I’ve talked here before of how hard mountain walking in Ireland can be. There is not the tradition of hill walking and access can be difficult. But these are still magnificent mountains.

Last time I was mountain walking in Ireland I relied on the Lonely Planet Walking in Ireland Guide which was – well – far from impressive. This time around I decided to rely on Paddy Dillon’s ‘The Mountains of Ireland‘. Paddy’s guide seems to me to be aimed at the experienced hill walker; there are no map reproductions here just simple line drawings that can be used as a simple reference when reading the map. Mostly, the guide simply shows you how to get to the top of the mountain; it is up to the walker to figure out how to put these together into a longer walk. I was looking to walk in the Beara and most of the walks included were of this kind, but there were two circular walks to consider. The first headed out from the Healey Pass but at 17.5 miles needed just a little too much time (after the driving there and back was taken into account). I decided to take the walk over Knockboy, at 2,321 feet, the highest mountain in Cork, a celebration of desolate, solitary, bog!

The walk began at a tiny settlement which seemed to be little more than a church. From the church I walked up a long track to the head of a pass which connected the Caha Mountains to Knockboy. The col was decorated with a significant cross commemorating a time when a Jesuit priest drove his mount to jump the chasm – the steed sailed on to Bantry! It’s amazing how many times this kind of legend crops up in the hills. Near me, in Shropshire on Wenlock Edge, it was not a Priest who ‘leaped’ but a Major during the Civil War (I forget what side he was on).

From the col Paddy urged me to climb left and on towards Knockboy. As ever there was no path. Access was gained by climbing a wire fence – no stile. The walk was straightforward enough and the air was crystal clear. But the terrain was bog. Bog, more bog and even more bog.

Knockboy

If this hill was in England or Scotland there would have been a well worn path, but here it was clear that few people walked this way regularly. THe lack of paths re-enforces the sense of being alone and in many ways these mountains seem far more isolated than those – say in NW Scotland – that really are further than civilisation. It was all rather spooky. And one of Paddy’s throw away comments made it even spookier. In a note Paddy points out that, in times gone by, there was a tradition of people burying their dead babies high on the hill – watch where you are putting your feet! This ‘tradition’ was for those babies who died before being baptised. Such children were considered to be in limbo and were not allowed to be buried in the blessed ground of a graveyard; and so the babies were buried on the hills, on mountains and the high bogs, their resting places marked by collections of stones and small cairns. It was a policy that caused real pain and distress down the generations. We’ve obviously moved on a bit since then but it was only in 1992 that the Vatican moved to clarify things. Jesus loved the children and so it must be supposed that he might be able to save their souls after death – but you can’t be too sure about it!

The only stones on the top of Knockboy were those around the trig point. From Knockboy the route went north over the connecting ridge to Caoinkeen (2,280 feet). Elsewhere this would have been a happy stroll. But here the route continued over peat hags and bogs; the going was slow and tough. The view though were magnificent. For much of the walk it was possible to follow the spine of the hills all the way down to the tip of the Beara, a wonderful and dramatic sight. From Caoinkeen I continued on to the ridge that connected Gullaba Hill (2,00 feet) from Barrerneen (2,099). Here the views were magnificent with views of the Kerry mountains joining those of Beara and Bantry Bay. Though the wire fences were still the only immediate signs of civilisation this was no wilderness. The views over the bays were fascinating – you can pick out small owns and villages their pattern of settlement and growth not much changed over many years. To the east was a wind farm which – in this setting – looked quite beautiful. But there were still those wire fences, very many of them to cross. Thankfully, only one of them was barbed wire.

The Ridge

At the top of Barrerneen I lazed on a grassy platform and delighted in the dramatic mountains landscape that I had just traversed, the spendour of the high grassy ridges and dark corries banishing all memories of bogs to the back of the mind. But Barrerneen lulled me into a false sense of security. The route down was dreadful, the ground was sodden and I was walking through tall reeds and across perilous tussocks of grass and heather. I reached the little path that would take me back to the car at about 6.00 in the evening, the gentle evening sun casting long shadows over the land. It was idyllic. At least it would have been if the midges weren’t out in force.

Back at the car my watch told me that I’d climbed 1,000 metres in about 7 hours. The walk was 11 miles but the going made it much more like 15.

That’s what these mountains are like. This may not be wilderness but walking many of the mountains of Ireland is a truly solitary experience – it is almost unthinkable that you’d meet someone else coming the other way.

If you like your mountains, long, rugged and quiet – well, look no further!

The view to Kerry, from Gullaba Hill