Hiking and Merriment in Cork County

What a day.

Wednesday morning started out with an easy walk to the flat of my buddy and now tour guide, Alan. I met him in Vancouver, where he stayed for a summer. Though I've only known him from a barbecue party and a five-day camping trip in Tofino, I've gained a great appreciation for the grinning sports journalist's hilarity, hospitality, and general awesomeness.

...and his amazing ability to sunburn. (Yeah, man, I know you're reading this.)

Now, in Cork Alan's been a brilliant host, joining me for pints, stories, and late-night Hillbilly chicken the day I arrived and later taking me to see the less-traveled parts of Ireland.

For the day's adventures, we were joined by his flat mate, Matt, who re-assembles human remains from archaeological digs at work. From what I can tell, he spends much of the rest of his time looking majestic.

Finding Cnoc Bui

Our first target of the day was Hungry Hill but during the drive out we decided to tackle Cnoc Bui (Knockboy) instead. The Irish name translates to Yellow Mountain and it's the highest peak in the Shehy mountain range on the border between Cork and Kerry counties.

Riding across the countryside was much more intense in a small car when compared to the giant tour buses. We followed the narrow, winding roads between the Irish cities quickly but carefully, occasionally pulling over or even backing up to get by an oncoming car.

We followed roads we knew were wrong for the sake of adventure and others out of ignorance, eventually ending up at the trail head. After driving down a bit more, the road widened enough for us to park.

A friendly English man saw us pull up infront of his property and came down from working on his roof to see us. Alan started talking to him and quickly discovered that we weren't where we thought we were. The man climbed back into his house, returning shortly with a map. Directions followed and I took a photo of the map before we got back into the car and continued our search for the evasive Cnoc Bui mountain.

Armed with new directions and a better map we drove as close as we could to the peak. To get there, however, we'd need to cross somebody's land and the road stopped at a farm house. Hearing us pull up, an old sheep farmer who seemed carved of stone appeared at the gate holding his face in a tight frown.

Aged as he was, I knew this sinewy man could kick my ass.

Once he'd heard of our hiking plans he changed completely and bubbled in a barely-understandable Irish accent about the best routes. The accent was amazing and I could only make out enough words to get the gist of what he was trying to say. But only if I really concentrated.

He let us park our car inside his gate and led us up to the beginning of the trail. A bit more explaining and we were off.

Hiking Cnoc Bui

We didn't make it. I don't want to get you all excited and then let you down. We climbed to the top of a couple shorter peaks, pulled in some spectacular views, and then enjoyed a late lunch before heading back down to pursue other important adventures.

The hike itself was so different from hikes I've done around Vancouver. The views were completely different, boasting wind turbines, spatterings of sheep, and lines of stone wall. No tall trees blocked the view; just grass, limestone, and peat bogs.

There was also a lot more sheep dung around than I'm used to. And flax, which was somehow very satisfying for Matt.

My companions and I were frequently out of breath from the hiking but their wit never seemed to slow down. Their desire to go for a cold swim in a tarn didn't go away either.

Once we got down from the mountain and back to the car, we headed to a nearby Tarn which Matt and Alan had defiled on a previous occasion. It was only a short hike from the gated logging road.

"What is a tarn?" I asked my local guides.

Tarns are small but often very deep lakes that form on the sides of mountains. Glaciers cut away at the rock as they curl past. Now with the glaciers gone we're left with a rather cold lake surrounded by cliffs.

I tip-toed across the rocky, shallow bit and once the water was deep enough I dove in. There was lots of yelling as the three of us tried to get accustomed to the cold.

The water was deep and very dark—Alan and Matt wondered what might be below but I was too busy being fricken' cold. I don't know how they got used to the water and I made some comment about needing to live closer to the equator. Or maybe I just need to grow a pair.

Either way, the refreshed feeling afterward was totally worth it and I knew I was going to sleep well that night.

Kenmare

After the hike and swim we made our way across the Caha Pass and into County Kerry to meet Matt and Alan's friend Ashley in the small, colourful town of Kenmare. After a quick look around and a pint in the sun we had pizza and garlic bread at a restaurant called Prego. I opted for adventure at the last second and ordered a pizza with too many anchovies. Ate three quarters of it anyway. Tasted alright but next time I'm taking a cheese and pepperoni.

Ashley mentioned there was a fun fair in town and with a little bit of foot-dragging from the three boys we were on our way. I was pretty impressed how many rides they had for such a small town. Among them were bumper cars and a rollercoaster.

They also had a crossbow range of sorts where all the bolts had broken fins and winning was entirely a matter of luck. Alan and I decided to have a go at it to see if we could win a prize for Ashley and I managed a stuffed dog. I wish I could claim it was due to skill but all I got out of the game was a desire to go to a real archery range.

We rode on a whirling tea cup-like ride with Michael Jackson's Thriller playing in the background. After two songs' worth of spinning, stopping, and being tossed about by a variety of g-forces we were all pretty dizzy. I tried not to let on about it but during the drive home I still felt quite ill until those anchovies stopped floating about.

By the time I got back I was thoroughly exhausted and ready for bed. I can't believe Alan was still capable of heading out for a pint with his lady. These Irish gents seem to be made of tougher stuff.