the doorman…

I’ve locked the door and opened the window in case I need a quick getaway. There are lots of noises, but whether they’re from the wind, the sea, the creakiness of an old building, or from someone with an axe to grind, I can’t tell.

If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, so long and thanks for all the fish.

Otherwise, buen Camino.

At the distance marker: 0.0km

At the distance marker: 0.0km

At the End of the World

At the End of the World

Last Yellow Arrow

Last Yellow Arrow

Me and my shell

Me and my shell

Camino de Santiago, Uncategorized

Camino de Santiago, Day 35: F*** you too, Galicia (Mon 21-Oct)

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Startpoint: Negreira; Endpoint: Olveiroa; Steps taken: 43,238; Distance walked: 33km.

It rained today. That pretty much sums it up.

When I left Negreira, I wondered about the large plastic spheres on top of lots of the farm-buildings. Some were quite large. I guessed up to two metres in diameter. I couldn’t figure it out.

I was wearing my full waterproofs and the cover over the bag. I still got wet. The rain was constant, heavy and horrible. I began to wonder had my post about the cathedral mass angered someone up above. But only Neptune would have that much water at his disposal and I doubt that soggy-bearded fork-fondler cares too much about Sunday mass. Then I realised, this was Galicia’s revenge. I challenged Galicia to throw everything it had at me, and now that’s what it was doing, while it had the home advantage. I realised what the plastic spheres were: giant ballcock and all of Galicia was going to fill up with rain like a giant cistern until those babies floated.

The rain came from all sides. It got under my hat. It got down my waterproof pants. It got through my goretex raincoat. I knew the rainjacket had been advertised as ‘breathable’, I didn’t realise it was also breathable for fish.

The paths turned to streams. I started by hopping from rock to rock and dry patch to dry patch, but the water was too deep and the paths too narrow. I tried walking up in the woods off the path, but couldn’t tell the direction. In the end, I gave up the tiptoeing and pussyfooting for futile and just walked through the water. At some points, the water rose to six or eight inches. Luckily I was wearing waterproof Goretex walking shoes with tough Vibram rubber soles. Unluckily the shoes didn’t go six inches up. They filled with water. I now know for sure they are waterproof, at least from the inside out. I squelched for 33km from 9.30am to 4.30pm.

A fellow pilgrim had told me that at one point on the trail to Finisterre, they had recently built a little bridge, where previously there were only stepping stones. I thought to myself that on a day like today, that hardly mattered. I was wrong. I found the bridge. It was made of carefully selected and cut half-logs, each round surface polished and varnished to look very modern and beautiful, and provide no grip whatsoever, especially in the wet. In case anyone managed to make it over them, at the end was a smooth plank to step on, carefully angled to look flat, while it actually sloped down. The bridge was an improvement over the stepping stones, not by reducing the chances of walkers slipping and falling into the stream, but by ensuring if they did fall, they would do so from a greater height, thus maximising the size of the splash. I didn’t fall in, but the last plank did catch me out, and I did the splits involuntarily as I stepped off the bridge. I didn’t know I could bend that way, to be honest.

At about 2pm, I stopped in a roadside bar to dry off a little and have a beer and a coffee. Before leaving, I took off my waterproof trousers. They hadn’t kept me warm or dry, they’d just slid down my arse enough to stop me walking, so I decided to make-do without. Then the hailstones started.

My bare legs were raw within minutes. The hailstones bounced off the rest of the wet gear, but apparently the hood of my rainjacket was not made for people with noses the size of mine. The tip of it was the recipient of numerous little ice-meteorites. Ow.

I’m in the bar in Olveiroa now. I’m wearing my pyjama top and pants with no underwear, as everything else is soaked. The water got through the rain-cover of my bag and soaked my clothes. My sleeping bag is saturated. It got through my rainjacket and waterproofs, and through ziplock bags to seep into my mapbook and my Pilgrims Credential, making the stamps I’ve spent 34 days collecting blur and run.

The rain and wind are still going. The building has had a half-dozen mini-blackouts since I got here. All my things are in the dryer, except my shoes, which are wedged under the hot radiator in my room. I’m still damp and the skin on my feet is still wrinkled and prune-like.

Galicia may have scored a couple of hits today, but I did my 33km and made it to my destination. Only one day of walking left before I get to Finisterre. I’ll be walking along the Atlantic coast for a lot of the day, before I stay in a lighthouse for the night. It’ll hardly be raining at the lighthouse, will it?

Buen Camino