Rossendale Ramblers - Past Walking Holidays

The track climbed steadily to the viewing platform where we could see the sea dashing on the rocks below and glimpse the impressive cliffs nearest to us. As we climbed higher the sea vanished although we could still hear it trying to wash Ireland away. We had lunch before turning inland and climbing some more; Keith was now reading the map and following the increasingly rocky path that became a large boulder field on the side of the mountain. Some of the techniques employed to surmount these boulders was a joy to behold but unfortunately I was too involved in the process to get many photographs of the events. At least nobody was maimed by walking poles stuck in funny places, either accidentally or on purpose, and Keith successfully located a huge boulder with a yellow stripe on it showing the start of the path down. It was a bit chilly and the mist made it worse, with visibility almost none existent. It became warmer as we lost height and we could now see the landscape underneath the cloud. We had followed the same route as the A team, just taken more time over it and as a result were last back at the coach for the drive back. Several fell asleep on the coach throughout the holiday providing endless amusement for the others and ammunition for anyone with a camera. Dinner menu had plenty of choice even if the main course was always on a bed of mashed potato throughout the week. Some retired early and others investigated the delights of Donegal town but managed to get enough sleep to turn up on time the following morning.

Most of us elected to go on a trip, first to Derry and then on to the Giant's Causeway as a day off from walking. The history of Derry is far too extensive to document here and our visit was to be brief with just enough time to walk the one-mile around the cannon festooned walls and have a cup of coffee just inside Bishops Gate. We did stay 15 minutes longer; Rosemary got lost and ended up in the logical place, the bus station. Unfortunately we were parked at the information centre and dispatched search parties to the three corners of the town before she reappeared suitably embarrassed. Giant's Causeway with its strange basalt formations is well known but many people haven't seen it and I remembered little after a gap of 43 years, except the poor catering arrangements. They were still poor; Joan saved my life with a tuna pasta concoction as the sandwich shop sold out before I got there and the pub was too crowded to get a proper meal this side of the AGM. We ignored the shuttle bus as that would have been too shameful for a bunch of ramblers and walked down to the causeway where all and sundry were clambering over the mainly hexagonal columns. The drizzle was a pest especially for those with non-waterproof cameras but we did our best to record the strange spectacle of cooled lava cracked in such a rare way and easily accessible to the general public. There isn't even a charge to see it, which is unusual these days. It was a good walk along the shoreline to see the organ pipe formation and as far as the end of the path, now closed with erosion problems. Looking back was the best view of all but somewhat marred by the visibility. The shepherds steps up the cliff, the exact number of which I have forgotten, were quite steep and once on the top gave us a spectacular view of most of the site, but we hurried back as time was short and we had a non-stop drive back to be in time to eat a delicious something on a bed of mashed potato.

Wednesday was a day off for Danny to comply with regulations relating to his driving hours and a minibus was laid on to take a smaller party out to the start of the walk. The remainder were to have a quiet day locally with short walks, boat trip, massage etc. The Blue Stack Mountains were to be favoured by our presence and the bus collected us after doing the school run. The ‘children' were of rather more advanced years, if not nature, and as impatient as those of any age when the bus wrong slotted and had to backtrack a bit. The road became very narrow and had grass in the middle of it and what with no one really appearing to know exactly where the start was, it didn't bode too well for the rest of the day. We did finally get there and not having much idea of the itinerary set off behind Robert up the rough track in the rain to the stream that was trying its best to be a river. The stepping-stones were slippery but we weren't yet wet enough to just walk across through the water. although I think I saw Jean do so; well done that rambler! Not all of Donegal is peat bog, there must be a bit of it somewhere that isn't; we searched this area pretty thoroughly and found more than we thought existed in the whole world. The path, or more accurately, the linear quagmire alongside the river, became worse as we climbed towards a fabled tarn and when told we would have to cross this now treacherous torrent, some of the party dug their toes in, metaphorically, to go with the literally as they were already in it up to places nearly unmentionable. The leader eventually decided to return which left the problem of catching Linda who had eaten something for breakfast that wouldn't be allowed at the Olympics and gone ahead clean out of sight determined to see this tarn which was on our side of the river after all. The swollen river made too much noise to even scream over so Dennis and Ian scampered (Well almost) after her. After contact was established two of us came back over the top of the hill where it was much less boggy and it made travelling a lot easier. The river crossing was now not much of a problem and the best way to get clean and we joined the road to walk to the hotel where we were supposed to be collected later after having a cup of tea. Some of us ate our lunch, walking down the road that went on a bit with no sign of where to. A hotel appeared to our left but we had passed the path going that way by then and we carried on to the road junction to get to it. The others and the leader had disappeared and the four stars on the gatepost made it seem unlikely that we would be welcome; but there they were, some having tea and some having their own beverages. The snow-white husky type dog that followed us in could have been a problem but it was well known to the staff and they phoned the owner who collected it in the Mercedes. It transpired that this was only the first hotel and we had to walk to a second one to be collected in two and a half hours time, which didn't go down too well. We went into a dangerous huddle and most decided to walk back to base as it was only four miles or so away and much quicker than waiting for the school bus to collect us. An attempt was made to divert us en route to the second hotel, but it was met by another suggestion that shouldn't tax the imagination too much. We made good time but a silver Merc taxi hooted and passed us with the remainder of the party, taking advantage of a vehicle returning to Donegal. The magnetic attraction of a teashop drew us in and after picking one in the central triangle of the town we rearranged the furniture, and greatly appreciated teas, coffee and cakes before walking back to the hotel for a shower and something delicious on a bed of mashed potato.

Thursday and Tom, not having a great few weeks, had left both his super walking poles on the minibus and only got them back the night before departure for home. He borrowed a pair for the climb of Mount Errigal the highest peak of the DerryVeagh range at 2457 feet. We had four walks on Thursday; A and B were to climb the old volcano from the road with the A's doing a longer route, Robert would take the five C's to the isle of Arran and a mutinous group of nine, with no prefix, would walk round Lough Dunlewy, through the woods. It didn't really need a leader as it was virtually impossible to get lost but Ian was there to carry the can if anything went wrong; after the day before it would have to be a disaster! The bus dropped us off at the bottom end of the loch and we immediately set off up the logging track looking for a place to have a brew. We finally succeeded and looked with some interest at our surroundings that consisted of trees; some standing and some cut to length and stacked up in piles ready for shipping. According to the rings the oldest of them was about 45 years old, somewhat younger than us. The track meandered in and out of the forest and it was at one of the outs that Gretchen spotted figures on the skyline of Errigal over one mile away. The camera zoom revealed 11 ramblers traipsing across from the summit on the way down, and that corresponded to the B party. It was warm enough down in the valley and we strolled along the easy route until as we emerged from the woodland almost at the other end of the loch a splendid dry stone construction presented itself to be sat upon whilst we had lunch. A pity about the midges, they drove us away without our afternoon nap. The fuchsias here were bigger and older, some with a trunk 6 inches thick, and covering parts of the abandoned buildings such was their size. The tin bath outside one of the dwellings said either they left in a hurry or wouldn't be needing a bath wherever they were going. We were ahead of schedule and after a vote decided to extend the walk to take in the other loch as well. The path, as it now became, was tricky to find but once upon it we felt at home on the wet stuff and wandered upward, not steeply enough to produce much in the way of dissent, but enough to get a view of this second loch. Slightly higher than the other one, it was backed up behind a weir and had a launch plying back and forth with a PA system educating the passengers. The so called Poisoned Glen turned out to be a cartographers mistake as the original name was Heavenly Glen in Gaelic and a single mistake with one letter produced Poisoned Glen. There are other interpretations such as a poisonous plant but which one is fact depends on your imagination or any prejudice you may harbour. We could see the semi ruined church on the other side of the water and we approached by way of the thick woods surrounding some sort of mansion house. The gateposts each had a lion on the top instead of the traditionally welcoming pineapple and as we arrived at the outer perimeter it became more like a fort. The gate was chained but only hooked on and we managed to get out to view the private keep out signs from the other side. It didn't say we couldn't be in. The church was just up the road and was obviously a magnificent building at some time having been built of white marble and blue quartzite as a memorial to James the husband of Jane Smith Russell. He was the landlord of the Dunlewy estate and the church was consecrated in 1853. The roof was removed for safety reasons some time ago and now it is just a shell with a single gravestone. We had planned to walk down the road to the rendezvous at the information centre but upon reaching the road, lo, our bus did appear and picked us up as if by magic and we were whisked away to the tea shop and tourist farm where we fraternised with the donkeys. A's and B's all collected here as well and we boarded the bus to go to the coast and collect the C party back from Arran. All aboard we returned to base for something delicious on a bed of mashed potato.

Friday and our last outing, also on a misty morning, had us driving out to the coast passing by the bay where lord Mountbatten was killed, and climbing up the hillside in two parties. It was very windy on the high cliffs and we had a brew in the lee of a substantial lookout tower built when Napoleon was playing silly beggars. The path petered out at this point but with a 500-foot cliff on one side and our destination on the coast it was hardly possible to miss it. The sea pounded at the rocky base of the cliffs making a continuous racket and throwing spray into the air as if there wasn't enough water there already. The memorial plaque to the timber carrier, the Sydney, smashed to bits in October 1870 and killing all but two of the 21 crew, was a reminder of the force of nature when she wasn't even trying. Four of the victims are buried on the memorial spot. We had lunch on the small bit of sand posing as a beach and watched a couple of wary seals eyeing us from the surf. The lobster pots by the open boat, pulled up on the shore well above the high water mark, was a clue as to why the seal were there; free lunch provided the owner of the pots didn't get a bead on them. The shore was clean with lots of limpets and other shellfish on the rocks that had been rolled about by the sea until they were smooth and polished. No place for a novice sailor here, as every thing was made of rock except our little bit of sand, and that was at low water. The weather had brightened up a bit and we could see a bit further than we could in the morning so the return by a more inland track was ok. The communications mast had a generator running, the diesel fumes momentarily blowing our way, but seemed to be unattended. The descent was sudden and dropped steeply between fuchsia hedgerows to what was used as the main road on our way here. A wedding party was in full flow at the pub, one of many, and I suspect that tea was unavailable throughout the land. Fortunately Danny got going on the machine in the bus and produced tea, coffee, soup or hot chocolate as required and thus kept us alive until we could get something delicious on a bed of mashed potato.