Was it when I saw the massive former glacier looming in front of us?
Or was it as I climbed the big boulders at the base of said former glacier?
Perhaps it was when we got to what I thought was the top of the mountain and realized we still weren't at the top. I decided that Captain Von Trapp was an optimist. My optimism faded as we traversed across the length of the peak (still uphill) when the wind started. Not just wind, but massive hurricane, gale force winds that kept knocking me over into the foot high bog.
If I weighed 15 pounds less I'm convinced I would have been literally blown off the mountain.
Oh yeah, and it was snowing.I've been told it never snows in Ireland.
In fact, the cousins had the audacity to continue to say "really, it hardly ever snow in Ireland" as flakes of snow gathered on my coat and soaked my face. I beg to differ. And as you can see, the Canuck didn't mind the snow. Snow, cold, and the vertical climb aside, it really was a beautiful hike, I mean walk. It took about an hour's drive to get to Glendalough (pronounced glenn-duh-lock) the starting point of our hike, I mean walk. But, that short drive seemed to take us miles, I mean kilometers from Dublin. We started at the base of a lake, and walked from one end to the other before beginning our ascent.
I am ashamed to admit that when told we were headed to the mountains for a walk, this Sierra-raised girl snickered at the use of the word mountain to describe any of the landscape I had seen so far. But this Irish mountain had the last laugh as I huffed and puffed my way to the top. The view from the top shows you the distance and height we climbed on our hike, I mean walk. But it paints a deceptively calm, serene picture. I'm telling you, I've never heard of a hurricane snowstorm but that's what we were hiking, I mean walking in. A more appropriate picture is the one of me and Mark at the top of the mountain where Mark is clearly exhilarated by our climb and dreaming of future treks in the Alps this summer whereas I'm clinging onto him for dear life, grateful that there is a wooden barricade between us and the ledge.
Of course we survived the hike without an Katy ala Mary Poppins incidents, thanks mostly to a very kind and considerate Mark who held my hand in order to hold me up, while I clutched, tugged, and pulled on his jacket with my other hand to stabilize me. So whether hike or walk, hill or mountain, hurricane or breeze, I'm just grateful for the company I'm blessed to be traveling with (and who just came up behind me, read that last line, said awww, gave me a kiss on the cheek, paused.... and then said, "is that me??").
4 comments:
I'll be happy to skip that kind of "walk" when we visit. I must say that the wooden barrier in the final picture doesn't look strong enough to endure both of your leanings. The scenery was obviously beautiful--but you do look cold! Congrats for surviving a Fleeton Walk, Mrs. F.
I liked the juxtaposition of the blog pix with the snow capped peaks on the left and sunny Punta Cana, DR wedding photo on the right. Besides, I thought the Irish went on tramps or treks, not walks or hikes. jp
HELLO....were you not sitting in the living room when Mark told the story about going for a "walk" with his relatives in his tennis shoes the last time he was there? Little old lady who kicked his Cannuck butt? I say you should have known they don't walk, but hike!
All right, Love Birds! Some of us are living your adventure vicariously, and we need to know what adventures have transpired since last week! Truthfully, you've awakened the wanderlust in our family--for this we thank you! Cheers!
The O'Malleys
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