Here's an excerpt from my diary.
February 11, 2008
Today dawned into another beautiful day, and I looked at Croagh Patrick (most holy mt. in Ireland) to the south - no fluffy cloud hat today! I spent some time figuring out whether or not to go up, and looked at some of the tourist books here in the house. I learned that the pilgrims' trek to Croagh Patrick, long version, starts at the Abbey of Ballintubber, and then wends its way through the fields & hedgerows, so I had a romantic notion that I could do a bit of the trek through the hedgerows first, and then maybe some other day actually ascend Croagh Patrick.
As I went inland, it got all foggy & grey, but I went to the Abbey anyway. Typical cemetery (beautiful Irish crosses over the graves), typical freezing somewhat grim church, but nice to drive on all the little roads & wave at the passing motorists who all lifted their fingers back at me.
On the way out of the cemetery, I noticed a grave of a man who had died at age 50 about 5 years ago, and at the bottom it was written 'there are so many songs to sing' with RIP right below that, and 'always loved' at the bottom, which I found incredibly touching. At first I thought 'that's what I want on my gravestone...' But seeing that triggered some weird deep sadness about a musician dying young, I could almost see the fellow singing joyously, friends all around. In fact, as I started driving away, I found myself racked with sobs. It really touched a nerve, seeing 'there are so many songs to sing' on a gravestone. I'm almost finished writing a song with that title. It was a very strong experience.
Since it was so yucky, I decided not to walk through the fields, but to drive to the village at the halfway point of the Pilgrimage, a tiny place called Aghagower. Found a gravestone at the church there with the name John Cusack on it! It felt strange, but I took a picture of it anyway. Then, leaving town, I came across a huge funeral procession just about to start, so I had to take an alternative route.
After that, I decided, on a whim, to go to Murrisk, at the foot of Croagh Patrick. Parked, and thought - well it's already late for a hike to the top - clock read 1:11. But I set out - and with a combination of dogged determination and re-setting elevation goals by the minute (oh, maybe there's a view on the other side of the saddleback up ahead), and encouragement from people coming back down (just take tiny steps, you'll make it!), I huffed and puffed it up the 45 degree grade, by the end stopping every 5 steps… all the way to the little church at the top. 763 meters (maybe 2,250 feet?), from sea level. Brutal hike, all rocks & loose scree & windy - but stunning views the whole way. I'd worn the wrong socks, so I developed some good blisters on my feet.
On the way down, a very cute guy was mountain goating his way past me, and eventually slowed down, so I caught up. We walked together the last few kilometers, and turns out Sasha was from the Ukraine. Had fought for the Russians in Afghanistan, went to university in Odessa. We had a very interesting conversation, and then when we got the parking lot, he suddenly said 'ok, see you later' and we parted ways, but not before he informed me that drinking beer is the best thing after a long hike, because the ph of beer evens out the ph of the lactic acid building up in the body after extreme exercise. So I'm drinking Guinness tonight, and hoping it'll work. I can't really move without groaning right now.
February 12, 2008
The beer worked! I can walk! It's a miracle!