Contagious Canklitis

Namaste Amigos,

Another session of muck, sweat and muppetry. Contagious canklitis had now lamed Andrew, reluctantly he rerouted to Andy's treatment table leaving RG to survive Ralph Farah pace. Apprehension at the prospect of 5peaks and 6hrs was compounded by 30yrd visability and significant wind... internally and externally. We strode out of Meelmore Lodge 7.50am. Within five minutes we are struggling to pick up trails lines... eventally stumbled on Trassey track and made Hare's gap in an acceptable 30mins.

First slug of fluids and RG realised he was carrying old and well fermented 'cider'... every chance TTRG would be sozzled and unfit to drive home... and so the scene was set for yet another pantomime on the hills featuring the ugly sisters.

Sticking tight to the wall up the brutally steep Bearnagh before bracing for RGs nemisis and Ralphs roller coaster... the Banzai descent. Starting slow, RG got slower as self preservation and a gusting wind threatened to cowp him at every step. Mountain goat Ralph found conditions 'fun'. You could smell RGs relief on a safe descent. Motorway on top of the wall in that wind was impossible but R kept RG in the red zone with a 'farah' pace over Mellmore and Meelbeg before RG took a bearing for BenCrom dam. 

R pulled a good line into the bog to the river. 'Cleaner than usual, deeper than usual and a snow bridge to boot'. As we began to enjoy the river run suddenly it plummetted into a deep ravine... had last months ice age cut a new valley?...or were we lost... again. Waldorf and Stadler had not spotted the cleaner and deeper clues above. A quick map check confirmed we were about to hit the dam from the wrong side... affectionately known as the thumb breaker. RG's 7th visit to the Ben Crom bog... muppets never learn.  

 

The line to recovery was a steep boulder field (pictured on far side of the water) It was no place for a butchers dog, a recovering cankaholic... in fact it was no place for a chamois or sherpa goats. Losing 45mins on the recovery scramble we finally made the dam. Good call A to miss this one.

Relief to be on familiar ground was short lived as we heard and saw through the cloud a silouette of the mournes stone monster swinging his sledge hammer... very Scooby Doo. Daphne and Velma scrambled up more elusive trails to the saddle. Drop the bags? said Daphne (in a non suggestive manner)... was almost as ridiculous as RG's 'let me take a bearing farce'.

 

Lost on Binian was in well underway... until we spotted a trail dropped from the heavens... one tonne builders bags... courtesy of mourne council track upgrade. The mystery was solved as we passed 'old man smithers' and his mangey dog heading for... the track machine high on Binian... with legs plastered and brain hammered RG attempted some joy riding.

Summited Binian, a quick slash had RG peeing all over himself regardless of which direction he pointed percy in the swirling breeze. Careful retracing... passing the pancake rocks put R on a lunch overdrive mission to Mauds. Lamagan was its usual unpleasant upward abyss.

 

Homeward bound we contoured round looking for another non-existent trail... dropping into who knows where we took another stab in the cloud praying for brandy pad. A gloomy unrecognisable valley could have been the foggy side of moon or as R suggested the Annalong valley... at which point RG's already suspect navigation was just in tatters. A brief clearing of cloud was enough for R to pick a line for a snowpacked gully beside the sea of tranquility and we staggered onto the most welcome brandy pad. Steady trot to Haresgap where Ralph let the brakes off took 300yrds out of RG before Trassey. With cloud lifting we found a good trail to the lodge and kept an honest pace to the car.

Mauds for grub and hangover cure. Tale of the GPS tape was evidence to convict RG of navigation genocide... who even got lost looking for the toilet. 5hr35min 15miles 5 peaks barely setting foot on a trail. Thanks to Ralph for his commitment to training us. Hoping to have A back with us for the next installment. RK maintains his intensive coffee shop regime.  

Kindest regards

RG

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6peaks....aye right

Hi Folks

Barely moving after yesterdays training. Spring time in Northern Ireland meant four foot drifts, a disappearing Mourne wall, 25yrds of visability, unfamiliar land shape and colour... RG was a cert to get lost.

Ralph was gutted to be missing today leaving Andrew and RG to hit the hills. A duff forecast threatened a reroute to the Causeway for predictable trails and mileage. Exec decision 'stick with plan A'... six peaks 16miles 6hrs...aye right.

 

Like heifers on fresh grass the Passat was released from its ice cave hibernation we B lined for Newcastle. 8.01am we strode out on trail. Would the kit and bodies hold up? With a track upgrade we made good speed up the Glen river heading for Donard. At 400m we crossed the snow line and into Siberia. Snow and ice hiding the track and river quickly had RG + A sprackling.

 

Dumped the rucksacks at the saddle for a final summit push. Step up, fall in or slide back made it heavy work. Rain turned to snow, RG feared a stroke as the right side of face and brain numbed.

The summit looked akin to spectacular frozen candifloss. Snow holes pointed to other eedjits had been here. A + RG claimed the highest summit in Northern Ireland thanks to the additional 10 foot of snow. Mr Tumble descended to saddle with a hat-trick of falls leaving RG tip-toeing over ski, sledge and crampon tracks.

Commedagh was more of the same. Six peaks was looking like a multiday trek. Crossing the wall things changed... the snow got deeper and human tracks disappeared. 

 

 

Fumbling for direction the next mile took 54mins. The blog nearly became an epitaph as both RG +A similtaneously disappeared into a river and the waist deep snow. Wet numb toes had us looking like two big legless jinnys on stilettos.

 

'The brandypad used to be about here' as RG called for a left turn....exit stategy was now priority. Nothing looked familiar, as we crossed snow filled gullies the drop below into the white abyss was a Commedagh version of the Kangshung face... sure feet needed here. Each step was a lottery drop into ankle, knee or waist. Ice age visions of RG + A lost and frozen below the crust. Finally we saw the cross... rails of the stile. Six peaks ambitions were revised to dry clothes and hot sweet tea.

Descending the Glen river we left the snow behind, got out of the wind and suddenly life returned. A was just relieved to see mudclaws had not fallen off his numb feet. As we dropped to the forest RG suggested a few extra miles through Tollymore. The rain increased it felt like a warm shower. Legs were spent as we turned for home. A graciously let RG walk a few hills home. Hadn't seen a sinner all day... until a herd of lady ramblers met us average age 70+... respect. A final descent of wet roots on shattered unresposive legs was like a deathrun.

Unbelievably A was dry..the montane kit was renamed ronseal. RGs indecent exposure was unremarkable...his wedding vegetables had long since gone in for heat. Mauds for tea and stew and still RGs fingers were not looking too clever.

 

 

Text received to inform us Mournes had been declared an avalanche risk and no go zone for all Duke of Edinburgh work for next seven days... such info might have been useful and we considered a reroute.  

2 peaks 17miles 4hrs30mins...and it feels like it.

Kindest regards

RG