Wild Water

The Shannon glistens smooth below the empty city streets 
we tether our transport next to a bank hoping the cameras will keep watch

The bus shimmers into the station
like the fog above the smooth water of a concrete stream
we drift in its arms to Galway, the modern day fort at the mouth of a stony river
harsh winds blow us on as water bounces playfully on cobblestone

The Connemara wild beckons us out of our bus
we walk rain drenched into Letterfrack, a nineteenth century Quaker town on Barnederg bay

wild water welcomes us
cold and fierce, it rejuvenates the land
we walk on and are washed
dripping puddles form as we drop our packs in the National Park Visitors Centre

The steamy peat powered air warms our hands
we peruse the small museum on Irish Bogs and begin to dry

western blanket bog and heathland was once
great forests of pine and oak
first peopled five thousand years ago
the giant woods are now flaming purple moor grass tucked in with heather

The rain abated and we began
along ancient footpaths
above the sea and under the sky

Diamond hill was just out of town
its sharp ascent and six K return would just fit 
before sundown would require us to find a place to pitch our tent
and with the rain gone - off we went!

Shortly after starting, some more clouds rolled in.
The higher we got towards the 445 m top, the louder the wind made our rain covers pop.
We summited the peak inside a cloud, with wild, wild water roaring around.

Holding onto each other, we did not blow away
we inched forward together through mighty rough winds and the brief sting of hail.

Upon coming back down with care and grace
a vine covered holly tree found us in a perfect place.

The wild water rain was all about so we got out our tent
and up the fly went.

The fire in our souls kept our soaking-wet-everything warm
as I heated pasta in sauce on our small stove above the wet moss

With dinner done we donned wet clothes and marched down to town
for warmth and music Veldons Bar was sound.

Delicious smells of soups, fries and Guinness wafted around
and the traditional Irish session was quite profound

We splurged on some tea with warm cream and fresh biscuits
Oh did it fill us with the warmth of good wool
in this our wild water heaven.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The next day we rose with the sun and walked 6 K to Kylemore Abbey.

Nestled in the mountains across a lake it was quite beautiful.

Knowing the wild water could be back anytime we did not dally and began our hike at an old road. The road disappeared into sheep pasture and we followed a creek up the valley between two of the Twelve Bens, Benbaun (477m) and Knockbrack (442m).

 
We stopped for lunch on a small summit between the two peaks and then stowed our pack and started the ascent to Benbaun. The day was blue-sky and cotton-cloud. Beautiful.

When wild water came the high winds blew it past us within 5 to 10 minutes. Once rinsed, the wind tussle-dried us quick and water would give way to warm rays of sun. Views from the top of Benbaun were spectacular and the harsh and quick rain storms made for an early afternoon of many re-occurring blessings. Each time a storm passed the re-emergence of rays of light on the valley walls caused rainbows all around. It was like being born all over again to a new bright wild and wonderful world.

 In the afternoon, we found our way down the backside of Benbaun along the side of Knockbrack to the valley floor. Long moor grass and deep holes made it treacherous and difficult to see the ground.

After some time looking for a feasible place to get across the Polladirk river, we settled for finding a mid-shin deep section and took off our boots to wade across. The mountain runoff was freezing but it did wonders for our sodden bog soaked toes. Once across we rose out of the valley near an old, abandoned farm house.

Leaving Knockbrack in the dust, we turned to the back side of Diamond hill. Climbing it to rejoin the trail up to the visitors centre felt like the hardest part of the day. Our legs were on fire from traversing all the uneven bog grass terrain. When we got to the top of a ridge just south of Diamond Hill, we were relieved to see evidence of a manicured trail in the distance! We made it back to our tent just as it became dark, and enjoyed a second night of fantastic music at Veldons.

The next morning, sore from our walk, we decided to hitch a ride to Clifden, the largest town in Connemara. Peter, a student at the furniture making college down the road, gave us a lift and even took us to some nice views along the sky road.

After a  hour of walking around the small sea side town of Clifden, we got the bus back home to Limerick via Galway. As our wild hair trailed behind us, we pedaled home from the bus station in our somewhat dry clothes motivated by our fresh memories of the beautiful wild Atlantic coast.