Poetry Book

For some reason, there is a great tradition of writing "poetry" to immortalise various adventures that the club have gone through over the years. On this page we have one poem already from some time in the 1998/1999 season, there is also a little explaination of what the situation in the club was at the time. Poetry was also used to recall the huge hike made by John Healy, Harry Bach, Cliona Holt and Ann Hogan during the weekend away last year to Lauragh.

So if anyone wishes to put pen to paper about anything please send the results to us and we will put it up. Suggested topics from last year include the drizzle, the rain, the sleet, and the torrential downpours. In fact I think a general Ode To Precipitation would do nicely. Also something to commemorate the famine years (okay months) Feb 2001 to June 2001 when us climbers found the sheep could strike back. Course they then got incinerated, but that's sheep for ya.

Healy's Ditty

Not sure of the origin of this little composition. It was first heard sometime around the adventure down in Lauragh - when the club had its freshers weekend away. John and Tony decided to go back to nature and become one with a tree (a truly freaky experience!) and Diarmuid, about to have his colon examined, was being unavoidably detained in hospital with the help of some very powerful laxatives. Anyway, for those of you who are still interested, read on!

Healy's Ditty

AS we headed for Killarney Everyone on the bus Was sure that John and Tony Were positively nuts. Having seen the photos of the two lads climbing trees With not a stitch of clothes From their head town to their knees. On the bus there fierce debate As we wondered where to ramble; There were those who liked to walk, And others who would scramble. So the four of us jumped off the bus Right at Mollies Bridge, While the others were telling Eimear To head up howling Ridge. Without a further word, We headed for the reeks With Harrys Cambridge And John's nice rosy cheeks. Then my nose began to sniffle As the hills they did draw near, But Cliona had the tissues - Enough to last the year! And Ann was just wondering if her boots would last the day, As she had forgot to wax them Since the last great epic day. We crossed the bog and then the stream And halted by the lake. And Ann took up a pose For the photos they did take. We started up the gully, Only stopping for a drink. Arriving at the top We had to have a think. Cliona took a bearing The direction it seemed clear, But we took the path instead Like every other year. We carried on along the ridge Scrambling this and that, Until we met a teacher, And stopped to have a chat. We headed off again Up to mighty Cruach Mhor; Then it started to rain - Kerry weather is a whore. Despite the rain we sat down To have a bit of lunch, A quick dip in the chicken soup Took away the chocolates crunch. Full of energy from the feed We headed off along the bleak ridgeline, And with the big exposure All were doing fine.

(You'll notice that I never said That the girls began to whine, As I got in trouble For saying that last time!) We crossed the ridge so easily And headed for the bone, To begin the steep descent That was sure to bring us home. Just then Ann took a tumble Nearly landing on her head, But John was thinking of Diarmuid, Alone in his hospital bed! But he won't be lonely long For the doctor she will come And put her hands all over Diarmuids little chart. Then we met old Finbarr, Out to get some air, He stopped to say hello, Then descended like a hare! Then we saw a light above the ladder, Just starting the downclimb, It gave relief to all of us We won't be last this time. The only obstacle remaining Was the gaddaghs mighty flow So John just waded in Said he, "I'll have to go". And next there came our Harry, The man who had a light, He gave no help to those behind, As we fumbled in the night. (aaahhh) Then there was a mighty splash, Followed by a scream, As the others who were behind, Fell into the stream. Our adventures then were over, And we began to sing, Around the lonely darkness John's unique voice did ring. Then the sheepdogs started howling, And barking at the noise, So John decided to shut up, And all regained their poise! Finally we reached the bus, And spare clothes were dug out; And we waited in the darkness, While the others dragged it out. But soon all were reunited, And gulping mugs of tay, And telling jokes and stories Of another fun filled day.

The Glanmore Horseshoe

I'll leave it to Harry to introduce this one...

"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 peninsula ( 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 I've 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."

The Glanmore Horsehoe

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

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