Day 60 In Which It Is Proven That It Is Not Constantly Sunny In Ireland

‎In fact, I'm here to tell you that it can also be cloudy, misty, foggy, dri‎zzly, rainy, stormy or even all of those in rapid and random succession. Weather roulette. 

Most of the time though we've had low clouds racing across the sky, leaving occasional blue holes for a sunbeam to poke through, like God's finger, illuminating a shining patch of ocean, or a distant  village, or an individual, apparently  blessed, sheep. These low clouds also tend to obscure the nearby peaks. I should mention that peaks were a surprise. I expected Ireland to be gently rolling and I suppose most of it is, but it turns out that parts are positively mountainous. Like this part. The views we did get of the peaks really really really (that's three reallys) made me want to climb them.

I ‎fairly soon gave up on the notion of climbing the two highest though as they were so frequently cloudbound, but the third, Mt. Unpronounceable Gaelic Name, immediately behind the house, was as often as not just a hair's breadth below the cloud ceiling. Little whisps of cloud would tickle the peak, making it even more alluring. I imagined standing there with the whisps adding drama to the views out across the valleys and fields to the ocean on both sides of the peninsula.

Isabel asked to join me so we set off earlier this afternoon, climbing steadily at first on a road, then a track, then a faint trail and then finally directly across the heather ‎when the trail petered out. Here it became very steep, with the grade easily 45 degrees, but the heather and spongy moss made for good footholds. It was around the this time that we noticed that the whisps were no longer just tickling the summit but were now embracing it and then smothering it. Behind us a family, optimistically attired in shorts and t-shirts, was climbing as well. We waved at them, they waved at us. Then the whisps turned to solid cloud and dropped like an anvil, enveloping us. We could hear shouting from the family behind us and then only silence except for the wind, which was now gale force. The temperature fell and the cloud mist turned into sideways rain.

Isabel and I reached the peak, stopped to admire the arm's length view into deep grey on all sides and then began to plan our descent. There was a problem. The summit was a perfect cone and every side looked identical‎. The wind had been coming out of the southwest, which could have served as a navigational aid, but it was changing directions quickly. I knew that there was a sharp rock cliff to the northwest. Hmm. Fortunately there was also a sheep fence on one side and I vaguely recalled seeing it before running westish down to the road in Mám Clasach pass between Mt Unpronounceable Gaelic Name and the other taller Mt U.G.N.. This would be a detour but would get us off the mountain faster. Down was as steep as up (duh) but now much wetter and slicker. At one point the ground unexpectedly rose again ahead of us.l feared I had made a hideous navigational error as I was beginning to remember another sheep fence in the wrong direction, but then Isabel spotted the cell tower in the pass straight ahead.

We squelched our way down the road, every bit of us saturated with rain, but grinning and happy. At this juncture I will also point out how pleased I was with Isabel's positive attitude and ability. Fathers (ok, maybe just this father) tend to be critical of their children and I have often accused mine of being whiners. There was not one peep of whining despite the ideal opportunity.

The actual name of the mountain is Cruach Mhárthain. You may think you can pronounce that, but trust me, you can't.