Donegal! The western most county and thus home to the western most coast on this lovely island. Also, it’s in the Republic of Ireland so it means I have officially been to country number 2 outside the United States! Yeah! (Small victories.) It is also home to the Belfast YAV’s first retreat on the lovely mountainous shores of Loch Eske. Set serenely on the Emerald Isle in the Blue Stack Mountains (which are really brown this time of year) our 5-bedroom, 4-bath, LARGE kitchened rental house was the perfect place for a few days respite with no alarm clocks, schedules, or demands other than loading the dishwasher after meals and planning worship services. Adventures abounded, none the less, and thus Four Days in Donegal is also The Trip of Not-So-Bright Decisions. But what else are good stories made from?
Not-So-Bright Decision Number 1: Move a Dead Sheep Out of the Middle of the Road with Your Bare Hands
We were driving up a one-lane mountain road on our way to the trailhead for the Pilgrim’s Path, a beautiful trail in the Blue Stack Mountains overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by sheep pasture. Well, as is no surprise, when a sheep takes on a vehicle (or a barbed wire fence or a fox or really much of anything) it has a tendency to lose. So, as we rounded a corner, there, in the middle of the road, was a long-dead sheep. It was either move the sheep or stop driving. Move the sheep it was! I must admit, originally I said, “Not it!” but actually dead animals don’t bother me that much, and apparently they don’t seem to bother Amy or Phen that much either, since the three of us were the lucky volunteers to move said sheep. Not expecting to have been on roadkill detail, I hadn’t packed my gloves, so bare hands were the only option. Yea. Fortunately, Northern Ireland—like the rest of Europe—is obsessed with swine flu so hand sanitizer is very popular, and I do keep a bottle in my backpack. I think dousing our hands and arms with it worked since neither Amy, Phen or I came down with any bizarre diseases, but it could still be in the incubation period. (We figure sheep pox has to be the next thing. We’ve already done mad-cow disease, avian flu and now swine flu, so why not sheep pox? Equal opportunity pathology!) Anyway, with the sheep moved to the side of the road, we were able to continue to the trailhead and thus on to…
Not-So-Bright Decision Number 2: Hike a Mountain in Gale-Force Winds with a Storm Rolling In
Not that this couldn’t be an adventure, and not that I’ve never really done it, but when you couple this with the sign that read “Caution! Experienced hikers only beyond this point. Trail is narrow and steep. Make sure you have a map and compass,” it just didn’t seem like the brightest of ideas. Living in the mountains of East Tennessee and Western North Carolina, I’ve hiked a lot of mountains. I’ve seen some vicious weather. I’ve even hiked in vicious weather. But when I start wondering about my ability to physically stay on the path in front of me, I start to worry. Madeline was next to me yelling, “I don’t weigh enough for this!” (Let it be known that Maddie’s small and thin, but she’s got the powerfully built body of a professional dancer. Considering she used to be one, this isn’t a surprise. But despite the fact that the girl weighs only 2/3 of what I do, she’s not one to be blown off a mountain. Ever.) We reached a spot that was somewhat protected from the wind and—now—rain, and Doug, our site coordinator, told us to not feel any obligation to continue, but for those who wished to, the trail continued on up the mountain where it eventually doubled back and snaked along the ridge to the summit with stellar views. Right. Against our better judgment, Maddie and I decided to give it a shot. We made it about 100 yards before our better judgment kicked in. (Mom and Dad, you will be very pleased to know that your multi-grand investment in my Rec. Management degree has not gone to waste.) With the wind gusting at knots I can’t even guess, the rain literally slashing at our faces to the point of pain, dressed in all cotton with inadequate footwear, we made the decision to turn back. (This is actually the one Very Bright Decision that was made this trip. Also, my back had been hurting earlier so I had already given my backpack to Phen with both of our cameras loaded inside.) Maddie and I waited with Nathaniel at the “sheltered” spot in the path. When the rain cleared (briefly,) we decided to make another go for it. We got about 50 feet further than the last time when we realized that this was not the trip for us. We’ve climbed mountains, we’ve seen the ocean, the view from where we were happened to be lovely, and someone had to be at the mini-bus to call the authorities when the other insane people in our group needed a rescue. We headed back to Nathaniel, and I knew based on where the rest of the group was, how long it had taken them to get there and how long they had yet to go, if we waited at the same spot we would be waiting quite a while, and we ran a very real risk of getting hypothermia. So the three of us headed back to the mini-bus. One problem: the mini-bus was locked. I figured we could at least hunker down under it or beside it; at least get out of the direct elements. We also began to think along the lines of “What would Bear Grylls do?” (Remember the dead sheep? You really don’t want to know the answer to this.) Now, I know that there are things much worthier of God’s attention than my prayers for physical comfort, but I began to pray that somehow a door would have been left accidentally unlocked. I also didn’t want to become the subject of a “What NOT To Do” scenario. When we arrived back at the mini-bus, I tried the back door to no avail. About that time, Nathaniel said, “Look! The key!” Maddie and I thought, “That is the cruelest joke in history.” But it was no joke. Laying on the ground, right by the door, as though someone had placed it there, was the key to the mini-bus. Call it what you want, but we say miracle. Warm and semi-dry we waited for the rest of the group to return. At some point I realized that the only person who was First Aid certified and experienced in steep-angle mountain rescue was sitting warm and dry in the mini-bus with no means of communication whatsoever with anyone at the top. After not too long, they did return, uneventfully, and with amazing pictures, which is the only thing that keeps this Not-So-Bright Decision from being an Exceptionally Stupid Decision. After all, it’s only a story if you survive to tell it.
Not-So-Bright Decision Number 3: Attempt to Perform Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” in a Traditional Irish Pub
Still not entirely sure how this one happened, but somehow Madeline and Amy promised the patrons (and possibly the owner) of a pub in Donegal Town that we would perform. Performing in general was not to be a problem; the Reel Inn apparently had a fairly open mic policy, but the way the girls told the story we were half expecting to come back later that night and find the town plastered with posters. “Traditional American Folk Band! LIVE! One Night Only! The Reel Inn! Donegal Town!” Fortunately, this particular scenario didn’t play out, but we were indeed invited to sing. So Phen, Andy and I got up to perform. Perform what, we didn’t know. With Andy on guitar, Phen on the bodran (traditional Irish drum), and the rest of the group on moral support and camera duty, I told them to follow along and sang the only thing that I could think of. “Health to the Company” is a song my friend Angel learned at a Renaissance fair back in high school and for some weird reason it was the only thing that came to my head. It sounded good at least, and Phen and Andy did a marvelous job on backup. After that we attempted the one Irish song we do know, “Canticle of the Turning.” The tune is “Star of the County Down” so it’s very familiar to most people here. The only problem is that we have no clue what the words are to “Star of the County Down” and “Canticle of the Turning” has about 5 verses that all sound alike (don’t let this fool you—still a fabulous song) but we didn’t do so great at that one. I think the locals appreciated our attempt, though. So, after the real band played a few more times, and Phen and I endeared ourselves to the musicians by playing the drum and singing harmony, we were invited to sing again. It was requested from our group that we play Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.” A great song in its own right, but hardly one you would expect to hear or really even necessarily want to hear while enjoying traditional Irish pub music. None the less, we gave it a go. Let’s just say, we probably should have stuck to “Canticle of the Turning.” Rob and Madeline sang backup vocals (since they were two who actually knew the words) but it wasn’t exactly our group’s best work. Everyone clapped politely, but we weren’t handed the mic again. They let us play and sing along with them, but there weren’t any more solos. Oh well. It’s a story.
Side note: Someone who did sing though, was the bartender. Stephen, a guy about our age of unassuming nature who took the mic at one point and had the place silent in awe. He had one of the most gorgeous voices I have ever heard, and we were all left wondering what in the world he was doing tending a bar in the The Reel Inn in Donegal Town when he could be living off his talent. Blessing us all with his voice, I guess, which I’ll take. Thanks, Stephen!
Not-So-Bright Decision Number 4: Go Body Surfing in the North Atlantic in November
This one needs little preamble, as the title pretty sufficiently sums it up, but I’ll tell the story. Doug had told us prior to this trip that past YAVs had decided to don their wetsuits and head out to the beach for a little fun in the sun. Not to be outdone, Rob, Nathaniel and I decided that this sounded like fun. And let’s face it; anyone who’s known me for any length of time can tell you that if it involves water I’m usually game. Well, we didn’t have wetsuits, but suspecting just such an occasion I had packed my swimsuit and UnderArmor. Also, I know too much First Aid to be a complete idiot about it, so in my “relief bag” I packed dry synthetics, wool socks, a fleece jacket and a hat. Appropriately attired—or as close as we could get; all Rob had were swim trunks—we were off! I must admit here, that I was a little skeptical of the degree of cold. Anyone who’s ever been submerged in the Nantahala River can tell you that that is one exceptionally cold body of water, and the Doe River, Linville Falls, the North Channel of Lake Huron and any cave in the East Tennessee/Western North Carolina region are not far warmer. “How much colder than those can this water really be?” I wondered. Well, honestly, the water temperature wasn’t too far colder than the aforementioned bodies, (although I would willingly guess that it was the coldest body of water I’ve ever been submerged in,) however, the real factor was that when I had, in fact, been submerged in the aforementioned bodies of water it was also in July or August. When the outside air temperature is 85 or 90 degrees Fahrenheit it makes a big difference from when the air temp is 40. And the wind it gusting. And it’s freakin’ November! On the upside, hypothermia was avoided on all accounts, and, once again, we have one heck of a story.
For pictures of this insanity, go here.
