Day 2: Camp to Annascaul (via Inch): 20km

Today’s walk

We had perfect Irish weather (which is a most un-Irish phenomenon according to many of the Irish men and women we chatted to today). A balmy 20 degrees, a cool breeze and high fluffy clouds made for a very happy day hiking through fields, traversing country roads and crossing the occasional bog. Lots of sheep, handsome horses and beautiful scenery (no green filters in these images - all true to colour). The scenery is in the photographs, but a brilliant day in the sunshine does not necessarily make for an entertaining or enlightening blog post, so I’ll fill you in on other matters too.

Last night’s dinner

Who knew that seafood chowder seems to be the staple Irish dish on a pub menu? Sausages and mash are another favourite (though not one of mine). Last night I ate excellent local fish and chips. Two in our party ordered side dishes. Mary’s side salad was of the coleslaw variety and served in an eggcup sized bowl. Mr Collins’s chips (we know how he likes a potato!) were served in a bowl the size of his head.

After a tipple or two, our party worked out we have fifteen children between us, to which Mr Wickham exclaimed, ‘And we’re not done yet!’ Lydia looked horrified at the implications until Mr Wickham (with a wink) clarified that he was referring to grandchildren.

Things we learnt along the way …

A friendly elderly woman, clearly a local, pointed out two mountains and told us that the small one was actually higher than the big one but was set further back and that’s why it looked smaller. We followed these ‘breasts’ for some distance, before turning away from the sea and heading inland again. Annascaul is a very pretty town set in a valley. Stone cottages, a couple of pubs, green verges, stone walls and a river.

The South Pole Inn

Annascaul is the birthplace of Tom Crean, a sailor renowned for Antarctic polar expeditions including Englishman Robert Falcon Scott’s ill-fated voyage and race to the pole against Roald Amundsen (if you’re read In at the Deep End, you’ll know all about this) and Ernest Shackleton and his crew’s remarkable survival after a capsizing in Antarctica. Crean retired from the navy and ran a pub, the South Pole Inn, in Annascaul until his untimely death. There is some wonderful memorabilia in the pub, including a replica of a boat used in Shackleton’s voyage.

Ailments

For a round up of today’s ailments, we went around the cedar/ cider table in the pub this afternoon, which raised a few issues of concern. Sore feet. Stiff shoulders. Balls (slightly concerning on various levels, until Kitty explained she was talking about the balls of her feet). Also, ‘No feet’ (later explained as numbness below the knee - also slightly concerning). Mr Darcy reported ‘general malaise’ at one point, but getting his poles out appeared to invigorate him.

An adventure:

Four of our party, slightly slower up the ascents, had the potential to be gored by a bull or suffer a terrible fall. We were walking in the clouds (up high) and needed to go ‘off track’ because we wanted to stop at Inch (for movie buffs, the seaside town of Inch was the magnificent setting for Ryan’s Daughter), when we saw an open gate leading to the road and the ocean. Yes, there was a sign on the gate ‘NO TRESPASSING BEWARE OF THE BULL’ but the gate was invitingly open and we saw a large vehicle, and a farmer, in the paddock, so thought it would be safe to follow the cow pats to the road. When the farmer avoided eye contact after our friendly wave, we thought this might simply be a matter of avoiding the glare of the sun. But when he lumbered into his four-wheel drive, motored up the hill to the point where we’d entered and firmly closed the gate, we became moderately concerned. However, we were already half way to the road (and the gate behind us was now closed) so we kept walking. Only to be faced with an electric fence and a VERY HIGH gate at the roadside. There were footholds on one side of the gate which we could climb, but none on the other. Nevertheless, Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley (longer of leg than Lizzie and Jane) ably climbed the gate and jumped to the far side before assisting their companions over the railings. It was a true testament to Mr Bingley’s strength of character, some might even say heroism, that he didn’t complain too much when the muck on Jane’s boots smeared his hands with excrement.

Totally irrelevancy

A weed is simply a plant that’s in the wrong place … I often think that about field flowers, and we saw some excellent examples of them today - the dandelions were like splashes of sunshine amongst the mauves and reds and purples and pinks. There are hedges of fuscia’s growing wild at the sides of the laneways. Also honeysuckle, lupins and the ubiquitous blackberry bushes.

Tomorrow we walk to the town of Dingle, so watch this space!