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
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