Fecking stiles

My logistics organisation went a bit tits-up today. In theory we should have walked from Durrus to the car park at Barnageehy and then got a taxi back. But the taxi firm couldn’t do it. S fixed up a quick plan B — a lift up to the car park and do the route in reverse, ending up back here, saving complicated arrangements for picking us up. Taxi still not possible, but Himself kindly came to our rescue. So after our self-service breakfast of instant coffee (urgh), juice, tinned fruit, yogurt, and toast burnt by me, Himself took us up to the car park and let us loose. When I commented that it should be easier as it was mostly downhill, he smiled knowingly.

Yes, there was a fairly stiff climb early on, but we were rewarded with a stupendous view over the Sheep’s Head and the Mizen. Thereafter it was a mixture of road, track, open fields, woods, bogs, and actual jungle. “Lovely day for it!” said the trio of local chappies we met. It was, mostly sunny but with a breeze. Pity about the fecking stiles (see yesterday). This is a typical one.

The route has recently been modified to avoid a long stretch of road, and it wasn’t that well signposted and maintained. At one point we ended up at a dead end, an overgrown and locked gate, and another expanse of bracken, until S backtracked and found a way-marker hidden behind a clump of ferns. This led us into a jungle with little indication of where to go. We thought we’d done all our climbing, so we were gutted when we eventually emerged to find a fecking stile leading into a field with a couple of cows grumpily staring at us and a steep climb ahead.

Happily the cows ambled away and we toiled up the hill and stopped at the top for a rest. We could see Durrus below us and were sure our difficulties were over. But no, another short steep descent into a valley with a climb up the other side. And, er, “There’s a bunch of cows heading straight for you,” I warned S, hanging back at the top of the slope myself. “No problem!” he replied, shouting and waving his sticks at ten bolshy bullocks. They obligingly stampeded … up the path ahead of us, before turning to wait for us at the top of the slope. More stick-waving and shouting was required, while I cowered discreetly behind S.

He did successfully see them off in an impressive pounding of hooves, and the rest of the journey was trouble-free. A Clonakilty ice cream on arrival in Durrus was appreciated. As was an actual hot shower! And dinner was very good, burgers and chips from the food truck parked outside Ross’s pub, a more convivial location than the Longboat. I allowed myself a glass of wine. A lovely mild, sunny evening. And we’re nearly there!

Stats: 10.8 km, 230 m climbing, 428 m descent, 5 hours and 45 minutes, including the inevitable siesta, plus cattle-herding.