Tap tap tap tap tap …… was the sound I awoke to on Thursday morning. Rain falling on the tent. Not lashing, but just steady consistent rain. I relaxed thinking about where I was and how I knew I was in absolutely no hurry. My intention was to do this 25km Cavan Way walk in two days, and yesterday I had walked 17km (to here just north of Corratober Upper). Only 8km to go and even with that, looking at the map, it just didn't look like 8km left. I was puzzled by that.
I had slept soundly so felt good. I have always slept well, even through all sorts of noise. I fall asleep quickly and tend to stay asleep until morning. If I do wake during the night I'm usually back asleep again within seconds. With all this exercise and fresh air, sleeping was easy! I did wake once or twice during the night with a problematic pillow. I had t-shirts, jocks, socks, maybe a jacket or two stuffed into a bag, and this sufficed as my pillow. But it wasn't a good job at all. I woke up a couple of times during the night with my head in an uncomfortable hollow, or having slid off the pillow altogether! And the feel of the nylon bag on my face just wasn't home comfort at all. But it only disturbed me a couple of times and after all, I was roughing it in the wilderness!
I looked at my watch. It wasn't going to bother me if it was 10 or 11 o'clock - I was in no hurry. 7:30am??!!! That's a ridiculous hour to be this awake on your holidays! I lay back on my pillow-bag and relaxed. It was raining outside, it was far too early to go anywhere, I had a relatively short day ahead, I listened to the tap, tap, tap on my tent and I snuggled up in my sleeping bag. It's a great sleeping bag. Suitable for temperatures of something like -20 degrees Centigrade. In fact, it can get too hot. I usually have to leave it zipped down a bit or zipped open near the feet. But then you wake up with a chill on one part of your body and the rest toasty warm!
I dozed on and off for the next three hours. In the later stages, I was fully awake, which gave me time to listen to the country sounds. Birds chirping and other animals doing a variety of things like mooing, neighing, barking and grunting. It also gave me time to think, mainly about this expedition. The planning, sorting the logistics, making arrangements, the history behind it all, the benefit from it …. and how an idea can land you in a field smelling freshly cut hay and listening to birds. And as I listened I realised the tapping had gone. The rain had stopped. It was 10:30am. Time to get moving.
I got up and struggled into my clothes. It's difficult to get dressed in a two-man tent. I couldn't stand up so I had to bend and shuffle. By the time I was dressed I was exhausted by the effort! I was incredibly glad I hadn't bought the one-man tent which I had contemplated. That is even smaller again - not much bigger than a coffin. Designed for just sleeping and moving on. They might be good in other weather but definitely not for Irish weather when you have to keep out of the regular rain. With my clothes on, I stuck my feet out of the tent and dragged my boots on. They were still caked in mud from the previous day so I didn't want them inside the tent. I had stored them overnight between the flysheet and the inner tent so they were reasonably dry. In tying the laces the mud and bog-water squeezed out between my fingers. I stood up and stretched outside my tent. It was turning into a glorious day. Everything soaking wet but the sun starting to shine brightly and very few clouds left in the mainly blue sky. A perfect time for a cup of tea. I got my provisions out from my bag and got the burner going. Within a few minutes I had a hot cup of tea and devoured two cereal bars and a banana. As the sun warmed up the hedge-growth and the freshly cut hay around me, the smells were terrific. It was great to be outdoors.
After breakfast I packed my bag and tent. I hauled the big weight up onto my back and felt the pain as it hit the sensitive parts which had been taking the weight in the last two days - particularly my lower back and hips. But it was bearable so I stayed upbeat and started walking. My feet and ankles were stiff and sore but they too were reasonable. I took a last look in the field where my tent had been - I definitely didn't want to leave anything or rubbish behind. Apart from the dry patch the size of a two-man tent, you wouldn't know I had been there, so I carried on. At the exit to the field I looked at the old woman's house and contemplated going in to thank her. I came close to doing that but finally decided, when thinking about my own mother and her Zimmer frame, that I might be disturbing her too much so I went on.
I was now walking a small road and knew it would be like this all the way to Dowra. This little road, or boreen, fascinated me at times. It wasn't all that far from nearby busy roads I have driven on over years and yet it was completely quiet. I met just one farmer on a bicycle in about four kilometres. This was the Cashelbane road, and is notable for the ruined cottages due to sudden emigration in the past. Legend has it that from one of these cottages a family left for America in the 1880's without telling the neighbours. The cottage was there with the dresser, delph and other furniture until the roof fell in. It was all mysterious until a man remembered meeting the family near Drumshanbo some years earlier heading for Galway and it was deduced that they had emigrated. Knowing the story and walking the road I tried to imagine what was going through the minds of the people as they travelled that same road 120 years earlier than me.
The road was interesting to pass through but would be bleak if it was your future. It also struck me that very little must have changed on that road in one hundred years. The country and immediate surrounding area has prospered dramatically but that section of roadway was still largely undisturbed. There was even a bridge over the Shannon which had collapsed and not been repaired, presumably due to the lack of demand for it.
The sense of times past made it nice to visit, just for a walk. I was impressed with the soaking wet foliage and the wet ferns growing out of the ditches. With trees and bushes I was mainly in the shade but every now and then the sun glistened through making the water droplets on the foliage sparkle. It was good to keep me distracted from my feet which were beginning to hurt me surprisingly quickly.
After another couple of kilometers, nothing would distract me. The pain in my feet had developed to severe. I was shocked to feel how bad they were. I looked forward to seeing signs for Dowra. I was back to counting down every turn in the road. It seemed to last forever but thankfully I was on the outskirts of Dowra. My brother John rang me and seemed somewhat relieved to hear my voice. I knew I had been out of coverage but even allowing for the inevitable poor coverage in places off the beaten track, he still seemed particularly relieved. I started to tell him about my adventures when the signal went and he was gone. I walked into Dowra and felt delighted to see the familiar sights again. I had been to Dowra the previous week to leave my kayak with Noel Keegan - a local Auctioneer who has overnight accommodation available. I went to Noel's place and his wife Bridie answered the door. Noel wasn't there but should be back soon. She said his rooms across the street were all occupied so she wasn't sure if he'd have anything available. There was an apartment out in the back but that may be booked also. It was about 1pm. I had been thinking how wonderful it would be to get a place with a bed for the rest of the day, just to relax. My feet were sore and now my body was getting sore all over. That short walk today - just 4km, dragged on for what seemed like the whole day. It was almost as difficult as the previous two day's long walks. It's amazing how we often just about achieve our targets - even when we set them very low! We know the lesson. Aim high.
Regarding the Cavan Way - the literature says the walk is 25km long. It's not. It's 21km. Had I known that when starting off I would have camped at the glorious Shannon Pot. It would have been ideal, and avoided a long tiring battle to find a suitable place to camp the previous evening. However fate intervened, and I found a kindly old woman, the image of my mother, who granted me permission to stay in her field. And that fate had it's own twist which was to be revealed to me two days later.
I told Bridie I would go off and come back later when Noel might be back. This definitely wasn't Noel or Bridie's fault. I had not booked anything because I didn't want to put myself under pressure to get there. I was doing this on a wing and a prayer. Free as a bird. However, the wing was now damaged so it was time to pray. I went to a seat outside a local pub and ate my peanuts and raisins sitting in the sunshine. People going past starred at me politely. I must have looked a bit bedraggled, in scruffy clothes, hair not quite perfect, stubble growth and a pair of beige shorts which now looked more like camouflaged battle fatigues. I thought about tidying myself up but instead took a few more peanuts and raisins - sitting, eating and relaxing in the warm sunshine was nice.
After about thirty minutes I called back to Bridie. Noel had been in touch and gave the go-ahead for me to use the apartment out back. I was delighted! Bridie showed me up to it and left me there with the key. A bed, a shower, a telly, a kitchen, a big armchair and a whole afternoon to enjoy it! I put my heavy bag down knowing that I would not have to carry it again. I was absolutely delighted! I showered and changed into clean clothes that I had left with my kayak the previous week. Then I went to the shops and bought food and the paper. I made myself a nice big chilli con-carne and relaxed while eating it. After dinner I was a bit surprised that one foot was particularly sore under my heal. I took off my sock and saw a massive big blister on the base of my heal. It practically covered the whole heal. I don't think I would have been able for another days walking. My trip had come close to being finished. I reckoned this damage would not affect me when kayaking but I realised I had better be careful of getting blisters on my hands!
In the late afternoon I walked down to the river to figure out how I was going to start my journey by kayak. From previous inspection I knew the river was extremely rocky where it travelled through Dowra. I knew I would not be able to sit in my kayak and float but I wondered if I would even be able to walk the kayak down the river past the rocky section. It looked quite difficult so I made my way out the town by a road and could see the riverbank's trees along the end of a couple of fields. I went down through the fields and although the river was of sufficient depth at that point to float the kayak with me in it, the drop from the river bank to the river was too high to try and launch with a fully-laden kayak. I was worried that I would roll over when I hit the water and loose my precious possessions. It wasn't the drop or going into the water that bothered me - I've dropped from a lot higher and rolled over plenty of times in a kayak! It was getting everything wet, or loosing my stuff that concerned me.
When looking at the river I started feeling the nervous jitters of eager anticipation. I hadn't undertaken a river journey on my own before so this would all be new to me. I couldn't wait to get going! However, I could see that at various points in the river, bushes were growing out and over the river, nearly covering it completely. And in some places trees had fallen down across parts of the river. I tried to anticipate what I would or could do if I encountered a fallen tree across the whole river. If my passage was blocked I'd have to try and make it out of the river up a bank. But looking at these banks it would have been nearly impossible to make it out. And then extremely difficult to make it back on the water downstream past the obstacle if I had to drop in and not capsize. This all added to the nervous anticipation, a bit of adrenalin, and a longing to get going.
I left the fields and walked around the town to get mobile phone signal. It was not easy but eventually I got a small signal standing on a pile of gravel stones in a car park. As I talked briefly to my family, I heard a sheep bleating pitifully. When I finished the calls I heard the sheep again and saw one by a fence up a hill. Climbing over a wall, I went up to investigate. The animal's head was stuck solid in a wire fence. It went crazy and nearly dragged its own head off when I approached. I spoke whatever comforting words one can to a sheep with a trapped head and pulled hard on the fence wire. After a few attempts, nearly a squashed finger, and the struggles of an lunatic frantic sheep, its head popped free and off it went. In a Hollywood film the sheep would have finally turned and somehow acknowledged my courageous act, with maybe a wink or the wave of a hoof. But this was Dowra. The sheep had moved on. I went back to my apartment.
Before watching telly for the evening, I studied my maps again and again. I was to kayak for about five miles down the river Shannon and then make my way across Lough Allen. Would I be able to start from the rocky river in Dowra? Would the river be passable? If I got to the lake would it be calm enough to cross it? Would I make it all the way down the lake or would I have to stop and overnight enroute - maybe even on an island? I couldn't wait to get going. The evening dragged so I was thankful for being in this luxury accommodation, but finally I got to bed early, and slept within minutes, maybe seconds, of my head hitting the pillow.
I had slept soundly so felt good. I have always slept well, even through all sorts of noise. I fall asleep quickly and tend to stay asleep until morning. If I do wake during the night I'm usually back asleep again within seconds. With all this exercise and fresh air, sleeping was easy! I did wake once or twice during the night with a problematic pillow. I had t-shirts, jocks, socks, maybe a jacket or two stuffed into a bag, and this sufficed as my pillow. But it wasn't a good job at all. I woke up a couple of times during the night with my head in an uncomfortable hollow, or having slid off the pillow altogether! And the feel of the nylon bag on my face just wasn't home comfort at all. But it only disturbed me a couple of times and after all, I was roughing it in the wilderness!
I looked at my watch. It wasn't going to bother me if it was 10 or 11 o'clock - I was in no hurry. 7:30am??!!! That's a ridiculous hour to be this awake on your holidays! I lay back on my pillow-bag and relaxed. It was raining outside, it was far too early to go anywhere, I had a relatively short day ahead, I listened to the tap, tap, tap on my tent and I snuggled up in my sleeping bag. It's a great sleeping bag. Suitable for temperatures of something like -20 degrees Centigrade. In fact, it can get too hot. I usually have to leave it zipped down a bit or zipped open near the feet. But then you wake up with a chill on one part of your body and the rest toasty warm!
I dozed on and off for the next three hours. In the later stages, I was fully awake, which gave me time to listen to the country sounds. Birds chirping and other animals doing a variety of things like mooing, neighing, barking and grunting. It also gave me time to think, mainly about this expedition. The planning, sorting the logistics, making arrangements, the history behind it all, the benefit from it …. and how an idea can land you in a field smelling freshly cut hay and listening to birds. And as I listened I realised the tapping had gone. The rain had stopped. It was 10:30am. Time to get moving.
I got up and struggled into my clothes. It's difficult to get dressed in a two-man tent. I couldn't stand up so I had to bend and shuffle. By the time I was dressed I was exhausted by the effort! I was incredibly glad I hadn't bought the one-man tent which I had contemplated. That is even smaller again - not much bigger than a coffin. Designed for just sleeping and moving on. They might be good in other weather but definitely not for Irish weather when you have to keep out of the regular rain. With my clothes on, I stuck my feet out of the tent and dragged my boots on. They were still caked in mud from the previous day so I didn't want them inside the tent. I had stored them overnight between the flysheet and the inner tent so they were reasonably dry. In tying the laces the mud and bog-water squeezed out between my fingers. I stood up and stretched outside my tent. It was turning into a glorious day. Everything soaking wet but the sun starting to shine brightly and very few clouds left in the mainly blue sky. A perfect time for a cup of tea. I got my provisions out from my bag and got the burner going. Within a few minutes I had a hot cup of tea and devoured two cereal bars and a banana. As the sun warmed up the hedge-growth and the freshly cut hay around me, the smells were terrific. It was great to be outdoors.
After breakfast I packed my bag and tent. I hauled the big weight up onto my back and felt the pain as it hit the sensitive parts which had been taking the weight in the last two days - particularly my lower back and hips. But it was bearable so I stayed upbeat and started walking. My feet and ankles were stiff and sore but they too were reasonable. I took a last look in the field where my tent had been - I definitely didn't want to leave anything or rubbish behind. Apart from the dry patch the size of a two-man tent, you wouldn't know I had been there, so I carried on. At the exit to the field I looked at the old woman's house and contemplated going in to thank her. I came close to doing that but finally decided, when thinking about my own mother and her Zimmer frame, that I might be disturbing her too much so I went on.
I was now walking a small road and knew it would be like this all the way to Dowra. This little road, or boreen, fascinated me at times. It wasn't all that far from nearby busy roads I have driven on over years and yet it was completely quiet. I met just one farmer on a bicycle in about four kilometres. This was the Cashelbane road, and is notable for the ruined cottages due to sudden emigration in the past. Legend has it that from one of these cottages a family left for America in the 1880's without telling the neighbours. The cottage was there with the dresser, delph and other furniture until the roof fell in. It was all mysterious until a man remembered meeting the family near Drumshanbo some years earlier heading for Galway and it was deduced that they had emigrated. Knowing the story and walking the road I tried to imagine what was going through the minds of the people as they travelled that same road 120 years earlier than me.
The road was interesting to pass through but would be bleak if it was your future. It also struck me that very little must have changed on that road in one hundred years. The country and immediate surrounding area has prospered dramatically but that section of roadway was still largely undisturbed. There was even a bridge over the Shannon which had collapsed and not been repaired, presumably due to the lack of demand for it.
The sense of times past made it nice to visit, just for a walk. I was impressed with the soaking wet foliage and the wet ferns growing out of the ditches. With trees and bushes I was mainly in the shade but every now and then the sun glistened through making the water droplets on the foliage sparkle. It was good to keep me distracted from my feet which were beginning to hurt me surprisingly quickly.
After another couple of kilometers, nothing would distract me. The pain in my feet had developed to severe. I was shocked to feel how bad they were. I looked forward to seeing signs for Dowra. I was back to counting down every turn in the road. It seemed to last forever but thankfully I was on the outskirts of Dowra. My brother John rang me and seemed somewhat relieved to hear my voice. I knew I had been out of coverage but even allowing for the inevitable poor coverage in places off the beaten track, he still seemed particularly relieved. I started to tell him about my adventures when the signal went and he was gone. I walked into Dowra and felt delighted to see the familiar sights again. I had been to Dowra the previous week to leave my kayak with Noel Keegan - a local Auctioneer who has overnight accommodation available. I went to Noel's place and his wife Bridie answered the door. Noel wasn't there but should be back soon. She said his rooms across the street were all occupied so she wasn't sure if he'd have anything available. There was an apartment out in the back but that may be booked also. It was about 1pm. I had been thinking how wonderful it would be to get a place with a bed for the rest of the day, just to relax. My feet were sore and now my body was getting sore all over. That short walk today - just 4km, dragged on for what seemed like the whole day. It was almost as difficult as the previous two day's long walks. It's amazing how we often just about achieve our targets - even when we set them very low! We know the lesson. Aim high.
Regarding the Cavan Way - the literature says the walk is 25km long. It's not. It's 21km. Had I known that when starting off I would have camped at the glorious Shannon Pot. It would have been ideal, and avoided a long tiring battle to find a suitable place to camp the previous evening. However fate intervened, and I found a kindly old woman, the image of my mother, who granted me permission to stay in her field. And that fate had it's own twist which was to be revealed to me two days later.
I told Bridie I would go off and come back later when Noel might be back. This definitely wasn't Noel or Bridie's fault. I had not booked anything because I didn't want to put myself under pressure to get there. I was doing this on a wing and a prayer. Free as a bird. However, the wing was now damaged so it was time to pray. I went to a seat outside a local pub and ate my peanuts and raisins sitting in the sunshine. People going past starred at me politely. I must have looked a bit bedraggled, in scruffy clothes, hair not quite perfect, stubble growth and a pair of beige shorts which now looked more like camouflaged battle fatigues. I thought about tidying myself up but instead took a few more peanuts and raisins - sitting, eating and relaxing in the warm sunshine was nice.
After about thirty minutes I called back to Bridie. Noel had been in touch and gave the go-ahead for me to use the apartment out back. I was delighted! Bridie showed me up to it and left me there with the key. A bed, a shower, a telly, a kitchen, a big armchair and a whole afternoon to enjoy it! I put my heavy bag down knowing that I would not have to carry it again. I was absolutely delighted! I showered and changed into clean clothes that I had left with my kayak the previous week. Then I went to the shops and bought food and the paper. I made myself a nice big chilli con-carne and relaxed while eating it. After dinner I was a bit surprised that one foot was particularly sore under my heal. I took off my sock and saw a massive big blister on the base of my heal. It practically covered the whole heal. I don't think I would have been able for another days walking. My trip had come close to being finished. I reckoned this damage would not affect me when kayaking but I realised I had better be careful of getting blisters on my hands!
In the late afternoon I walked down to the river to figure out how I was going to start my journey by kayak. From previous inspection I knew the river was extremely rocky where it travelled through Dowra. I knew I would not be able to sit in my kayak and float but I wondered if I would even be able to walk the kayak down the river past the rocky section. It looked quite difficult so I made my way out the town by a road and could see the riverbank's trees along the end of a couple of fields. I went down through the fields and although the river was of sufficient depth at that point to float the kayak with me in it, the drop from the river bank to the river was too high to try and launch with a fully-laden kayak. I was worried that I would roll over when I hit the water and loose my precious possessions. It wasn't the drop or going into the water that bothered me - I've dropped from a lot higher and rolled over plenty of times in a kayak! It was getting everything wet, or loosing my stuff that concerned me.
When looking at the river I started feeling the nervous jitters of eager anticipation. I hadn't undertaken a river journey on my own before so this would all be new to me. I couldn't wait to get going! However, I could see that at various points in the river, bushes were growing out and over the river, nearly covering it completely. And in some places trees had fallen down across parts of the river. I tried to anticipate what I would or could do if I encountered a fallen tree across the whole river. If my passage was blocked I'd have to try and make it out of the river up a bank. But looking at these banks it would have been nearly impossible to make it out. And then extremely difficult to make it back on the water downstream past the obstacle if I had to drop in and not capsize. This all added to the nervous anticipation, a bit of adrenalin, and a longing to get going.
I left the fields and walked around the town to get mobile phone signal. It was not easy but eventually I got a small signal standing on a pile of gravel stones in a car park. As I talked briefly to my family, I heard a sheep bleating pitifully. When I finished the calls I heard the sheep again and saw one by a fence up a hill. Climbing over a wall, I went up to investigate. The animal's head was stuck solid in a wire fence. It went crazy and nearly dragged its own head off when I approached. I spoke whatever comforting words one can to a sheep with a trapped head and pulled hard on the fence wire. After a few attempts, nearly a squashed finger, and the struggles of an lunatic frantic sheep, its head popped free and off it went. In a Hollywood film the sheep would have finally turned and somehow acknowledged my courageous act, with maybe a wink or the wave of a hoof. But this was Dowra. The sheep had moved on. I went back to my apartment.
Before watching telly for the evening, I studied my maps again and again. I was to kayak for about five miles down the river Shannon and then make my way across Lough Allen. Would I be able to start from the rocky river in Dowra? Would the river be passable? If I got to the lake would it be calm enough to cross it? Would I make it all the way down the lake or would I have to stop and overnight enroute - maybe even on an island? I couldn't wait to get going. The evening dragged so I was thankful for being in this luxury accommodation, but finally I got to bed early, and slept within minutes, maybe seconds, of my head hitting the pillow.
