Tag Archives: Mayo

A running lesson from a 70-something hiker

On Croagh Patrick

On Croagh Patrick

“It’s good for the soul.”

Not the words I expected to hear from a 70-something hiker as he ascended the tough scree slopes of Croagh Patrick, a mountain on Ireland’s western seaboard, on a rain and wind-lashed November afternoon.

The light was falling and I was coming off the mountain as quickly as my sodden boots could carry me. As I descended I was surprised to see, emerging from the mist ten minutes below the summit, a couple of men making their way up.

As they got closer I expected a brief conversation, above the howling wind, about conditions on top or how much longer they had to hike to get there. That’s if I even wanted to engage in conversation – my summit high had quickly faded and I was dreaming of taking off every piece of wet clothing once I got back to my car.

The lead climber, now just meters away, was 40 years older than me, moving slower than I was and clearly feeling the impact of a 700 meter ascent up a wet rock path.

Seconds before we passed he looked up and grimaced, before smiling briefly and giving me his words of advice. A second later we parted. I think we managed a mutual ‘best of luck’ – but I doubt either of us heard it above the wind.

This morning I awoke more than 4,400 miles from Croagh Patrick, to the sight of rain pouring down on the September streets of Portland, Oregon. It was before dawn, I was tired, my legs were sore, my rain-gear packed in a box still in transit from Ireland.

I could’ve provided myself with a dozen more excuses not to go for a morning run. But something in the rising light or the hanging clouds on the West Hills kicked me back to November 2008, to the slopes of Croagh Patrick and an old hiker who refused to quit on a hard mountain day.

My three miler was little compared to his daylong climb, though we probably wound up equally drenched afterwards.

Eight years on, the Croagh Patrick climber’s advice has stayed with me. Whether it’s climbing a weather-lashed mountain or pounding city streets through the rain, don’t think it, just do it – and keeping doing it. If nothing else, your soul will be fit.

A climber through the mist, Croagh Patrick, November 2008

A climber through the mist, Croagh Patrick, November 2008

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The (dropped) call of the wild

Croagh Patrick from Murrisk (on a smartphone), February 2014.

Croagh Patrick from Murrisk (on a smartphone), February 2014.

CONTACT with nature is good for you?

After two months of Atlantic storms most Irish people would disagree. Nature, by way of gales and floods, has well and truly come to us.

Isn’t it supposed to be the other way round?

Richard Louv thinks so. Sheltering indoors from last week’s tempests I came across an article in which he proposes ten reasons why we need more contact with the natural world.

Most of the ten are less than mind-blowing (‘nature brings our senses alive’), but a couple are interesting (‘we suffer when we withdraw from nature’).

His overall message is straightforward: ignore the gales (and whatever else) and get out there.

Just as well. The following day we planned to drive 280km across the country to Westport, facing a forecast of storm-forced winds, sleet and snow.

Snow, north Roscommon. Pic: Clare Kleinedler

Snow, north Roscommon.
Pic: Clare Kleinedler

But after a month spent in the city, and much of that indoors, at home or in the office, a windswept trip West was mentally necessary – whatever the weather.

Driving across the Midlands, washed out and browny bleak, Louv’s main point recurred to me: the more hi-tech our lives become the more nature we need.

Conveniently the thought resurfaced as our mobile phone coverage began to dip in and out across the flatlands of north Roscommon.

By the time we reached Co Mayo thoughts of nature took a backseat to the more immediate task of driving through it, as visibility dropped and the journey was reduced to a 60kph crawl.

Far from stressful (though AMII might have disagreed) the drive was oddly relaxing. Confronted with a wall of white and driving over freezing sleet there was nothing to do but focus on the road, or what could be seen of it, and keep going.

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THE snow made an impression on the landscape too.

The following dawn we awoke to an ominous Croagh Patrick, its peak above Westport clouded in grey.

As the morning drew on, and the skies cleared, revealing an ice-covered mountain top.

After coffee in Westport we drove to Murrisk, at the foot of the mountain. We didn’t plan to climb it this time, but couldn’t resist driving a couple of miles out for a closer peak.

A previous visit to Croagh Patrick, November 2010.

A previous visit to Croagh Patrick, November 2010.

Some 760 metres above lay the summit, and we could just make out the shape of the church on it. Having climbed The Reek a number of times I’d never seen it so clear, in such pristine northerly air.

I could, of course, have witnessed the same vista without leaving my sitting room in Dublin, sifting through innumerable online photos of the mountain. But how could that compare?

A month of laptop browsing was worth just a second stood underneath the real thing.

Here was just path, wind, slope and scree, with snow on top. The full, analogue majesty of the outdoors;  our senses ignited, our souls replenished by contact with nature, and not a smart phone in sight.

They sat in our pockets, untouched.

Untouched, that was, until we needed to snap the scene.

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