Thankfully my runny nose was not running quite so fast today, so I had a relaxed breakfast with a view over Killary harbour from my B&B window without sniffing every few moments. Due to reading about the latest from Ukraine on my phone I lingered over coffee and so had a late start (for me) at 9:45 am. My largely self inflicted hardships on this walk seemed so trivial compared with those being suffered by the people of Ukraine, and I cannot imagine the Russian Army conscripts are too happy either in this war, not of their choosing.
Killary Harbour, a long length of water, was like most features today, the product of the ice ages, carved out by a large glacier. I had also seen mounds of glacial moraine on this walk, debris dropped by the ice as it eventually melted, and I suspect the rather randomly distributed lakes (or loughs) were also ice age related. I mused on this as I followed the busy road around the waters edge. The landscape reminded me of Scotland, even the single storied white houses with gable ends at the base of the hillside reminded me of where I once lived in Aberdeenshire.
According to the GPS track I had downloaded, the Western Way continued up the road at the top of the waters of the fjord. Thankfully it was out of date and the trail now followed the east bank of the Erriff River. The path clung to the river's meanders at the edge of fields of sheep. Each side of me, mountains rose up, at times their summits hidden in rain clouds. There were to be a showers throughout the day of varying length, suddenly starting (interrupting my lunch on one occasion) and suddenly stopping.
Leaving the river, a forestry track wound around trees of lodgepole pine (according to a sign) leading to a narrow road. This climbed over moorland to a high pass before descending the other side, clinging to the hillside as it gradually lost height. Ahead of me, a line of mountains placed a barrier before me. Two alternatives existed, both marked as the Western Way: climb over the ridge before me on pathless terrain, or continue on the road. As I was surrounded by mountains, periodically displaying their allure as blankets of sunlight spread across them, I was eager to try the climb, especially as today already had a few stretches of road. Further damage to my knee was the risk, a misstep earlier on the road gave a brief shooting pain, reminding me that continued walking could not be assumed. However the hillside was surprisingly dry and the ground predictable, with no hidden holes or channels. The risk could be managed, with my trekking poles for support, so I began my climb. I followed the regular waymarking posts, walking from one to the next, always looking ahead for the next one, consulting the track on my GPS when I could not spot it. These led through a "hanging valley", another feature of glaciation where a small glacier creates a valley high up on the side of a deeper valley created by a much larger glacier. Although the climb was not so hard, my trekking poles helping, it was the descents my knees really disliked, and the descent down the other side of the ridge line was steep. Below me a lake nestled at the base of a semi-circular "cwm" (a bowl shaped feature created by a small glacier). To climb down I lent on my trekking poles, placing them in front of me so that they took most of my weight as I stepped down the back wall of the cwm, saving my knees. The views were superb. Ahead of me was the holy mountain of Croagh Patrick, its upper half was exposed grey stone. When I was closer I could see the white church on its summit, another place visited by St Patrick.
Returning to the road, I followed it for a few kilometres before the Western Way turned off east onto pathless moorland. Having achieved my desired distance and with the time past 5:00 pm I spotted a reasonably flat, dry patch on which I pitched my tent. Some distance below me three lakes are scenically arranged, reflecting the evening sun. Unseen birds twitter and call in the nearby forest. Another day's hike is complete.
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