Sunday 23rd June 2024
Day 9: WAW – Croagh Patrick to Mulranny
After drinking plenty of electrolytes last night, I slept well with no cramps and woke this morning with full use of my legs—bonus!
Today was a gentle day. After figuring out exactly where I’d left the WAW in 2018 from old posts, I determined that I’d actually made it as far as Croagh Patrick. Indeed, I now had clear memories of staring up at the mountain, feeling defeated that I would have to go home, unable to complete the route.
So this time, I returned for breakfast and to stare at the mountain once more and to reflect on the enormity of yesterday’s challenge
Was I tempted to have another crack? Maybe another day, you don’t need to summit every mountain you climb. It’s good to be humbled by nature.
As I sat, I listened to the chatter around me, and how Irish accents change from county to county. In Sligo, sentences are punctuated by ‘now’ and two sharp intakes of breath. Here, the accent is very lilting, up and down, and sentences are punctuated by ‘boy’.
Apparently, two people were taken off the mountain yesterday. One suffered a loss of sensation in their legs due to fear of heights, the other was the accident we saw. You really have to respect the mountain.
After a much-needed cheese and ham toastie and coffee (I know, but they didn’t do breakfasts!), I continued on my way, the majestic Croagh Patrick always in view. Westport was only a few miles down the road, so I stopped for a wander around on still unsteady legs. Parking is free on a Sunday.
Westport sits on the south-east corner of Clew Bay, an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean. The bay has more than a hundred small islands on its landward side, with Croagh Patrick in the background. Clew Bay used to have a large number of basking sharks visiting, but they were heavily hunted for their oil in previous centuries.
It was lovely and quiet, with a few cafes and bars. I bought Guinness chocolate and a map to explore my route up the mountain yesterday.
The locals were very friendly, perhaps a bit too much so. A biker called out good morning to me. I returned the greeting, and we chatted a while. He was full of blarney, asking “are you here with your husband?” without even trying to be subtle. After many very direct questions and an offer of his number, I excused myself.
The route out took me through the main town square, which was pretty and bustling with folk settling in for Sunday lunches. I drove on, looking for more tranquil places.
After the next town, Newport, the road joined the coast once more, and I stumbled across a camping field at Mulranny, right on the beach. €10 for his ‘glamping’ field – it would do me. A cold wind blew, and brave souls sat outside their flapping bell tents, trying to enjoy the weather.
After some much-needed housekeeping and a coffee from the beach wagon, I sat on the stony beach, watching the waves. I promised myself a swim when the tide came in. The cold sent me back to the van, and I fell asleep. I woke to waves crashing on the shore, pebbles rolling in the tide, and realised it was now a bit too wild for a swim. It has been this way every day; I’ve only managed one swim so far.
The farmer told me there was a hot shower. I looked around, and he pointed to a small shed. Clever idea—a portable gas shower—but he lied. It was anything but hot, and it would have taken an engineer to figure it out.
I twiddled with knobs and got the occasional burst of heat, but at least I smelled better, and I washed yesterday’s clothes. It was too windy to hang them outside
Chilli van carne for tea and lots of chocolate. Boulders on the beach moved under the feet of migrating sheep.
And as the sky grew dark, I noticed the hillside was on fire. The farmer seemed unperturbed, as his border collie drove sheep off the campsite. I presume it was a controlled fire; the sky burned red into the night.
Tales From The Trails 
Leave a comment