The Mountaineering Club

The Freshers Weekend Nov. 1998

The Freshers weekend was the first time that the whole club spent more than just a Sunday together. This year the destination was Laraugh, a small and attractive village on the Beara. Numerous events occurred during those three days, and plenty of 'romance'. The main group got round the challenging lake horseshoe while three of the climbers spent the Saturday stark naked climbing trees and taking photos - but I dont think I really want to talk about that...

I found myself, due to drunken bravado, part of a four 'man' attempt on the Glanmore Horseshoe. This is a walk starting only a couple of miles from the coast line and takes in most of the peninsular ( Well it felt like it), with Hungry Hill the half way point, a total distance of 22km. According to our calculations we expected to be well passed half way before it got dark, this proved to be a bit optimistic, we got to Hungry Hill at dusk and completed the second half of the walk in the dark. It was a really memorable day, and one of the most enjoyable walks Ive done in Ireland - But the only way to tell the adventures of that day is in verse - so here is John Healy's Saga of that day ....

T'was a fresh and showery morning
When they left the hostel's lights
They got a lift in Roy's car,
The man looks good in tights.

They headed off round the bends,
That form that Beara road,
The mudguards scraping on the ground,
From carrying the load.

The four of them were going to try
The long and arduous walk,
That forms the Glanmore Horseshoe,
Of which grown men fear to talk.

There was Harry, who left posh Cambridge, And came to UCC, To study Software Engineering In Cork, down by the Lee. There was Ann, who came from Offaly, In the depths of the mid-lands, From the little town of Birr, In the midst of bogs it stands. Then there was wee Cliona, With a name that's hard to rhyme, She was so full of enegry, As they began the climb. And last of all was Little John, Who barely tipped the scales, A man who grew up in the sticks T'was said he could pike bales. After nearly crashing twice, They reached the drop off spot. Laughing as they left the car, They started at a trot. They headed for a farmhouse, Nestled in beneath the hill, They started up a gully, As their hearts began to thrill. The holds were small and slippy, As they began to climb, Twas the usual Kerry climbing, Boggy shite and slime.

And turning right up at the top, They set off for Lachabane, And then as they began to move Down came a shower of rain. The rain did pass, but then There came a mighty gust of wind. It raced along the valley, And round the horsehead bend. Along the top the four raced, Borne by the winds strong blast Until a little tired They reached the top at last. At mighty Eskatarriff they turned To the south, Stopping for a bite to eat, And some tea to warm their mouth. They began to laugh at poor old John, Twas just a little crush they said But he was so embarassed And his heart it felt of lead. They kept on going down, That awful dreadful slope The vegatation was horrific, They started to loose hope.

But still they kept decending, And soon the bottom was in sight And hope began to kindle They're be on top before the night. They passed a lovely lake, Right on the boarderline, Here was the fateful spot, Where the girls began to whine. Cliona was feeling tired, Her face was drawn and pale. And "Oh my god, my ass is wet", Ann began to wail. But Harry he continued on, And John refused all rests. The lesson here is not to walk With people who have long hair But soon the moods grew better, As they watched a sweet sunset And then belief began to grow They'd finish their walk yet. They started up the steep ridge line, To the west of Hungry Hill. And all around them stars appeared, And the air was growing still.

As they reached the summit cairn, The suns last rays departed, So they took a few quick photos Then off the top they darted. They started down the fierce descent, As Harry lead the way. Down every cliff and boghole, South of the Kerry Way. They headed up the last ascent, With shooting starts in sight, And turning towards the sea they saw, The beam of the fastnet cut the night. Then onwards over Derryclancy, And down the Healy Pass They whooped and cheered when finally They reached tarmac at last.

With hearts aglow and feet so light
They headed down the lane.
A lift from a local stranger
Helped to ease the pain

Twas a dark but starry evening
When they saw the hostel lights
And returned with faces beaming
And smiles of pearly white

© All photos belong to Harry Bach