Not sure if it would be blasphemous to edit the day of a holy day. It should really be so-called Garland Sunday but since I climbed it on a Thursday I shall always remember it as Garland Thursday. I can justify this as I perceive myself as being non-christian and if you object just leave a comment or get off the site. Although, I sincerely do hope that you are still reading on as I was only playing with words. Is this what they call vocab-tomfoolery? Or am I trying to parody some form of bad religious humor but successfully belly-flopping.
I have just come back from Croagh Patrick. Initially I was just going to put up a couple of pictures of the summit, make a few comments here and there but it really would not do the whole journey into the West any justice. For me the journey was about making my first attempt to climb a mountain and the people I met along the ascend and descend. I wasn't at Croagh Patrick for the Pilgrimage aspect of the mountain. Although, I throw my hat out and shudder violently to those who attempts this journey barefoot.
When I arrived at the foot of the mountain I fell on my arse due to the force of the wind combined with a set of slippery steps that lead towards the statue of St. Patrick. I was cursing in any language I could muster proficiently, which was really f*** it in english. To top that off, once you get pass the statue of St. Patrick you have to amble across rocks where you finally reach a fence with a wooden gate. Adjacent to the gate was a hazard sign - POISON. This image was enough to barricade me to the world that I was presently in from the world that I was about to enter. The wind was really picking up speed such that I couldn't open the wooden gate. A part of me sighed in relieve as I feared what the conditions would be like if I escalated any higher up the mountain. But the other side of me wasn't going to be deterred by such trivialities. I have driven many a miles to get here so I surely wasn't going to loose my focus. I forced open the wooden gate and off I went on my merry way.
It was a really strange journey as the wind was picking up speed, there were points were I thought I was going to be blown off. When all of a sudden there would be an abrupt calmness that one would only expect to be in the eye of a storm. In one of these calm moments I sat on a rock and looked back to see how far I have achieved. The gifted image I was presented of Clew Bay is one I will never forget. The sky palette was a magnificent blue brushed with brilliant white streak of clouds. The stark contrast between the islands of Clew Bay and the mainland was striking but yet in a subtle sort of way. The islands were like disarrayed stacks of hay in both colour and in shape. All this came together with the balance of a rainbow arching over Clew Bay. I took a deep breath and absorbed every last detail of this memorable landscape. I hauled myself off the rock with the sun beaming down my face and a drizzle of rain. Bless! Nature’s way of refreshing me before the steep part.
I finally made my way up to the steep part of the mountain. I bumped into the two yanks. Lets just call them Mister Republican and Mister Democratic, as they both portray atypical political viewpoints and personalities of their chosen name. They were seated on a rock each taking a rest before their last leg of the mountain slope. All I could see was Mister Democratic lips moving so I had to politely take my headphones off. One step at a time he ushered. The man could chat for all the Greek Gods and for St. Patrick himself. I took my camera out to take a photo to make myself productive whilst Mister Democratic was chitterling away. I noticed Mister Republican hadn't even stirred a muscle with all the shenanigans even when I took a shot of him embraced in the serenity of nature. He bore the weight of both worlds on his shoulders. A quiet Yank there must be something wrong with him. I kept going.
I looked up to see whether I had far left to go. My only viewpoint was of rocks almost in a vertical position. The wind at this level of the journey was so strong I had to hold on to dear life to those loose rocks. Well at least it wasn’t raining I thought to myself. With just a split second of thought I got the rain. I kept prodding along. For a while I ended up inside a cloud. It felt extremely cool and refreshing inside the cloud almost analogous to moving mist. Finally I made it to the top. There was an overwhelming sense of achievement. Your whole perspective changes where your whole initial focus was the outline of the mountaintop. But once you reach it to the top you get a panoramic view of the your surroundings. Your psychology changes in line with your newfound depth of understanding freedom and independence. You gather up your newfound freedom and independence like they were loose marbles tumbling out of their contained bag and you make your descend.
On my way down I stumbled upon Mister Democratic and Mister Republican again. This encounter was somewhat symbolic as their roles reversed. Contemplative Mister Republican had a couple of things to get off his chest. He informed me that he had the ashes of his mother, father and brother in his rucksack. He was going to scatter their ashes on Croagh Patrick so it could airborne out to Clew Bay. He had chosen this day as it was his birthday and they were the wishes of his parents to have their ashes scattered across the bay. I gave him an understanding nod and said no more on the subject. I left them to do their final ascend up the steep part of the mountain.
On my way down the mountain I kept thinking about Mister Republican, perhaps I should have spoken to him about it. But considering where we where I felt there was no need for talking for a silent understanding was a given. We are after all subjected to that vulnerable transient state of existence. It was surreal to imagine he held two generations of his bloodline in his rucksack. Both Mister Democratic and Mister Republican later caught up with me. Mister Republican appeared a lot more content with himself. He had fulfilled the wishes of his loved ones. We said no more on the subject we all just concentrated on our descend. It probably would have been a hell of a lot easier if we just schooshed all the way down on our arses.
