#17 My Travel Journal - Irish Tales
Our escape on the west coast of Ireland from dramatic beaches to mountain summits
Our cottage is perched on the edge of a bay where when the tide is in the Atlantic waters stretches its fingers to ours. When the sun is setting the cottage and its surroundings become haloed in an orange glow. Jasper sits at the window, his own private television screen, surveying the perimeter for cats, sometimes remembering there is glass between them and sometimes not. Each morning I wrap up warm to take a lap of the garden, feet crunching on the frost tipped grass, the glass water still, the world cocooned in sleep.
We took a drive to the cliffs one day. Named the number one tourist destination in County Donegal, the Sliabh Liag cliffs boast a rise of over 600m above the ocean below, the highest accessible sea cliffs in Europe. The air was bitter yet the sky was blue, the fresh breeze feathering our faces as we curled our gloved fingers into our palms. The views were worth it, with its sweeping panorama across Donegal Bay. Afterwards we warmed our hands with mugs of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, the first sounds of Christmas touching our ears. Christmas appears to be taken seriously around here with houses adorned with lights, majestic trees sat grandly in windows and wreaths pinned to doors to welcome both visitors and residents alike. As we drove back to our cottage that day, in that time between light and dark, I watched as smoke started to dance from chimneys, infiltrating the dusk with its wispy patterns of warmth and wonder. I take note of the houses: polished, manicured, smooth. Erected in breeze and then skimmed before being painted white or blue or grey or lilac. Gardens sprawling around them. Stone or brick cottages are few and far between, standing out like a black sheep amongst the white.
We climbed a mountain the other day. Mount Errigal stands tall, prominent, seasonally topped with snow. It’s a sheer climb up and back down again. On a mild summer’s day, I imagine we would’ve skipped up to the summit. On a winter’s day with snow and ice on the ground, there was certainly no skipping to be done. I felt with every step the earth would slide away, my feet giving way to the danger beneath them. The higher we stepped, the icier it became. My eyes rooted down, frantically searching for a patch of clear rock or of deeper snow to support my footing. Land on a patch of ice and you need to be ready to steady yourself, to break your fall. I panicked right at the point where each step was a bed of ice. I feared my feet sliding behind me, my knees cracking to the ground, my face planting the rocks, hands unable to catch me. I feared the walk back down, of falling, of sliding down the ledge. The more I went up, the more I had to come down. And I didn’t want more. I wanted less. Less was all I wanted in that moment. After what felt like forever, my feet glued and unmoving, a mini panic attack aside, Sean encouraged me to carry on. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had a panic attack on a mountain side. It also wouldn’t be the first time I’d carried on because another woman walked past me leaving me feeling embarrassed by my fear. I can tell you now that it won’t be my last.
Imagine if I had turned around. Imagine if the fear had won. It would then forever keep on winning. But fear lost the battle that day. I won. I had an urge to write “barely” after that: “I won, barely.” But I didn’t barely win. I won. A subtle reminder to not down play any achievement, particularly one that involves a battle with the mind, with the negative inner narrative we fight so hard to overcome. At the summit, the wind was severe, serving a temperature of what felt like sub-zero. Taking my eyes off the ground for a split second was worth it, the views spectacular. The thought of staying longer on the summit than necessary however were both unappealing and not entirely sensible so we headed back down the path. Slowly but surely. I tried to relax my body, to remove the pent up tension. In the end I resorted to a crab like walk over the more slippy steps. Feet and hands shuffling my body along, trying to avoid contact between my bum and the surface below. I didn’t care much about what other walkers thought of my new style of hiking. All I wanted was to be down safely with my fear of falling avoided. Sean strode ahead with Jasper, who despite his coat, was shivering. But perhaps he too was nervous, the wind having spooked him somewhat.
We eventually made it to the winding path leading back to the car and it was at this point that I’d noticed a few walkers had caught up with us on the way down. Funny that because I’d kept checking behind so I could stand up and let anyone past who may be approaching. I looked down to their feet. Of course. Crampons1. These walkers were prepared. If I’m ever going to climb a mountain in these conditions again, I’d have to get myself some of those. It probably wasn’t the best idea to head up there in such conditions. You certainly wouldn’t want to go up there with clouds floating over the summit, a pointless endeavour with the views invisible. I’m glad we did it though and I’m proud of myself for carrying on even though I could have so easily turned around. Despite various episodes on sides of mountains, I continue to be drawn to them. The fascination, the wonder, the challenge, too much to be ignored.
Mornings spent watching the world go by, slow and tranquil.
Afternoons spent watching Jasper frolic on the beach.
Evenings spent enjoying the warmth and friendliness of an Irish pub.
Roaring fire, friendly locals full of good craic, live music on repeat.
I’ve even grown accustomed to the Guinness, it tasting far better than back home.
Ireland has been the perfect opposite to what we’ve had recently and the most perfect unexpected surprise.
A welcome respite between the travel and the upcoming reality.
It almost feels as if we were meant to be here.
In case you don’t know, crampons are a traction device attached to footwear to improve mobility on snow and ice during ice climbing. Besides ice climbing, crampons are also used for secure travel on snow and ice, such as crossing glaciers, snowfields and icefields, ascending snow slopes, and scaling ice-covered rock.
Much love Angel xxx
Your photos are stunning, Lyndsay. Ireland is on my list of places to visit. I'd like to drive there so we can explore with the car and bring things back. Maybe next year...
The mountain climb does sound pretty hairy without crampons! I would have felt the same as you, but hopefully the feeling of achievement when you got to the bottom was worth it!