(Dingle, Coumeenoole Beach, Ireland)
It's St Patricks day, or known to many as Paddy's Day. I thought, for the day that is in it, I would share some photos from my visits there, more specifically from when I climbed Carrauntoohil, Irelands highest point. I am so grateful that I have been to most places in Ireland (although still lots to see) even all the way up to Northern Ireland in Belfast - but one of the most memorable moments was that hike. For several reasons:
1) It tested me. When I say climbed, it was quite literally that - at a specific point called Devils Ladder, which is appropriately and adequately named.
2) I was hungover AF, - the night prior was late and liquid fuelled (input strength emoji)
3) The views (like none other)
4) Being in the clouds, which brings me to 5,
5) Got high in the clouds at the highest point in Ireland
6) Descended and viewed a sunset of marvellous remembrance.
As I write this now at my age, it was probably in hindsight pretty stupid, to climb down a mountain while stoned,
but worth it.
(at the base - Carrauntoohil - Ireland, Sheep, and a cross at the top)
(High in the clouds - Carrauntoohil - Ireland)
(Devils Ladder, Carrauntoohil, Ireland)
It was beautifully scary (at moments, like when I nearly lost my balance and nearly fell probably to my death - don't tell mom) a fun achievement and memorable so much so I got the geographical latitude and longitude tattooed on me as a keepsake and reminder to always seek adventure. Also, I feel as though I should mention that this was not planned, but at least we brought water. The whole hike up and down took approximately 6-7 hours. If you're up for breathtaking views and being in the clouds, I highly recommend.
(Adare, Galway, Killarney)
I thought I would take opportunity to share a poem by one of my favourite poets, Seamus Heaney - Personal Helicon, "He uses the childhood memory of gazing into wells in order to see his reflection and hear his voice echoed back to him, returning something dark and different from what is familiar." (Paul Dolan, Interesting Literature)
As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.
One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it.
A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
Fructified like any aquarium.
When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
A white face hovered over the bottom.
Others had echoes, gave back your own call
With a clean new music in it. And one
Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.
Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.
(Dingle, prob my fav place - actually all of County Kerry)
Ireland is truly a home away from home, (thanks Jimmy <3)
The people, the beauty and the craic