The following is a talk I gave today at the First Presbyterian Church in Lovington, New Mexico. It’s a long wall of text, so power through it, eh?
Ellen told me that I have to keep this short, that I could not ramble on for an hour like I did last time. So hopefully I’ll stick to this document and not stray too far from the message I’m trying to impart. I’ve had about two months to pen this – naturally, I waited until the last minute.
Earlier this year, after what seemed less than a month of planning and forethought, I embarked upon my second international solo journey. Yes, I had certainly kicked the idea around many a time afore, but it wasn’t until late January that I decided – impulsively – that I needed to once more take to the road and see the world as only a lonesome pilgrim can.
If you’re familiar with existential literature (which you should be, peasant) then you’ll recognize the title of this post comes from John Gardner’s brilliant piece, Grendel, which, if I really had to pick a favorite book, would definitely be a contender for that moniker.
Exceptional book, Grendel; creates such a sympathetic anti-hero and makes you think – the hallmark of great literature. This post will make a lot more sense if you’ve read Gardner’s novel; otherwise, you’ll just think I’m nuts.
What? I can’t enjoy philosophy too?
What are you getting at, you loon? I hear you say to an empty room. Well who’s the loon now?
Meat and potatoes, comin’ right up. And might I recommend you give this a listen as thou read: Dark Paradise
As a Catholic, I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to believe in nor acknowledge without offending the Almighty, His angels and saints, and my many good Catholic friends. Do forgive me, for I’m just a mere (im)mortal with his sporadic outbursts of piety coupled with extreme heathenism. For you see, dear reader, I do firmly believe in Fate and that things happen for a reason: whether we realize the reason or not is irrelevant. Free will, to me, is an expressed illusion, for our Fate has already been woven – we simply follow the thread through our own labyrinth.
For reference, view the first 25 seconds or so.
Forgive me, Catholic friends, for citing Odin as a skald to live by.
So, enough heathen outbursts; meat and potatoes, eh?
As promised, a complete write-up of the Wicklow Way with a full bit of information and tips should you find yourself on the east side of the Emerald Isle. This is a long post so, uh, deal wid it.
The Trail Itself
According to my guidebook, the trail takes about 5 to 7 days in either direction and runs approximately 132km. I began in Marlay Park, Dublin, and hit Clonegal (official start/end town) by the middle of the sixth day, averaging about 25km a day give or take. The longest I walked in one day was 32km and the shortest was 20km. This makes the Wicklow Way a decent way to spend a week of vacation without being too concerned about time. It also forms part of the E8 Walking Trails throughout Europe, bleeding into the South Leinster Way which takes you further southwest into Ireland.
If you begin in Dublin proper, prepare yourself for you immediately begin hiking upwards on mostly forested trails and rocky paths. You begin at sea level and before you know it, you’re almost 600m in the air. It doesn’t sound like much, especially to my American readers, but this is in the course of a single day – the constant ascending and descending in the first few days are taxing. Especially if you’re a fatbody like me who hasn’t hiked proper in several years. Continue reading “Walking the Wicklow Way”
There is far more than a nugget of truth in that statement, folks, lemme tell you.
Tomorrow marks my last day on the Wicklow Way (and I’ll have a review/write up later) and each day has been a wonderful blessing. The first day, though my fatbody wasn’t quite ready for the strains, was still an enjoyable success. Throughout the week, I have seen a great many sights Ireland has to offer and I’m floored by such a pristine country. Here’s a few shots (more to come):
But that isn’t the point of this post, to inundate you with photos of the Wicklow Way, no, far from it. The purpose of this post is to sing the praises of that lovable scamp Gavin of Butlers Byrne B&B in Aughrim and his incredible penchant for Irish hospitality.
Aughrim is about 8km off the Way so it’s a bit of a walk after a long day. No matter, for Gavin offered to pick me up and drive me to his joint. Immediately upon entering his beautiful B&B pad, he set out cookies biscuits and coffee for me whilst giving me the skinny on the local sporting teams, horsemanship, and the Way. We were chatting as if we were old chums; the conversation immediately picked up as soon as I had finished my hot shower and changed into my less smelly clothing. And before I knew it, Gavin was taking me to the pub!
Oh, Irish pubs! If there’s such a thing as Heaven on Earth, I do believe I found it. The Guinness was cold and constant – it is good for you, after all – and the locals were genuinely kind and intrigued. He introduced me to damn near everyone and they all asked how I was finding Ireland. Really kind people, these Irish. Helping to explain local sports to the ignorant American.
But Guinness, let’s go there for a moment. I was told a typical night meant around 10 pints of Guinness, which is a) quite expensive back home and b) the way I want to die. As my brother has famously declared, “Every beer is a sandwich,” to which I must add, “but a pint of Guinness is a hero.” I had 5 or 6 pints (quiet night) because I had to walk in the morning, but let me tell you, I was neither hungover nor hungry when I awoke today.
You see, I drank so much Guinness and laughed till my sides hurt that by the time I awoke for a full Irish breakfast (you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this; Gavin makes a mean black pudding) my body had almost completely rejuvenated from the grueling day before. The black liquid gave strength to my stiff legs, filled my belly for the entire day, and was the proverbial carrot dangling from the stick, guiding me towards the next pub town. If you’re ever going on a long haul walk, get yourself a pint.
After Gavin’s famous full Irish, he dropped me off where he originally picked me up, and, after many well-wishes and thank yous, I set once more upon the trail. But I will never forget the kindness I found at Butlers Byrne B&B courtesy of Gavin. If you’re ever in the area, look him up. You won’t be disappointed.
Now then, this monkey is off to find a pint!
*At the time of writing, their link was delivering a 403 message but check back on the reg*