unironedman

IN WHICH WE RETURN TO SOME FAMILIAR STOMPING GROUNDS UP THE DUBLIN MOUNTAINS, PAY OUR RESPECTS TO MY LATE DAD, AND MAKE THREE DETOURS ALONG THE WAY…

The week’s weather was largely settled; overcast but generally benign. Or to borrow from the late, great author, Douglas Adams, what you might call ‘mostly harmless’. Tuesday brought another Kettlebells class, and I once again got the opportunity to pick up a few more pointers on technique, and marvel at the fitness of the other class members (all ladies), most of whom seem to be swinging around much heavier weights than I could manage, and were able to rest the backs of their hands on the ground when doing the warm-down stretch, whilst I was struggling to touch the floor with my fingertips.

Wednesday was another rehearsal, and we had landed a last-minute cancellation gig in Portlaoise, so we polished up a few recent additions to the set. Friday evening was my Mum’s birthday, and S cooked a lovely meal. I didn’t have to work on Saturday, so I spent a few hours chainsawing and chopping timber in the yard before heading up to the studio for the long process of taking down the gear, loading up the cars, driving an hour to the gig, setting up, playing and then rewinding the tape, so to speak.

It was about 1.45am before I hit the bed, and the alarm went off at 7.45. The rain was pouring down. Gary and I exchanged texts which included motivational ‘running in the rain’ songs and a picture of a snorkel. Neither of us had the brains to suggest going back to bed, and so, shortly after nine, we pulled into the Ticknock Forest car park. It’s usually bustling with energetic mountain bike types and strenuous hiker folk, but the grim weather was keeping most casual adventurers away. Still, there were a few hardy souls out and about on their bikes as we set off in the rain. We nodded to each other in that ‘ha, aren’t we all mad’ sort of way, then we dipped into the pine forest and made our way uphill.

Once out of the sodden forest floor, we found one of the paths that double as a river bed when the rain gets heavy. The trees dropped away and the telecom masts of Three Rock loomed into view like the opening scene of a grisly horror movie. No film today though; just lots of rain and zero visibility. We paused at the granite tor to say hello to my Dad, and then pushed on to find some shelter under the trees flanking the summit.

The respite was brief enough as the woods end abruptly and leave you back out in the open and at the mercy of the strong winds which were piling up out of Glencullen to the south. The paths here were again streams of boggy water and progress was slow. Once at the top, it was totally exposed, and reminded me of the time I took Mark up here during a heavy snow, and we we experienced a few white-outs. Today, Fairy Castle, or Two Rock, was hidden in the heavy mist. But we knew the path well enough, and soon found the cairn. We then turned down, following the Dublin Mountain Way with a stiff, sodden wind to our left. In sailing parlance, something akin to a close reach.

At the end of the this trail, the path went left and right; right was back to the car, albeit in a roundabout way. We turned left into the teeth of the wind and followed the path as it dropped towards the road that runs through Glencullen. We were now back on the Wicklow Way. The steady drop into the valley, including the increased shelter from the belt of trees, was a nice respite, though of course, we planned to stop briefly at the road, have a quick snack and turn uphill for home. In truth, we hadn’t planned to even go this far. This was the first detour. Spying a Red Squirrel and some interesting fungi was our reward.

As we made our way back up the hillside, we reached the point where the Dublin Mountain Way splits off to the left towards Tibradden. Gary suggested we head that way for a couple of kilometres to see the cairn. Detour number two! It was a handy enough route without too much by way of elevation either way, and we were starting to pass groups of hikers out braving the weather.

Here is some blurb on the cairn:

Tibradden Mountain stands some 470m high and is formed from granite with large glacial boulders strewn over its slopes. The name Tibradden derives from Tigh Bródáin, meaning Brodáin’s House.

A mound of stone that forms a prehistoric cairn marks the summit of the mountain, and the Dublin Mountains Way walking trail passes by this ancient monument. When the cairn was excavated in 1849, antiquarians found a central cist (a small stone-lined grave) that contained a pottery food vessel of Bronze Age type and cremated human remains within a circular chamber with a diameter of approximately 3m. The cairn may date to the Bronze Age, though the cairn may have been earlier, and originally constructed in the Neolithic period before later being reused during the Bronze Age. A partially lintelled passage extends from the centre of the chamber to the north east.

(From https://www.dublinmountains.ie/archaeology/archaeology/tibradden/)

It no doubt was someone’s final resting place. And it’s interesting to ponder on how these grave sites are routinely excavated and their remains catalogued and put on display. What’s the statute of limitations on these things, I wonder? Is there even such a thing? What constitutes antiquity? Clearly, if you were pop up to your local cemetery and start digging up someone’s bones, you would be quickly arrested and taken away. And not just for jail-time, but probably psychiatric evaluation.

A hundred years? Five hundred years? A thousand? I have no idea. But it’s somewhat sobering to think that the best we can come up with for this particular site is Bronze Age, possibly Neolithic. So, 2,500 to 500BC, or maybe back as far as 4,000BC. That’s quite the epoch.

But clearly someone was worthy of this great honour, and their kin chose to place them in this site. Today, it is little more than a roughly-rounded pile of stones. To the untrained eye, I guess. Even some of these have been re-arranged since the excavation. But nothing like the covered mound it would have been, on the top of the mountain with its commanding views. Albeit when the weather allows it 😉

But I am reminded that I know so little of the generation of my own grand-parents, and practically nothing of their parents. So it is little wonder the livelihoods of our ancient kin are a total mystery.

With our mission accomplished, we retraced our steps and found our way back onto the Wicklow Way. The weather was improving… well, in the sense that that there was less rain than earlier. And occasional breaks in the mist would give glimpses of valleys and peaks around us.

As I picked my way through rivers of foamy water spilling out over the granite-strewn paths, my mind drifted back to Heaney. The link that brought me here was the rich russet colours of the grasses and sedges by the path. I cannot divulge the species, dear reader, as I don’t know what I was looking at as I picked my way through a landscape that was trying soak me, blow me sideways and trip me up into the bargain. They just looked stunning, and I thought I might stop and take some pictures. Not a day for pictures, of course, but then Heaney’s line from Postscript popped into my head:

Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
More thoroughly.
You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass

And so, with that gentle echo, I took a mental note instead, and moved on to the junction of the Dublin Mountain and Wicklow Ways, and idled for a minute to wait for Gary, whose glasses were fogging up and making forward progress a potential hazard. I think the last time I was here was with Mark, and we had caught the tail-end of the big snow in January of this year. Below are the ‘then and now’ pics.

The last leg, or so I thought, was to get back to the car via some more of the Wicklow Way, and then picking up a forest road across the top of Ticknock Valley. Soon, we were passing the old shed, and here a photo is mandatory! Then the car park came into view, but just as I was starting to allow thoughts of heated car seats and hot chocolate to occupy my thoughts, Gary glanced at his watch and cheerfully informed me that he couldn’t indulge in a hot whiskey until he had at least 15k on the clock, and we are about a kilometre short. Nothing for it but it to push on back into the woods and do our third detour to earn Gary his drink.

Marlay Park beckoned, and to complete the feeling of epic achievement that only a wild and windswept hill run can offer, the food market was buzzing and even the sun came out. We sat at a wooden table and scoffed Brazilian-style toasted sandwiches and chips, and a friendly Hooded Crow came to help out. Hot chocolate for me, as promised, then we made our way home. A hot bath was the only way to wrap up the adventure.

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We lost a thoroughly decent soul this month in Manchán Magan. You can read more about his life and work here. His books are worth a read, not least if you have an interest in Irish folklore, history and the environment. He was only 55.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis.