Errigal on Friday Muckish on Sunday
Errigal on Friday
Mrs Ryan, Mr Hamilton and Mr Millar set off up the mushy acres from the little knock kneed car park to the footpath proper up the easy ridge of Errigal. They were talking and walking, stopping and listening. Ahead they would be involved in the sacred throwing of snowballs from the top of small outcrops of rock as soon as this was possible but now it was walking faster or slower finding the pace avoiding the grunge holes. As the ridge is reached the party straggles. Mr Hamilton is ahead and Mr Millar in the middle stops to wait for Mrs Ryan and talks with a lonely German descending, having experiences in our beautiful country. A young man from Thuringia and living in Potsdam travelling the country from his friends house in Galway. Hello goodbye. Mrs Ryan arrives, we greet each other and plod on talking about nothing that is remembered now, Mr Millar gradually moves ahead again till Mr Hamilton appears with snowballs and the advantage of height. Mr Millar craftily puts snowballs in his pockets and exacts a revenge with the advantage of surprise at the little stone shelter circle before the final gentle ridge. The party continues to the top and finds a circle of the world on view from Ben Bulben in the south to a distant unknown point in the ocean to the north. All of Donegal is before them. Bloody Foreland clear as the houses on Inishbofin and all the lesser known hills between Errigal and Slieve League stretching away in many layers with towns like Ardara lost among them. Fantastic to get out after Christmas Mr Millar concludes with his hands in his pockets for shelter. They descended along gentle ridge and paused to take a photo of the reddening Western skyline near sunset at the little walled shelter. It was all beautiful. They took photos and that man from the South stumbled over and wanted us to take his picture and said that he was the slowest man on the mountain that day. Mr Millar was in a hurry now and makes ground on the others more relaxed pace, but all meet at the car where others are finishing too.
Muckish on Sunday
Not enough Ice but a keen squad in three cars arrived. Clan Ryan, Phil and Dave, Stuart and Al. Quiet foundering Muckish, north side, the mine track, gullies leading to a flat summit. Phil and Dave had never been before, they hadn't lived because that day there was a huge mountain of chocolate at the top and the young Ryans were determined to get up to nab some of it. The ice men moved ahead of chocolate seekers and their parents and found a place with ice at the wooden steps. It wasn't good but they wanted to play. A top rope was rigged, Phil had a play, it was cold if you stood around. The chocolate dream continued further down the track but sadly had to be abandoned after a valiant effort. The tope rope was abandoned and the ice men headed upwards questing out any little bluff or spring that had frozen so that it could be climbed, working gradually upwards towards the mine. Meanwhile Marty trudged back up having left the wife and waines at the car. For the ice men three or four taxing little step ups were possible, turning a moderate profit on the bringing of the crampons and axes. Stuart and Al continued pleasantly up a gully to the right of the mine while Phil and Dave headed directly there. At the top of the gully another thought provoking step up led to the arête above the mined area and now frozen was accessible compared to the treacherous slippery scree it would be at all other times. It was the first time the pair had been on that part of the mountain. Phil and David shout up from the mine that they have discovered a great streak of ice and leaving them to play around on it the other pair continue up discovering traversing ledges used by the miners and moving along them and up over the frozen rubble and turf to the top. The westering sun exposed Marty in vivid red on the ridge of the normal path, vivid in sunlight but to small for a photo. The three met at the top and wandered to the summit. The North West Mountaineers were there. We talked and all went down again.
Al Millar