Four of us set out on this hike (hill walk, in Irish terminology) at about 3:30 on an overcast afternoon. Una, Bernie and I meet Felicity and her dog Shadow, a mix of Corgi, collie and who knows what else, who closely tracks our progress up the mountain, at one point trying to herd Bernie, who has walked on ahead. Felicity is a banker from Dublin who is a serious hill walker and one of Una’s oldest friends; she is godmother to Una’s eldest daughter. Una and Bernie are friends from Edenderry. As is the way of things here, Bernie used to live across the road from Ballindoolin, erstwhile property of the Tyrrells and currently home to my friend Esther and her family ; her son worked there in the summers when he was younger.
This walk is all on paths, not the kind of plunge-into-the-woods walks I took last year in the Slievebloom Mountains. The walk begins at the upper lake of the twin Glendalough lakes, a placid and chilly body of water in a large bowl of the Wicklow Mountains. The lake is surrounded by rugged boulders, which helps in its resemblance to a scene in the Scottish highlands. We half-circled the lake, then began climbing; our goal was the top of the ridge that runs along one side of the water. Our path was over the medium-sized grey rocks that cover this part of the valley. Eventually, as we climbed, I realized that we were on a pathway of stone steps; Una tells me that they are put there and maintained by a cadre of volunteers who work to maintain the walk.
There is evidence of human hand everywhere on the walk. On the first part of it we pass by the ruins of stone cottages that were built to house the miners who worked here to dislodge zinc, lead and silver from the stones until the mines were closed in 1957, although the cottages would have been vacant much earlier. The hillsides are mostly barren of the trees that were stripped for charcoal and warmth for the miners; on the back side of the mountain we pass pines planted a hundred years ago or so and still felled. And, as we climb higher, the steps become obvious; they are even gouged and roughened to make them less slippery.
Near the very top of the ridge we stop for water and a snack. The weather has turned cool and windy, and as the mist rolls in we begin to lose what view we had over the lake. When we begin walking again, still up, we encounter many more of the stone steps, quite obvious now; after that we begin to walk on wooden planks that have been lashed together to make a trail over the fragile, bog-like ecosystem of the ridge. The boardwalk, as it is called, takes us over the top of the ridge and back down the other side in a long series of awkward steps, set for someone with a big stride so that we have to walk by either stretching or mincing slightly. By now we are completely socked in with the closeness of the mist and the pines. Una says that a friend counted these downward steps and came up with 620, a completely believable number.
Very close to the end of the trail we come across a breathtaking waterfall set back in the rocks. Then we’re back in the parking lot, which on warm weekend days would be filled with tour buses and visitors, few of whom would take the 5-mile walk up the mountain, opting instead for a short stroll around the perimeter of the lake and a cup of tea and a bun from the food caravans parked near the toilets.
At this time of the evening the toilets and the caravans are closed up tight. Felicity heads back to Dublin, and the three of us opt for the closest pub, where we warm up with tea and goat cheese tart. We talk of this and that and then head back over the country roads in the still-light evening air.
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