...Up The Holy Mountain

Croagh Patrick

Croagh Patrick (Patrick’s Stack), has been considered Ireland’s Holy Mountain since 3000 BC, when the Celtic pagans used it as a site to celebrate the onset of harvest season.  It transitioned to more of a Christian pilgrimage in honor of St.Patrick, who is believed to have fasted for 40 days on the summit back in 441 AD.  It’s also where he allegedly banished all snakes from Ireland, thank you very much.

Seriously

Unfortunately however, the path has become increasingly perilous, as the ever-increasing numbers making the trek have caused significant erosion, made evident by the dozens of rescues each year.  Currently the county council is lobbying for a loan to repair the trail, and effectively maintain its integrity and safety for future pilgrims.

I knew exactly none of this.  What I did know though, was that it is considered the holiest mountain of this most holy country, and that I just had to do it.  I think it was more of a response to some kind of prompting than an actual decision. 

The day was the most beautiful I’ve had since I’ve arrived.  I was in the company of my new friend Jenny, the cousin of one of my Chicago besties, KatieLynch, and a rockstar in her own right.  Jenny is funny as hell, refreshingly authentic, and incredibly generous.  Of note for this particular day, she's also a remarkable athlete.  Her legs are about twice the length of mine, but she never got too far ahead of me, though I’m quite sure she easily could have.  A gem,  that girl.

Prayers

There weren’t tons of deep thoughts floating around my head during our ascent, as everything in me was working towards the next step; I think my active body was my prayer.  I experienced one episode of wooziness, but whether it was adjusting to the ascent, nerves, or a bit of the chub factor, I’ll never know.

The second half became completely vertical and treacherously slippery, the path made entirely of loose rocks and sand.  I began to wonder if it was considered a pilgrimage simply because it generated so many versions of holy expletives from those I was near enough to hear. 

Clew Bay

When we finally made the summit, the grueling ascent somehow made perfect sense.  The views of Clew Bay, the crystalline Atlantic, the islands, and the mountains of Mayo were simply phenomenal.  Pillars of stone surrounded the chapel, penance of pilgrims who’d come before.  Lay some rocks down, Miss Katie.  We donned our extra shirts, as the temperature at 2,500 ft was in fact much colder than the base, and spent a few moments taking it all in.

Penance

We made our way down an alternate path, as we were both convinced that the eroded primary path could do us in.  The descent was also vertical, and with the exception of tiny patches of heather, entirely loose rock.  I seriously don’t know how the sheep do it.  I took a mighty fall that involved rolling down rocks and clawing my way onto something, anything to defy gravity and my imminent death.  This quickly became reason for insane laughter between us, once we both realized that my limbs and I remained attached.  I’ve actually had multiple flashbacks of it since, and it gets me every time.  I daresay the descent was as difficult as the ascent, and no easier on my screaming knees.  

Dreamy

We finally made it all the way down in one piece, hallelujah.  I have wild bruises in places I’m too much of a lady to share, and once again, am sore to my bones.  I think it’ll be an experience that I process in pieces, but for today, I’m grateful.  Grateful to Jenny for her company and patience and laughter.  Grateful to those who’ve gone before and infused me with their chutzpah to get to the top, and to the bottom for that matter.  And finally, grateful to my trusty blue friend, Aleve.  Amen.