We made it into Dublin Castle and went through the process of having our gear checked, signing a waiver, getting our number and our timing chip. After a quick line of poetry and a “be safe”, 350 high spirited and highly visible walkers took to the streets of Dublin.
The route took us out of the city, through Harold’s Cross, Terenure, Templeogue and onto Old Bawn. This was all OK, there were street lights. We met 2 young lads who commented on us being f&%$ing mad and to enjoy the trip Wicklow. Another couple, on leaving the local, looked at us passing by and swore never again. It was after 12km that the head torches came out. The night was dry and it wasn’t until we got out of the city that we could feel the drop in temperature and we started to climb. I had cycled up this hill a couple of months earlier and knew the severity of it, it became even harder with the slippery conditions.
After 22km we reached our first official stop at Kilbride barracks. This was manic…All the bags were laid out along the side of a hill in groups of 20. 300 people foraging for their bag. A car and trailer trying to manoeuvre a 3 point turn and people shouting out names. Our group of 5 had decided against having a guide and figured if we could get on the road again between guided groups 1 and 2 we would be fine. And so we found our gear bags and with a sandwich in mouth, found a spot on the side of the icy hill to do running repairs on blisters, change socks, boots and tops, all in 10 minutes and head off again between the guided groups. Group 1 turned out to be a walking group from Donegal and had left us in their wake in no time at all. We motored on down the side of a mountain to Ballysmuttan bridge (where Garda Ciaran Jones was drowned in the floods in October) and followed the ascending road to Ballynultagh car park and the gateway to the Wicklow mountains.
This was 30km into the trip and up to now things hadn’t been too bad. I had spent some time on my own just thinking and talking to myself as had Joanne, Ciara, Steve and Marty. The weather was mild with just a little bit of a chill but not noticeable due to the constant climbing but things were about to change.
The next 25 to 30 km were the hardest thing I have ever experienced. We hit off from the car park and keeping an eye on the torches ahead of us we maneuvered through the shallow bog holes and heather. Eventually the torches ahead reached the top of the mountain and we were all alone, questioning our decision of not availing of a guide. We spent the next god only knows how long ascending and descending the Wicklow hill, try our best not to veer too far off the map makings and off course. We had all been waiting for sun rise and “the beautiful sight of it”, but it came and went as we handed each other across a river, pulled one another out of a waist deep hole, discussed the best point to cross another river. After nearly 3 hours we got out of the marshes, hiding holes, heather and gorse. I found out fairly early on that I had the wrong boots for the terrain as my blistered feet swam around in my socks. At 40km we reached our final rest point. We were given porridge and coffee and relaxed for 20 minutes. Feeling we were good and ready for the last stage we hit off again, all in agreement that it couldn’t be any harder than what we had just gone through. We started off with an easy forest climb. As we walked and chatted we could see a cross a considerable distance away and high up in the mountains, Arts Cross the reason for this madness. Our short lived high spirits were about to get a reality check and our tired bodies another kick in the ganglies. And so we trudged through another river valley, not really caring about the dept of the muddy puddles, just trying to find the shortest distance so this experience could be finished with. The start of the climb to the cross is signified by a plaque etched onto a rock, looking up, the cross is out of sight, a couple of figures can be seen snaking their up along a pretty steep mountain. An so we start climbing again, pushing each other onto a ledge, followed by an apology for inappropriate touching, pulling Joanne’s foot out of the mud. Looking back down through the valley and beyond it again to the mountains that we climbed through the night and the severity of the challenge can be appreciated. On reaching Arts Cross a overall sigh of relief can be heard, it cant be far from the end now. Having a look at the map all we have to do is find our way around the 3 lakes and down in to Glenmalure valley and back to civilization. Ciara injured her knee during the climb and so the last 10k were very slow and no less demoralizing. The bog holes around the 3 lakes are 5 and 6 foot craters, climbing in and out of them becomes tiresome and tedious, the clouds blow across the mountain top to bring cold and damp and all this in the shadow of Lugnaquilla, the highest mountain in Leinster. After about 7k a road comes into view and a car. Not far now, its definitely time to bring out the hip flask, sweet whiskey. We all gave Ciara words of encouragement so the finish would come faster and eventually after 13 hours and 50 minutes we crossed the finishing line.
My first reaction was “never again”, the toughest challenge I’ve ever undertaken. Was it worth it, the blisters and sodden socks, sleep deprivation- Yes.
A month later would I do it again? Yea, it wasn’t that bad and the blisters are just little battle scars. Art O’Neill 2013, any takers?
Jwalkin