Each year I winter in a cottage near the Sally Gap road. It has no mains water or electricity. I burn peat to cook with and to stave off the cold and damp, and survive on rations I get by bicycle from Blessington every week. A small solar panel charges my cell-phone with which I keep occasional contact with the rest of my family. As summer approaches and the days get longer and warmer my feet get more and more itchy until I make the break. I load my bicycle panniers with tent, camping stove, basic dry provisions (rice, beans, flour, loose tea) and oil, lock up my cottage, and set off for the secret valley. Naturally the names on my map are not the real names - I have no desire to share my valley. I generally follow the river to a south facing grassy area between the small lake and Fern Forest, where I pitch my tent. At the end of the previous year I hide some heavier articles - a spade, some cooking utensils and the like - and find they are still intact. And thus I enjoy the summer months in solitude shared only with nature and the very occasional hiker.
Would I? Could I? The map is in fact a floor tile in the bathroom here, which I study with fond imagination every time I visit for a number two, a sort of loo-doodle.
