The Sacred and the Scared - Part 2

Croagh Patrick

As I pulled into the parking lot, there were no other cars.  Is it possible?  Do I have Croagh Patrick to myself?  Is it just me and the mountain?  Wow!

I got my backpack and walking stick out of the car and made my way to the beginning of the trail behind the Welcome Center.  Little did I realize, the parking lot was the last patch of level ground I would see until the summit. (Note: parking lot has slight slope toward the road, so even that is up hill.)  The weather was grey and overcast with small openings in the canopy.  At least the clouds were high enough today so I could see the summit.

St. Patrick in front of his mountain

There are 4 distinct stages to get to the top of Croagh Patrick, the field, the approach, the pass, and the ascent.  After passing the statue of St. Patrick, you enter the field portion of the trail.  You must make sure to close the gate behind you so the sheep don't get out.  The trail follows a picturesque stream on the right hand side of the trail.  It is beautiful, if you stop to look.  One cannot readily look about as one walks, surety of step is important to staying upright on the trail.  The view ahead is daunting, it just keeps going up and up and up...

As one enters the approach, you get a taste, just a taste, of what is to come.  Rocks of every size and shape imaginable.  There are little glimpses of "trail-like" spaces here and there.  However, the the trail's upward angle ranges from 30 to 45 degrees at various points.  It was on the "approach" that I caught a glimpse of a person coming down the upper section.  First disappointment, I was not alone. I was not the first today.

Looking down the approach

It was at that moment I looked back towards Clew Bay and noticed some menacing clouds coming fast.  I was on the steep part of the approach when the wind hit. There was no place to take cover.  I thought at times the wind would tear my clothes off as it grew in intensity.  Then, the hail came.  Small flecks at first which melted quickly on my pants and coat. Larger hail, the size of BBs soon followed.  The back of my legs and hands stung with each pellet as it landed, like thousands of bees attacking at once.  It felt as thought the wind was driving the hail through the layers of my clothes and penetrating the skin beneath.  The melting hail on my pants became a small stream of water running down my legs into my boots where is slowly began to collect. There was no choice but to continue, for there was no shelter from the assault.

Hail on the mountain

As I reached the pass, the hail began to subsided.  However, the deep crevasse to my right between the two peaks acted as a funnel, gathering the wind and focusing its might at the low point of the pass.  The wind had been at my back.  But, turning to right to cross the pass put me perpendicular to it.  With one gust, my feet started to slide as the wind pushed me across the trail.  The only thing to do was to drop down and reduce my sail area.  Keeping low, I made my way behind a large outcropping of rock.  This was my first respite from the wind.

At this point, the conversation in my head went something like this... "Are you out of your mind??  What are doing up here??  As beautiful as the valley is behind the peak, I would rather not land in it after being blown off the mountain."  As I looked at the ascent, this was decision time.  Do I go on?  Can I go on?  I have to.  I must complete this journey. The wind was easing a bit, so I set out for the ascent. It's ironic that as you cross the pass you actually go down a bit in order to go up the ascent.  It is almost like a cruel joke.

The ascent is a trail of rocks; rocks upon rocks  It is as if a monstrous dump truck of gravel emptied its load from the summit on what was a trail. However, the gravel is generally the size of your head or fist.  It is very difficult to find a flat or even level place for your feet.  Couple the layers of rocks with the angle of incline (40 to 50 degrees) and you have a torturous climb.  The one plus of the ascent is a raised ridge which creates a wind block.

St. Patrick's Bed

As you crest onto the summit, there are various make shift shelters to your left.  The chapel is straight ahead. Patrick's sleeping place to your right.  As well as various memorial cairns to the far right.  The sun was beginning to break through the clouds, but the wind was still formidable.  At one point, albeit momentarily, the summit was completely encased in cloud. This vaporous shroud lifted more slowly than it came.

Eastern end of Clew Bay

I sought shelter from the wind on the back side of the chapel.  I was able to remove my backpack and coat and sit on a flat surface while I ate my lunch. The view from the summit is quite spectacular.  Clew bay with its 365 islands lays at your feet like beautiful Persian rug.  Each island meticulously, stitched into the azure blue background.  Behind me, on the leeward side of the summit, was an inviting valley.  It's patchwork of luscious green fields illuminated by growing areas of sunshine gave it more varieties of green than Crayola has yet to imagine for their crayons.  Houses and barns are sprinkled about, but it is the ever changing patterns of small white dots on the green background which captures one's attention.  Like miniature Rorschach tests, arrangements ebb and flow one into the next as the different flocks of sheep move about.

My original goal was to spend one minute for every day St. Patrick spent on the summit.  Tradition has it, he spent 40 days and 40 nights at the peak.  I was there about an hour, a much needed recovery time.  It was then I had the mountain to myself.

People headed for the ascent

Climbing up Croagh Patrick is a challenge.  Climbing down is even more demanding.  My biggest problem going up was oxygen.  More specifically the lack of oxygen required by out of shape, over-weight, 57 year old males.  Climbing down required less oxygen as gravity is working with you. Nevertheless, the fear of falling forward down the mountain requires more of your legs and less of your lungs.  Half way down the ascent, I noticed the uncontrollable shaking of my legs.  This required frequent stops and the massaging of my leg spasms. This would be a oft repeated ritual all the way down the mountain.

As I reached the parking lot, I sat for what seemed to be an hour and stared at the mountain.  Never before in my life have I attempted something as physically demanding and mentally challenging.  It is something I will remember forever.