STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

IRELAND...A RICH, ARTISTIC PERFORMANCE - PART III 

WISHING YOU A VERY HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Each visit to Ireland leaves me breathless....and, pining for more and this deep longing to return haunts me until I am finally back and enjoying the rich, artistic performance attributed to the genuine beauty that God has bestowed on this land...her people.

Today I dust-off yet another archived story in tribute to Ireland and St. Patrick's Day, the final in a three-part salute to a place that has always made me feel right at home. Her people, landmarks and history amaze me and are what stories and legends are made from. Today I honor St. Patrick himself and sincerely apologize for my short-comings when it came down to the wire the day I stood looking-up at Croagh Patrick and declined your offer to climb.....

Hopefully, I have since made-up for my indiscretion.

Yes, I see Ireland as a rich, artistic performance, alive with nuance, as in forty shades of green! Please enjoy Part III lovingly entitled, Stairway to Heaven, and dated October 24, 2013.  

CASHEL

Second in a series..........



Croagh Patrick ~ County Mayo

A Series of Short Stories 




By: Jacqueline Hughes


We were waking up on Tuesday morning, the fourth day of our trip in Ireland, and going back home to Orlando was the furthest thought from our minds.....


The Boat Inn located in the center of Oughterard soon became our home away from home....away from home.  It's where we rubbed elbows with the locals and learned interesting tidbits about the history of this beautiful area, if not interesting tidbits about the locals themselves.  This establishment soon became our haunt, refuge, thirst and hunger quencher, and source of laughter and good cheer after an exciting day of traversing the Irish landscape.  With the condensation from our pints of Guinness creating small, circular pools of water on the wooden tabletop, many major decisions were made there each evening.  Yes, what shall we have to eat and should we order another pint were among them, but not exclusively....


Allow me to flip back several months before, during the planning stages of this Irish adventure to celebrate our Wedding Anniversary.  We decided we wanted to climb a mountain!!  Not just any mountain.  We knew in our bones that Croagh Patrick would be conquered by us paying homage to this beloved Saint, as well as to the Catholic upbringing of our youth.  No....we would be practical and walk up the mountain and not crawl on our hands and knees or bare feet as many penitents do, especially on the last Sunday in July called Garland Sunday.  And, we firmly believed that climbing Croagh Patrick was an attainable feat.  No questions asked.....outcome practically written in stone, so to speak.


Sitting at our table at the Boat Inn that Sunday evening, the end of our third day in Ireland, we were singing a completely different tune......and, with good reason.  We'd spent the day driving up to Westport and then taking the R335 to check out this ancient, stony monument that had placed us in its shadow for the last 45 km and evoked a real sense of foreboding in me.  Initially, I didn't share these dark thoughts with my husband and by the time we had parked and walked up to the Visitor's Center at the foot of Croagh Patrick, my hands sweating, my knees buckling, he asked me what was wrong.  At this point, I was beginning to think of the proverbial theme of Good vs. Evil with the mountain oozing Love and Kindness and me.....well, I won't go there.  Anyway, I told him of my trepidations and anticipated his concerns for me but, oh no!!  No.  He wanted to conquer Croagh Patrick!  Plain and as simple as that.

 

FAMINE SCULPTURE OF MURRISK, COUNTY MAYO

 

Realizing that instead of driving us closer together along this 'Journey of Life,' St. Patrick, at least his mountain, was parting us like the Red Sea.  It was not pretty and that's all I will say.  Not saying much of anything to each other, we walked down from the lower footpaths of the mountain, through the parking lot and made our way across the road to the Famine Sculpture of Murrisk, County Mayo.  Anytime you can pay tribute to scores of people willing to sacrifice everything in order to escape the nothingness that made up their current existence.....it is a powerful experience.  We stood together looking at this superb bronze sculpture, big as life, depicting the refugees it carried as dead souls hanging from its sides.  Walking around to the front of the piece to take another picture, we both slowly began to realize just what had brought us there that day.  It wasn't to balance strength and stamina with the mountain.  And, it certainly wasn't to prove anything or drive a particular point home by feeling uncomfortable and not speaking to each other.  Rather, it was to take this picture......the skeletal depiction of our own ancestors fleeing from a life so inhumane, degrading and brutal that this pain even seeped into their very souls because all was so hopeless, so exasperating.  Looming high above the sculpture from this angle and offering quite a spectacular backdrop, was the mountain, our bone of contention.  Except that now, this humble shrine made of rock, blood and tears, acted as the protector it always has been, opening its giant arms wide to enfold the souls that gave up so much, even their land and culture.  Simply, they literally were sacrificing the future of Ireland.


Who was feeling humble now?  That was quite a 'kick in the butt' there, Saint Patrick.  Always believing that things do happen for a reason, we smiled at one another and allowed the power of that moment, that scene, to sink in and bring us both back down to the size of a grain of sand.  We are all interconnected, an organic whole, and we can't do it alone.  Walking hand-in-hand, we strolled down to the chapel ruin just down the hill and through the trees.

 

KYLEMORE ABBEY

 

Having 'refreshments' at the Boat Inn Monday evening, we reflected on our visit to Kylemore Abbey earlier in the day and how the nuns still operate the Abbey as a school to this day.  Originally a hunting lodge, the beautiful structure is surrounded by lakes, mountains, sculptured gardens and Connemara National Park which was actually part of the original estate.   We began discussing the park in terms of walking trails and becoming one with nature....and all of that.  Sounded great to me because I really enjoy walking in the woods with gentle breezes and being surrounded by trees, birds singing and blue skies above.  My husband then mentions that the park is dedicated to a single feature named Diamond Hill.  Really, a hill?  That sounds reasonable to me.  Hiking nature trails and walking leisurely up and down a hill works for me.  After bending our elbows one last time that night, we collapsed into our bed back at the cottage with the anticipation of tomorrow quickly pulling us into Dreamland. 


Layering our hiking clothes due to an overcast sky with possible rain forecasted, we gingerly headed out Tuesday morning with destination....Connemara National Park/Diamond Hill.  I just love the drive to get there because it takes us through some of the most amazing hills and valleys shocking the eyes with many serious shades of green that are bisected by random waterfalls that spring from the mountains like majestic watering fountains for the gods!  We circle Na Beanna Beola or The Twelve Bens mountains that slither throughout Connemara as if together they were a dragon gliding low to the earth scouting out its prey.  Our journey takes us alongside the Wild Western Way, a walking trail that stretches across some of the most rugged and beautiful landscapes in Ireland and is an inspiration for all who seek out exercise and nature at its best.


Nearing our destination, I decide to pull out my trusty DK Ireland to get some useful facts about Diamond Hill because I'd noticed before turning in last night, my husband had been perusing the DK, as well.  Yes, Connemara ponies roaming semi-wild, strong and beautiful.  The St. Dabeoc's heath or purple heather should still be decorating our walk and helping to give some brightness and color to a hazy looking morning.   With any luck we may come across red deer, a wild fox or even see merlins, small falcons that nest in the scattered clumps of wild heather along the bogs.  Then it hits me, ".....four of the Twelve Bens, including Benbaun, the highest mountain in the range at 2,400 ft. and the peak of Diamond Hill, lie within the park's more than 5,000 acres!!"  I am so screwed!


Having been sheltered within the tree line while entering the park, I hadn't noticed the hulking behemoth that now stood between my physical being and my severely bruised ego.  Oh, and did I mention marriage, as well? 

Three paths charted as White, Blue and Red marked our way.  The White, simple, created a pleasant access to taking pictures of the handsome Connemara ponies that grazed within its circumference; the Blue offered a longer walk of stacked stone with occasional wooden walkways that navigated the bogs that surrounded the base of the mountain; the Red.....well, it went, for the most part, pretty much straight up to the summit and down again. 


Not many words were spoken between us standing at the base of path number three, appropriately colored (as in RED for Danger), I might add.  After the debacle at Croagh Patrick, things were only looking up.....straight up!  I remember repeating over and over in my head as we climbed how stunning my pictures will be taken from up there.  And, bonus....my social life progressed very nicely during the climb as I would literally have to squeeze into the side of the mountain to allow other hikers to pass us thus affording all of us a brief chat along the way.  This was a maneuver deftly acquired while golfing and allowing others to "play through."  I am nothing if not polite. 


Saint Patrick secured his penitents after all between softly spoken prayers and heartfelt promises to be a better person in the future, this climb was challenging, rewarding and truly a religious experience for both of us.  Finally, after a series of false summits and strong, loving hands boosting me up from behind, we reached the pinnacle of our desire; the culmination of our strength and determination.  An amazing German couple, who we had allowed to "play through" earlier, greeted and congratulated us and took our picture on top of the world to prove that all of our efforts were rewarded by the panoramic beauty surrounding us.  Soon they headed down and we became the greeters on the summit.  A young Irish couple stumbled over the top next and we shouted out our happiness for them.  She immediately acknowledged that it never would have happened without her companion pushing her up from behind and I confessed to the very same.  Her Irish gentleman, laden with layers of outer gear, looked at me and said, "At least you kept your own jacket on!"  That's true.


The view was spectacular and the photos outstanding, to say the very least, but the pride and self-confidence I brought down that mountain with me that day was beyond compare.  Was I humbled?  You betcha, and so grateful for the chance to be able to share this priceless experience with someone I love so much.  If you ever feel the need to measure the patience level of your spouse, just climb a mountain with them.  Mine was a rock!