Day 8: Castlegregory to Camp (11 km)

In Summary …

Eleven kilometres? A walk in the park! Only … it was very wet. And squally and windy. On the bright side, the rain was often swept sideways, so if one could find a particularly thick hedge or wall to shelter behind, it appeared to be barely raining at all. The only trouble with sheltering was that we made no progress and if we didn’t get to the end of the walk we didn’t get a lift back to our very comfortable accomodation! We walked along beaches and country lanes before braving a section of busy road with no pathway (so we spent quite some time when cars came along walking backwards - because of our backpacks - into bushes). We also yelled at Messrs Darcy and Bingley - ‘Don’t end your lives as witches hats’ as they had a tendency to gravitate to the outside of the party in a worryingly protective manner.

In addition to seabirds, we saw hoof prints on our beach walk but possibly due to the inclement weather which would put the wind up the most placid horse’s tail, we didn’t see horses (merely evidence they’d been there) on the beach. But we did see Connemara ponies on the side of the road, and Mr Darcy is now quite good at picking out their salient points.

Now we’re back to the safety of our final night’s accommodation, there is time for reflection on our wonderful walk. A few thoughts (I must remember to read them prior to our next hike …)

Boots

Day Three taught us (this was confirmed on Day Eight) that eight pairs of expensive boots sourced after much discussion with tall young men and women in hiking shops do not sixteen dry feet make. Not even eight dry feet. Absolutely no dry feet! We did all the right things (I even wore gaiters over my boots on the final day!) but after a few hours of rain, puddles, damp and muddy tracks, and the occasional shallow stream, the water made its way in. Squish squalsh squish. On yet another bright side (we were always looking for one) staying in B & Bs and small hotels meant we could dry the boots overnight. Regularly changed newspaper (which acts as a wick when you stuff it in the boot) works wonders, but so does a hairdryer used expeditiously. We also had back up boots - a lesson we learnt after our Scottish hike. Wet boots must be a particular problem for campers (not to mention wet socks).

Poles

To pole or not to pole? Some of our party were attached to their poles like icing on a cupcake, some of us used one pole (remember the old Jonnhny Walker whiskey man in a top hat, waving his cane with style and vigour?), others used no poles. Mr Darcy got his poles out in the two pm ‘general malaise’ period, used it for an hour to perk himself up, then put it away again.

Grumpiness (also known as general malaise and flagging and I think I might die)

Denied by everyone after a hard days hike. Ha!

Stopping (and not stopping)

We would very much liked to have stopped for morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea. Not necessarily to eat because one is surprisingly not hungry when walking (Colonel Fitzwilliam once declared that he was too exhausted to chew anything more substantial than a banana), but to top up our fluids and freshen our spirits. When it’s raining and soggy, or the midges (admittedly only a problem on day one) or wind or rain or even sunshine are out in force, and you’re in a field or on a beach, it can be difficult to find a sheltered place to stop for a while.

Go-to Snacks

Banana. Milk Arrowroot biscuits. Lemon sherbets. Jelly Babies. Cranberries. Nut and sultana mix. Apricots. Apple drops. We all had our favourites. My particular favourite was cinnamon biscuits taken from the previous night’s B & B. And tea. We (actually Mr Darcy) carried two thermoses (is the plural thermi?) at all times. Even standing in the rain, I find tea invigorating.

Weather

Yes, there was weather, but that’s part of the adventure. At home we wear coats and have umbrellas and sit under awnings and stay outside and try not to get wet. But it actually doesn’t shrink you. And frizzy hair is okay. As is no make up and sweat and cow poo on your boots. Walking along a beach with the rain on your face and with the surf crashing alongside you can be wonderful and uplifting and exciting. You’re a part of nature and what more could you want?

Peeing

Easier for men than for women while hiking. Particularly when the woman’s under and overgarments are wet and stick to the skin and one not only has to squat in a field or by the side of the road (while avoiding nettles and brambles and cow dung and farmers in tractors) but adjust one’s petticoats while attempting to spring to one’s feet.

Incontinence

Sometimes things are so hard or funny that you just have to laugh. Sometimes you’re called on to jump over a ditch. Or run through a raging stream or tide. My advice would be, don’t hang on too long before you pee - you are much better to do it prior to one of the events stipulated above. Guaranteed, for the next hour at least, you’ll be saying to any of your travelling companions who will listen, ‘I should have done that ages ago.’

A Helping Hand

Often this takes the shape of a pole extended over a tricky set of stepping stones (grab that pole, people!) or an offer to take something heavy out of your pack in the case of flagging (see Grumpiness above) or limping (see Boots above) or a ghost white face or a startlingly red one. On a fine day when there’s a clear direction (though there are often more than one way to end up in the same place) it’s fine to separate into groups of two or three, but when the hike is hard, or if mist is likely, or rain or low cloud, we all stick together and help each other out. Sometimes perking someone up involves a joke or two, but please use these judiciously (see Incontinence above).

The Good

We hiked at least 180km in 8 days and saw a magnificent region of Ireland.

The Bad

All good things must come to an end.

Finally …

💚🧡💚 Thank you to the friendly, hospitable and helpful Irish people we met along the way. Some of you must have thought us slightly demented for forging on in all types of weather, but you were uniformly supportive and pointed us in the right direction when we were lost (on the hike or on the way to the pub). To my readers, thank you so much for coming along on the hike!

Day 7: Cloghain to Castlegregory (28km)

We had lovely walk along country lanes today, and then walked a long way along the beach. A very long way! 11km on one stretch of a surf beach, then we hiked along the grassy shoreline before stepping onto the sand again. There was surf on one side, a sheltered bay on the other, and plenty to admire (including a murmuration of swallows. The photo below doesn’t capture the rush of wings or remarkable synchronicity - I wish I could work out how to share a video to my website!

The walk today was long but flat. At the end of the hike, we enjoyed sitting in an excellent pub and emptying our water bottles before drinking a celebratory lager (and eating a well deserved cylinder of Pringles). My back was stiff, my feet were sore, but the kilometres were something to celebrate as we’d seen a lot of variation in the coastline in a relatively short period of time.

The Good

The landscape and birdlife were spectacular. When I looked up what the swallows had been up to in forming a swarm (I think mumeration or flocking are the correct terms) everything fell into place (and Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds slipped further back into my subconscious). Birds might behave like this to escape predators, which I think was the case here as there were a number of big black birds in the vicinity (no ornithologists were present on the track so ‘big black birds’ is all I have). If all the swallows are diving and swooping very quickly, it’s more difficult for a predator to capture its prey. This was an event can came out of nowhere, and we were very grateful to see it!

The Bad

So … my achilles heel has always been my feet (thankfully, my ‘horse knee’ problems of the Scottish Highlands 2022 walk didn’t trouble me at all - possibly because I stayed away from Roman Roads and walked relatively sedately for the first few kilometres at the beginning of the day). Anyway, back to my feet. If it’s not toenails coming off, it’s toes swelling like tiny Michelin men (Michelin is a French tyre company, and their ‘mascot’ is a rotund figure made up of tyres). I’ll save my sensitive readers from images of my toes, but do share an image of my toes in my toe socks.

Being risk averse (and pain averse!) I try a lot of different things, but it seems the mere tap of my toes on the ground (7 hours a day, up and down hills and over all different surfaces) causes problems. Special bandaids. Soft linings. Two pairs of socks. Well worn boots (but not old boots). Praying to icons at the sides of the roads. Yada yada. I won’t shock you with my toes, but here they are this morning wearing only their toe socks! What is under the socks? By the end of each day, I imagine five lacerated stumps at the end of each foot, but I am always surprised it’s only swelling and blisters under toenails which (sometimes annoyingly) don’t look too bad. And besides thudding a little at night, they don’t trouble me too much until the end of the next day’s walk.

The Adventure

Much as the beach walking was fabulous, another adventure this year has been finding a pub for a cup of tea. The summer beach season only seems to go from May - September (at most) on the Dingle Way.

When we do find a pub on our walks, even if it is closed, it’s appropriate that WB Yeats comes to mind …

“Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;

That's all we know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift the glass to my mouth

I look at you, and I sigh”

A relatively short walk tomorrow - back to our earlier destination of Camp to complete our tour of the Dingle Way!

Day 6: Ballydavid to Cloghane (27km)

A summary …

Day 6 of our Dingle Peninsula walk was spectacular of scenery, if a trifle tiring.  We had a wonderful walk along the coast before veering into the countryside towards Mount Doom (also known as Brandon Mountain). The route to the base of the mountain was a meander through fields and along country roads. On the way we saw a pub. As only 4km ago (note I now think in terms of kilometres, not traditional concepts of the passage of time) we’d had a nice breakfast, we weren’t particularly hungry, but we hoped to secure a coffee and cake before our ascent of the mountain. This was unfortunately not to be, which might be a good opportunity to record a regular conversation about coffee shops and pubs on our walk …

Why is it closed?

There are a number of possible answers.

It’s before 9 o’clock in the morning.

It’s midday.

It’s after five o’clock in the afternoon.

It’s Monday (or Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday or Saturday).

It’s Sunday.

On this particular day, a coffee and cake was not to be, so we proceeded on our way. There are a number of mountains on the approach to Mount Brandon, all with common features (tall) and as they are grouped together and our trail was of the zigzag variety, it was difficult to work out which particular mountain we were headed for. But finally, there it was, cloud capped and green and rock strewn. I won’t bore you with a step by step description of hiking kilometres into the sky, but I did reflect (as I walked) about different approaches to steep hill climbing.

Make haste! Make haste!

Yes, Mr Collins, I appreciate Rosings awaits, but please can we slow down.

Are we there yet?

If we were there, Lydia, I’d have a cider in my hand.

That’s not funny anymore.

This is actually one of my favourites because it applies to everyone, from to the sweet of disposition Jane, to the more naturally optimistic Lydia. What was funny a few hours ago (a boot in a stream, falling in the gorse, getting sunscreen in your mouth by mistake) is, after 20 km or so, not at all funny anymore. No joking or laughing, we’re climbing.

One step at a time

Wise if also glaringly obvious advice (so stop saying it every bloody minute) from Colonel Fitzwilliam.

It looked shorter on the map

This is clearly not said by Colonel Fitzwilliam who knows how to read a map, but likely one of the rest of us who gave the advice (or nodded encouragingly when someone else gave the advice) that one way might be better than the other. Note: things can also look less steep on a map, or less swamp like.

The Good and Bad

We wouldn’t have wanted to miss a thing, but 27km is a long way to walk, particularly when there is a steep ascent. We were lucky enough to have perfect walking weather though - cloudy and fine. We also had the benefit of literally walking into the cloud at the top, which was cooling (if visibility limiting).

The Interesting

Bogs

Chunks of bog are taken from the landscape to be made into peat for heating purposes. This isn’t allowed to happen everywhere, but it’s an interesting cultural phenomenon. I must find out more about it.

Dogs

Does ‘I’m just off to walk the dog’ mean something different in Ireland than it does at home? We saw a four-wheel drive motoring along with four border collies running merrily along behind it. Then we saw a tractor (children in the back) with different farm dogs running alongside.

Fogs

What I really mean is clouds and mists. A mist came up from the valley. A cloud descended from the heavens (at one point, they met in the middle. The clouds and mists appeared to have the same composition of damp. Something else to look up.

Sobs

Hiking is painful. Even with excellent boots and other equipment, by the end of the day, your feet ache. And even if things are going well, it’s not unusual to have a blister where one has never appeared before (for example, in reponse to Lizzie’s wet boots on Day 3). And it’s hard to avoid this - after all, Lizzie just had to get to Jane and Netherfield!

There are also muscle pains, often in the shoulders (carrying a backpack for hours at a time) and legs (putting one foot in front of the other - see above). There is also ‘desperate for a pee’ pain. There is also ‘prickle in the palm of your hand pain after pushing yourself upright after peeing’ pain (which is, unfortunately, very fresh in my mind after a recent misadventure).

Finally

Another long walk tomorrow as we get closer to our destination. We’ll be spending a lot of time at the beach but won’t be swimming or lying on deckchairs as tomorrow’s hike includes a walk along an 11km stretch of the peninsula’s longest beach! More to come!

Day 5: Dunquin to Ballydavid (18.5km)

In summary …

We had another stellar walk with magnificent views today - mostly along the Dingle Peninsula headland, with regular forays onto the beach. The first stretch of beach walking was magnificent, as were the aspects from the other expanses of sand, but the wind! Goodness! If it had been at our backs we would have sailed along like Daleks on steroids. But as the wind blew continually into our faces (or at best pushed us sideways) every step was equivalent to two (at least).

Tonight we are staying in Ballydavid, a picturesque town facing the coast. We’ve had an excellent shower in our excellent room, and our host has provided us with coffee, tea, rhubarb crumble and sticky date pudding with caramel sauce, so after a long day of walking we are almost ready to venture (gingerly with aching limbs and sore feet) into town for another pub meal.

The Good

Fabulous scenery at every turn. Also, the friendly Irish men and women. In the same way a group of people in Australia are often referred to as ‘guys,’ it seem groups of people in Irish pubs can be called ‘lads,’ which I quite like. A collective noun for people (not genders).

The Bad

The wind presented challenges, but it must be said that the skies were blue, the clouds were high and the weather (when we were out of the wind) was mild. And perhaps we were lucky, as our accomodation host said ‘pffft pfft pfft’ when we mentioned the wind, and she claimed it was barely a flutter. The wind has died down tonight, so we’re hoping it will continue to die for tomorrow’s long walk.

Adventure

Missing persons

We misplaced two of our party when they took the high road and we took the low road, but we met up again when, showered and fresh, they greeted us at our accomodation. And that’s a tricky thing about modern hiking. There is an App that shows you the route. But also a guide book. And finally signs at the sides of the road. And as it’s not uncommon for a party of eight to walk separately (not always as a result of a marital dispute), not to mention tight bends, high hedgerows and a pee at the side of the road, it is possible to be separated. Many of us rely on wifi so if we’re in the field (sometimes literally) and the cows won’t communicate our direction and location, there’s no one else to do it.

Missing top hat

When Mr Darcy’s cap flew off in the gale, Jane bravely chased it down, anchoring it to the ground with one of her poles until it could be safely retrieved. Jane also very sensibly (to ward off the double threat of sunburn and windburn) wore not only the hood of her jacket today, but anchored her hat on the top of it, securing it firmly with a double knotted string. Lydia on the other hand, who wore sunglasses but no hat, now has the complexion of a strawberry tart

Finally …

Tomorrow is a very long hike, almost to the top of this mountain. On the way home from the pub, the peak was hidden by clouds which might tell you something …

Day 4: Dingle to Dunquin (25km)

According to our numerous guide books, today’s walk was meant to be 21km. While we noted the ‘strenuous’ rating, we thought ‘strenuous’ would be in terms of the muddy terrain, the long winding inclines and declines, the crossings of streams, the beach walk and staying upright in a brisk wind on a rocky headland, but one ‘strenuous’ factor we didn’t take into account was that we expected to walk 21km not 25km. This distance was confirmed by not one, not two, but three of our party with GPS watches. Not that we’re complaining (too much) because every kilometre was worth the effort, but those last few kilometres were on the taxing side (particularly as not one, not two, but three of our party continued to compare (every few steps) their GPS watch totals.

Today’s ups and downs and things that we found interesting might be shorter than usual because Mr Darcy, with an extraordinarly long suffering harrumph, has switched off the light, but I’ll give it a go.

The Good:

Basic meals are delicious when you are desperate for a break. How fresh! (two days old). How appetising! (a lump of cheese and a cracker). How filling! (two liquorice all-sorts, a jelly-baby and a brazil nut). There is also gratitude when the weather isn’t as abysmal as it was on day three. “If it were any warmer (Kitty pulls her hood over her head before shoving her hands in her pockets and stamping her feet)," I’d be unattractively flushed when I climbed the next mountain.” “If it weren’t so cold (Mr Wickham drops to the ground and performs a series of push-ups) I wouldn’t be so buff.” “Pass the smelling salts, the sun is out and my complexion will be ruined” (Mrs Bennet).

The Bad:

I once asked a tradesman to remove wood panelling in a hallway, which I thought made it look cramped and dark. He stared at me in horror because he loved the wood panelling. But when I insisted it be taken away he said: ‘One man’s meat is another man’s poison.’ This was annoying at the time on various bases, but the phrase stayed with me. Why is it relevant here?

Being a woman relatively short of leg, I have mountain goat tendencies. Send me up a semi-vertical slope, intersected by giant granite boulders, occasional bogs and clumps of fern, and I am in my element. But send the even tempered Mr Bingley up there (let alone Mr Collins), and he will complain about the slippery mud, the unevenness of the surface, the unpredictability of the path and the length of the journey.

In other words, today’s walk was more suited to some than to others. But one thing we agreed on was that the views coming into Great Blasket Island were wonderful, and could only be truely appreciated from our vantage point, just below the clouds.

The Adventure:

Ruins

There are no pubs (or shops or anything much else except for exceptional views) in Dunquin. But there are pretty painted cottages, and the occasional B&B. There are also structures (pictured) that go back to approximately 500 BC which is quite remarkable. Also remarkable is their accessibility - not that we disturbed any stones, but sheep happily grazed amongst the ruins.

A lament

We came across a sheep lying prostate on the track. The poor animal had lost an eye (big black crows - say no more) which became additionally unsettling because Mary was certain the sheep was still breathing. When finally convinced this was simply the movement of the sheep’s wool in the wind, Mary was keen to perform a burial but alas we had no resources. A recitation of the Irish blessing and we were on our way again.

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields.

Accomodation

Tonight’s accomodation is very pleasant, but our shower is a pre-fabricated rectangular prism roughly the size of a modest upright coffin with (once you are inside said coffin) an inward opening shower screen. Leave the screen open to adjust the heat or cold before you get in? Uh uh. After walking 25km (including a bonus 4km), it’s an effort to bend one’s knee let alone perform the double half pike flip required to adjust the temperature until you’re well and truly under the gushing stream.

Dinner

Fortunately, there is a solitary pub which we were very grateful for. But when each piece of fish in the fish and chip offering is the exact same size, one wonders if renowned Irishman John West was involved in the preparation of said fish. Happily though, the lager was chilled, as was the chardy, and there was a very friendly crowd at the public house.

Black pudding, white pudding, mushy peas and apples

Black pudding has blood in it (nothing more need be said). White pudding doesn’t have blood in it. Mushy peas are like an Australian avocado dip (with a very similar consistency). On the bright side, apples are sometimes left at the side of the road and passersby are told to help themselves - the apples are crisp and delicious!

Finally, another coastal walk on Day 5. After a good night’s sleep, we’ll be on the road again.

Day 3: Annascaul to Dingle (23km)

On the Road Again

After an excellent sleep (more on that later) we started our journey bright of eye and bushy of tail, walking along country lanes and through farm fields reminiscent of our 2016 hike from the west to the east coast of England. The clouds were grey but high as we started our journey - by midday the rain had set in. A mist. A drizzle. A sprinkle.

Until it wasn’t.

We’re all familiar with the expression, ‘the rain fell gently like pinpricks on my skin’ (or words to that effect) - the rain on Day 3 was nothing like this. Initially, the rain came from behind, and the push of the breeze at our backs wasn’t at all unwelcome (much as the moisture accompanying the breeze dripped down our legs to puddle in our boots). Later, we were walking face first into the rain (if I wasn’t being so particular about where my feet should go - cow dung, bog, stream, rock, mud - I would have put my sunglasses on). Pinpricks? No! Darts? Yes!

The Highs

The scenery was beautiful. Green green fields, grey stone walls, mountainous hills dressed in red, peach and purple hues. We walked across grassy fields, climbing over numerous styles (some at peculiar angles) as we traversed Sugarloaf Mountain and other hills and dales, to finally walk down a long straight road to the pretty town of Dingle. There are many of seabirds here, and a bay and busy harbour to explore tomorrow.

You don’t give me flowers anymore … Mr Darcy did give me flowers, pointing them out as, wet and weary, I trudged past them in a muddy field. Given I’d recently snapped his head off for smiling at the beauty all around us, this was no doubt a peace-keeping gesture worthy of a UN acknowledgment. And it also made me think - how lovely that I’ve been presented with these flowers, yet others can continue to enjoy them too.

We found shelter from the rain at lunch time in a disused petrol station which we were extremely thankful for. What do we eat for lunch? After a Full Irish Breakfast (or some variation on that) we’re not too hungry, so generally cheese, biscuits, dried fruit and (as Mr Darcy - affectionately known by hiking companions as ‘the camel’ - carries multitude stores of water including a thermos or two) I also enjoy a cup of tea.

Mid journey, we came across Minard Castle which overlooks the ocean and a backdrop of mountains - quite spectacular. The now ruined castle was built in the 15th Century but destroyed by Cromwell’s forces in 1650. It’s situated on a beach of rocky pebbles and (before Cromwell …) would have been extremely happily situated.

The Lows

Well, it rained. Mr Collins quite annoyingly declared that he was thoroughly enjoying the change of scene the rain presented. ‘Bracing!’ ‘A challenge!’ ‘Look at that wet sheep!’ Mr Bingley and Mary heroically went in search of two of our missing party (surprisingly not Wickham and Lydia but our fleet-of-foot duo, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Kitty) after a group of Canadian hikers told Bingley and Mary that our companions had taken a wrong turn. All ended well, but we were disappointed with the Canadians. On the bright side, we’ve spent quite a lot of time pondering whether this bum steer was accidental or deliberate …

The In-betweens

My boots are sodden, but everyone else’s boots are sodden too, and misery does like company. How to dry said boots? Stuffing them with newspaper and paper towel was like mopping up a lake with a cotton ball, so today, our day in Dingle Town, we have taken to waving boots and other items of clothing out of the window and making judicious use of the hairdryer.

Dinner and accomodation

One positive aspect of walking all day is that you get to find a dinner venue at 6pm and can take advantage of the ‘early bird’ specials. We went to a very posh pub and had a delicious meal. Our B & B is very nice too - cosy yet comfortable (and it has a window ledge for the drying of boots)

Thoughts on Sleep

Darcy and I generally wake up at least once a night and ponder the worries of:

• the world

• our family

• our careers

• whether we’ve remembered to put the dishwasher on.

Hiking all day puts such worries to the back of our minds. Our bodies are weary and it’s nice to feel the weight of our limbs without having to require them to actually do anything (like walk). Even if we do need to get up to go to the loo, there’s no complaint about prostates or giving birth to six children, our nighttime thoughts are of the schooners of cider and pints of lager that were happily consumed over dinner.

Tomorrow we walk to Dunquin!

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!

Day 1: Tralee to Camp in County Kerry (22.1 km)

Four lawyers, an engineer, a sonogropher and two doctors go for a walk in Ireland …

Today was the first day of our nine day hike around the Dingle Peninsula on the South West coast of Ireland. We’re not an organised group, just a group of friends (for now …) so we do the navigating ourselves, though the trails so far have been relatively well marked. Tralee is a very handsome town, and our biggest navigational challenge was finding the round-a-bout out of town, but once that was done, we were on our way.

There are eight of us on the hike, but today we were joined by my daughter. Such youth! Energy! Photography and map reading skills! We will miss her when she leaves her ‘carer for a day’ role and decamps back to lawyering in London.

Five highlights/ observations/ lowlights:

1. The scenery! Green, green and green. Emerald is an apt description for the fields, though the pinkish gorse in the hills is a beautiful contrast to the grey of the rocks and the brown of the bogs. After walking up and down gentle hills for much of the day, we’ve arrived at the ocean and, like Frodo’s quest to Mount Doom (not our ultimate destination we hope), we are well and truly on our way.

2. It rained, but not too much. Some like to wear waterproof coats, but I prefer a brolly. We ate honeysuckle flowers and blackberries from the side of the road (with sandwiches and water). There was nowhere to stop to eat on the way, so it was lucky we had provisions. The crimson hydrangeas in Ireland are just beautiful! And of course I found ponies.

3. Misadventures of the day were happily few. Lydia fell on her bum (very gracefully) while traversing a stream, and Kitty sank to her ankles in a bog. Mr Collins’s achilles is a little tender, Mary’s second toenail is at serious risk of separation from her toe, Mr Bingley has spots on his legs. Also a nettle sting and a dodgy ankle. But all in all, it was a successful day.

4. We thought we’d left tiny midge critters behind on our 2022 Scotland hike, but unfortunately they crossed the border to Ireland to find (feed on) us again. The Aerogard came out of our backpacks very quickly and we averted disaster, but the best way to avoid midges is to keep on walking ...

5. Our accomodation. We are staying in an expansive Bed and Breakfast establishment and our host is a very friendly Irishman. Besides threats of sending Mr Wickham up the road with a cattle prodder at his back should he complain about the incline on the first part of tomorrow’s hike, and telling Lizzie it was about time she got some meat on her bones when she declined to order a Full Irish Breakfast, all seems to be well.

Tomorrow we head to Annascual, which is a moderate hike (assuming we don’t get lost) of 18km. In the meantime, we’re off to the pub across the road for a lager, a chardy and a meal. Then dinner. And bed!