Glory: high renown or honour; splendour; magnificence or great beauty; an aureole (halo) or similar optical phenomenon.
Not that long ago we were caring for my mother-in-law during the last couple of weeks of her life, and we watched her die. The process did not seem very glorious to me. Was I missing something?
Leading up the the crucifixion John records that some Greek foreigners asked disciple Philip: "We would see Jesus". Philip and Andrew in turn present this request to Our Lord who answers them somewhat obliquely: saying, The hour is come, that the Son of man should be glorified. The Jamieson-Fausset-Brown commentary (JFB) sums up what follows rather succinctly:
They would see Jesus, would they? Yet a little moment, and they shall see Him so as now they dream not of. The middle wall of partition that keeps them out from the commonwealth of Israel is on the eve of breaking down, "and I, if I be lifted up from the earth, shall draw all men unto Me"; I see them "flying as a cloud, and as doves to their cotes"--a glorious event that will be for the Son of man, by which this is to be brought about. It is His death He thus sublimely and delicately alluded to. Lost in the scenes of triumph which this desire of the Greeks to see Him called up before His view, He gives no direct answer to their petition for an interview, but sees the cross which was to bring them gilded with glory.
A chapter later the theme is repeated after Judas having received the sop went immediately out: and it was night and once again JFB sums up so well: But with what words is the silence first broken on the departure of Judas? By no reflections on the traitor, and, what is still more wonderful, by no reference to the dread character of His own approaching sufferings. He does not even name them, save by announcing, as with a burst of triumph, that the hour of His glory has arrived! And what is very remarkable, in five brief clauses He repeats this word "glorify" five times, as if to His view a coruscation of glories played at that moment about the Cross. God is glorified in him--the glory of Each reaching its zenith in the Death of the Cross!
The thought is clear: the cross was, or was the instrument of, Christ's glory. Crucifixion does not seem very glorious to me. Of course in retrospect we can see glory beyond the cross. And we can hope for glory beyond the grave for my mother-in-law. But for me here and now I don't see much 'glory' in the process of physical death. Am I missing something?
Now we have the internet, a more convenient tool of research than the library. But there is too much information in either place for the average person to get on top of. That's why folk typically follow a leader who, they muse, has already done the necessary groundwork to satisfy his followers' pique. And so they follow, happily blind to the sordid details and assumed derivation of the underlying rationale. They endure church sermons hoping, yea expecting the minister to have deeper understanding than they, thus setting said minister on the pedestal they have built. And so the rot sets in as they drift, can it really be unwittingly, further and further from the Truth. Well did Pilate query it.
This post is a direct quote from a Facebook post I saw recently, and I do not know who to give the credit for it. Suffice it to say it brought tears to my eyes and I thought it worth sharing. Of course I, like so many others, have loved the Calvin and Hobbes strips. Bill Watterson himself concluded the Calvin and Hobbes story in 1995 with a short statement to newspaper editors and his readers that he felt he had achieved all he could in the medium.
“Calvin? Calvin, sweetheart?”
In the darkness Calvin heard the sound of Susie, his wife of fifty-three years. Calvin struggled to open his eyes. God, he was so tired, and it took so much strength. Slowly, light replaced the darkness, and soon vision followed. At the foot of his bed stood his wife. Calvin wet his dry lips and spoke hoarsely, “Did… did you…. find him?”
“Yes dear,” Susie said smiling sadly, “He was in the attic. “ Susie reached into her big purse and brought out a soft, old, orange tiger doll. Calvin could not help but laugh. It had been so long. Too long.
“l washed him for you,” Susie said, her voice cracking a little as she laid the stuffed tiger next to her husband.
“Thank you, Susie.” Calvin said. A few moments passed as Calvin just laid on his hospital bed, his head turned to the side, staring at the old toy with nostalgia.
“Dear,” Calvin said finally. “Would you mind leaving me alone with Hobbes for a while? I would like to catch up with him.”
“All right,” Susie said. “I’ll get something to eat in the cafeteria. I’ll be back soon.” Susie kissed her husband on the forehead and turned to leave. With sudden but gentle strength Calvin stopped her. Lovingly he pulled his wife in and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. “l love you,” he said.
“And I love you,” said Susie. Susie turned and left. Calvin saw tears streaming from her face as she went out the door.
Calvin then turned to face his oldest and dearest friend. “Hello Hobbes. It’s been a long time hasn't it old pal?”
Hobbes was no longer a stuffed doll but the big furry old tiger Calvin had always remembered. “It sure has, Calvin.” said Hobbes. “You… haven’t changed a bit.” Calvin smiled.
“You've changed a lot.” Hobbes said sadly.
Calvin laughed, “Really? I haven’t noticed at all.” There was a long pause. The sound of a clock ticking away the seconds rang throughout the sterile hospital room.
“So… you married Susie Derkins.” Hobbes said, finally smiling. “l knew you always liked her.”
“Shut up!” Calvin said, his smile bigger than ever.
“Tell me everything I missed. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to!” Hobbes said, excited.
And so Calvin told him everything. He told him about how he and Susie fell in love in high school and had married after graduating from college, about his three kids and four grand-kids, how he turned Spaceman Spiff into one of the most popular sci-fi novels of the decade, and so on. After he told Hobbes all this there was another pregnant pause. “You know… I visited you in the attic a bunch of times.” Calvin said.
“l know.”
“But I couldn’t see you. All I saw was a stuffed animal.” Calvin’s voice was breaking and tears of regret started welling up in his eyes.
“You grew up old buddy.” said Hobbes.
“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry I broke my promise! I promised I wouldn’t grow up and that we’d be together forever!!” Calvin broke down and sobbed, hugging his best friend.
Hobbes stroked Calvin’s hair, or what little was left of it. “But you didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were always together…. In our dreams.”
“We were?”
“We were.”
“Hobbes?”
“Yeah, old buddy?”
“I’m so glad I got to see you like this… one last time…”
“Me too, Calvin. Me too.”
“Sweetheart?” Susie voice came from outside the door.
“Yes dear?” Calvin replied.
“Can I come in?” Susie asked.
“Just a minute.” Calvin turned to face Hobbes one last time.
“Goodbye Hobbes. Thanks… for everything…”
‘No, thank you Calvin.” Hobbes said.
Calvin turned back to the door and said, “You can come in now.”
Susie came in and said, “Look who’s come to visit you.”
Calvin’s children and grandchildren followed Susie into the room. The youngest grandchild ran past the rest of them and hugged Calvin in a hard, excited hug. “Grandpa!!” screamed the child in delight.
“Francis!” cried Calvin’s daughter, “Be gentle with your grandfather.”
Calvin’s daughter turned to her dad. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Francis never seems to behave these days. He just runs around making a mess and coming up with strange stories.”
Calvin laughed and said, “Well now! That sound just like me when I was his age.”
Calvin and his family chatted some more until a nurse said, “Sorry, but visiting hours are almost up.”
Calvin’s beloved family said goodbye and promised to visit tomorrow. As they turned to leave Calvin said, “Francis. Come here for a second.”
Francis came over to his grandfather’s side, “What is it, Gramps?”
Calvin reached over to the stuffed tiger on his bedside and held him out shakily to his grandson, who looked exactly as he did so many years ago.
“This is Hobbes. He was my best friend when I was your age. I want you to have him.”
‘He’s just a stuffed tiger.” Francis said, eyebrows raised.
Calvin laughed, “Well, let me tell you a secret.”
Francis leaned closer to Calvin. Calvin whispered, “If you catch him in a tiger trap using a tuna sandwich as bait, he will turn into a real tiger.”
Francis gasped in delighted awe. Calvin continued, “Not only that he will be your best friend forever.”
“Wow! Thanks grandpa!” Francis said, hugging his grandpa tightly again.
“Francis! We need to go now!” Calvin’s daughter called.
“Okay!” Francis shouted back.
“Take good care of him.” Calvin said.
“l will.” Francis said before running off after the rest of the family.
Calvin laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. The time to go was close. He could feel it in his soul. Calvin tried to remember a quote he read in a book once. It said something about death being the next great adventure or something like that. His eyelids grew heavy and his breathing slowed. As he went deeper into his final sleep, he heard Hobbes, as if he was right next to him at his bedside. “I’ll take care of him, Calvin…”
Calvin took his first step toward one more adventure and breathed his last with a grin on his face.
Which is easier? To change the setting of every clock on planet earth or to change human habits?
Like most countries in Europe, Ireland observes Daylight Saving Time (DST), with the clock shifting forward one hour at the end of March and one hour backward at the end of October. The USA has a similar scheme but uses different dates. The situation is even more confusing in Australia where only some states (the green ones in the map) adopt DST.
Living in a community we have rather more clocks than an average house: I've just adjusted 13 of our more public clocks, and one subsequently fell off its wall fixing and broke its glass - duh...
The EU proposed to abolish the time change in September 2018 following a public consultation, during which, 4.6 million European citizens called for the practice to be brought to an end, however its usage still persists.
George Hudson (who has a lot to answer for) was the first to propose modern DST in 1895 with Germany being the first to implement it on May 1, 1916, in the hopes that it would save energy during World War I. Whether it did is open to question but in any case the system has persisted since then.
If indeed it is better to have lighter winter mornings (at the expense of darker evenings) why change the clock? Whatever is wrong with an institution deciding to shift its starting and ending times by an hour to achieve the same end?
Having just informed my Physics class that two underlying laws pervade humanity:
(1) there's no such thing as a free lunch, aka you won't get something for nothing, and
(2) cause must precede its effect (as parodied in Alice through the looking glass) aka the "arrow of time".
The latter observes that time moves only in one direction, and DST violates this principle. I wonder what would have happened if I had set a repeating alarm on my smart phone for 01:55 hours last night? I suppose it would have rung at 01:55 and then again, two hours later, at 01:55. Which underlines the absurdity. If I had been sufficiently bothered I'd have tried it, but I preferred not to interrupt my beauty sleep. And had the switch been during daylight hours, would the sun have moved back?
DST was (and is) clearly a political agenda. No engineer, computer programmer or scientist in their right mind would propose anything so asinine or contrary to reason. We technical people get around it by adopting UTC for any serious investigation, but we cannot totally distance ourselves from DST because we have to live with the rest of humanity who appear to be more politically than technically minded. Hence my spending half an hour or more adjusting 13 clocks and breaking one.
Having belaboured my point, I admit that there is a Biblical passage about time going backwards (and another about time standing still):
And Isaiah said, “This shall be the sign to you from the LORD, that the LORD will do the thing that he has promised: shall the shadow go forward ten steps, or go back ten steps?” And Hezekiah answered, “It is an easy thing for the shadow to lengthen ten steps. Rather let the shadow go back ten steps [or degrees KJV].” And Isaiah the prophet called to the LORD, and he brought the shadow back ten steps, by which it had gone down on the steps of Ahaz. (2Ki 20:9-11)
about which there has long been the rumour that NASA computer programmers proved that this event actually happened, now mostly debunked. I remember my father alluding to this - it was the sort of thing that would have tickled his interest. This link summarises the subject.
We are enjoying a few days in Westward Ho! We chose this location because of my happy childhood memories of the place. Actually I can remember very little detail of those happy family holidays spent here, but I do at least recall walking under that strange arch - a buttress I suppose - and my mother commenting on the dank smell on entering the holiday apartment - funny the things, the very few things, that stick in one's memories as a child. And I remember that awesome view...
The view from the apartment
Then there was that evening stroll with my father along the cliffs heading west, chasing the sunset. This morning I tried to find the place but could not... maybe my memories are all mixed up with the closing scene of Oliver - a film that also made a big impression on me: my mother took me to a showing in a big cinema in Southampton where I first experienced the wonder of surround sound. I would have been about 16 at the time.
"I'm reviewing - the situation..." from Oliver
The coastal path - was this where we walked?
Wherever it was, the fact that we walked together, just us two, is strong in my memory. Perhaps because I felt like was being treated as an adult. I don't know what we talked about. Possibly we didn't talk. Talking is often superfluous, inappropriate, especially for men-folk. Why talk when you can see?
So I followed what starts off as "Kipling Tors" and has now become the way-marked coastal footpath for several miles before turning back; deep emotions throbbing inside me. How I wish I could turn the clock back. You parents out there, invest time with your kids, do unique things with them. Treat them as sentient beings. Your time with them will be so, so short, before they grow up, leave home, have their own lives to live.
Westward Ho! was of course originally named after the 1855 novel by Charles Kingsley. Only later did it rise to fame because of Kipling's associations with the place. His novel, Stalky & Co, is based on his schooldays here and Kipling Tors is where Kipling and his friends used to smoke cigars and pipes and read books together. Which makes another connection, for the Jungle Book stories also made a deep childhood impression on me. And so I am a sort of mixed-up product of all this.
During our short stay here I've enjoyed running up and down the beach and swimming several times - the weather has been remarkably warm: both air and sea temperatures at around 15'C - and the waves are so invigorating. But regardless of the time of day (I headed out at 07:00 this morning) you will meet countless dogs and their owners. Not that I mind dogs (or even their owners) but it just makes it more difficult finding somewhere discrete to change as there is in variably an owner and dog approaching from either direction.
Following my post on Coney Island, my son-in-law asked if I knew about Omey Island, similarly accessed by a natural tidal causeway. I didn't, but not for very long - I did my research and figured the beginning of this week was good for weather and tides and so off I set.
Behold - it actually fits!
And besides, my son from across the ocean had recently sent me a new tent, a North Face Stormbreak 1 and of course it needed to be tried out. Initial assessment was positive: it packs up into a cylindrical shape that is shorter than with my existing tent and thus actually just fits inside my small backpack, and it is 0.3kg lighter. Although similar in its X-pole design it is easier to set up because the poles are erected first and the main sheet is clipped to and hangs under the arched poles. Whereas with my old tent you had to thread the poles through channels and only then erect them. The new tent has a separate fly sheet that goes over the poles, good for keeping rain out. It did rain a bit during my one night tent-over and I remained perfectly dry in my cocoon inside. I totally recommend this tent, although it could do with a couple more tent pegs.
The red rectangle on the right is home and the one on the left is Omey Island, off the Connemara coast. Starting with the Dublin Galway train service, I figured two possible routes: hike or bike. Since it might be difficult to take a bike on a bus, and since it is not nice biking in the dark (I'd have to had left home at 05:30), I opted on the former. Maybe next year I'll try the bike option when the days are longer.
Bus 65 from home to Tallaght (Dublin), Luas tram to Heuston train station, Inter-city service to Galway town, two delightful hours by road through the Connemara National Park on bus 923 to Cleggan and, finally, Shanks's pony for the last 90 minutes to Omey where I found, as I had expected, the tide low enough to cross. The causeway is shorter than that for Coney Island, although the island itself is larger.
My camp site
The red rectangle is the approximate site of my tent. Counter-intuitively there is a large lake in the middle of the island. I mused: if in this lake there was a smaller island, and in that island a yet smaller lake and so on ad infinitum...
About half of the island's area is fenced farmland, leaving the remaining half free for roaming. On arrival there was a notice listing all the things you are not allowed to do. Camping was one. But I had come all the way from Dublin and was hardly going to retreat that easily so I tacitly ignored the sign and no one seemed to mind. I do of course strictly obey the "leave no trace" rule of wild camping.
The island did not disappoint. There are several beaches, a hilly bit in the middle, the ruins of a church that was dug out from the sand dunes in 1981, and a notable lack of People. Oh, and rabbits galore (unlike Coney Island). What more could you ask for?
Chicken sandwich for lunch and the same for dinner, and up at 06:15 the next day for a quick breakfast of fruit cake and CDM, early in order to catch the tide, or so I thought. I packed up in the dark and set off, but when I got to the causeway, lo-and-behold the water was high and still rising - already too high to cross safely. After consulting various web sites, and calling my wife who confirmed my reading of the tide charts, I made a water mark with some stones and turned around to circumnavigate the island once more. A bit chilly for swimming. When I got back the water had clearly receded and was still going out. So I ventured across: the maximum depth about 20cm.
The thing was, I had consulted more than one tide charts which agreed with each other in my research before the trip. Agreed with each other but apparently not with reality.
On the date of my crossing, Tuesday 3 October, this site was claiming low tide at 07:43am, which was pretty close to my arrival. But after being confronted with reality, I eventually found the truth. But the truth upset my itinerary.
The following illustrates the problem, on Friday 6th which was a few days after my trip :
Friday 6th high tide 3.54m a 4:25am
Friday low tide 1.84m at 04:18am
And finally, having crossed at around 11:30, I saw a notice in the small car park that also gave the truth, pretty close to the above. Pity I didn't consult this chart on the way out!
Friday low tide 2.1m at 04:08am
The moral - don't necessarily trust the internet!
So instead of a long walk to Moyard then taking the 11:40 bus 423 to Westport train station and a tight transfer to the train departing 13:10 to Heuston arriving 16:29 then the Luas and bus 65k to the end of our road, instead I retraced my route via Galway (more frequent train service than at Westport) but missed my transfer from Luas to bus 65 at the Square so had to be rescued by my son.
My Free Travel card was burning a hole in my pocket again. It was Sligo this time and, checking the map, I discovered Coney Island and Queen Maeve's cairn. Besides, the hot weather was due to end next week giving me a narrow window of opportunity. Shall I, shan't I? But sometimes you just have to do a thing, however crazy it seems.
Rumour has it that Coney Island was so named after its proliferation of rabbits, however I didn't see any. The tidal causeway to the island is firm sand under foot and good for vehicles. I think it is natural but, just in case, it is marked with 14 numbered pillars. A local told me I would hardly had been in danger wading across even at high tide. The tides vary in depth of course, and combined with Weather this would not always be the case.
Leaving home by the customary bus at the bottom of our road I got to Dublin Connolly and from there boarded a train to Sligo. Then by local bus route S2: the driver kindly dropped me at the end of the Coney Island access road from which I walked across the causeway, through the little village and thence to my destination, the beach on the far side. Which ticked all the boxes except perhaps for not being totally people free! When I arrived there was only one other person. Having set up camp in a spot apparently designed for the purpose, I asked her (she was reading or sunbathing and wasn't going anywhere) if she would have a problem should I swim naked at the other, far end of the beach. She was fine with that, so I did.
Later in the day a few more people arrived including a small camper van. You will see from my photos that I loved the place, and can thoroughly recommend it. The access by tidal causeway puts off the hesitant: on the mainland side I had spoken to several vehicle owners and encouraged them to cross but they chickened out. Which leaves a beautiful beach only to the locals (who apparently are not that interested in swimming) and to folk like me, and thankfully there aren't many of them.
I walked around the island's perimeter - a bit short of two hours - then ate my meager dinner, listened to the whole of Bruckner No.8 and then slept, waking only once to don an extra layer, until reveille at 06:30. Breakfast was a small bar of CDM (which had completely melted the day before but the new packaging prevented it leaking) washed down with lukewarm water, then striking camp and setting off southwards to Knocknarea and Queen Maeve's burial place. Apparently she was buried upright in full armour, facing her enemy in the north. One should not, and I did not climb the cairn. Thankfully it has not yet been necessary to erect a fence around it.
After I got home they asked me - did I enjoy it? Enjoy? Is that the right word? Sure I enjoy being on my own, but the walks were hard work and the night a bit cold. Enjoy? - well it was a challenge and that is perhaps my main reason for these jaunts. Certainly the north of Donegal is cooler than home near Blessington. And the midges were Biblical.
I took the 7 am bus from the end of our road to Dublin, crossed the Liffey to Connolly station for the 09:30 Belfast express (no USB charging points), then the Belfast service for Derry to Bellarena (charging points and good wifi). From there a long walk to Magilligan point (8.5km and it rained contrary to yesterday's forecast, enough to drench my raincoat). Then by ferry crossing the border and across to Greencastle where Jack’s convenience store supplied me with fruit cake and Club orange.
Showing outward (grey) and return routes
From Greencastle, another long road walk (8.5km) climbing over the Warren, through Glenagivney and Mossy Glen to finally arrive at Kinnagoe Bay, a bit later than estimated. Having chosen a suitable bit of grass for my tent, albeit a bit on a slant - the midges (actually no-see-ums) were seriously out of control - I erected my tent as quickly as possible whilst fending off swarms, then dived in through the narrowest opening with all my stuff, but regrettably lots of midges decided to come too. I grabbed a handful of fruit cake (for dinner) and magnesium tablets (to ward off cramp, thankfully none came) then dove into my sleeping bag and pulled it shut over my head to ward off further bites, even though the evening was yet young. Despite this I soon dropped off to sleep, waking in the dark, rather cold, and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. I woke up properly a bit before 6am and, having earlier revised my planned 7am start because of my late arrival, and being still cold any thought of surveying the bay, let alone attempting a swim were abandoned in favour of getting on the road and warming up a.s.a.p, and thus I arrived in Moville almost an hour ahead of schedule.
I was not the only wild camper at Kinnagoe, and there were several RV’s over-nighting in the small car park. Clearly this place is known for not being disturbed by the powers that be.
The walk to Moville was predictably long (11.2km). The bus had been advertised on the web as starting at "Farrens Newsagent" however I now know there is no such place. There were no signs or road markings suggesting a bus stop. The locals directed me and it turns out Farrens is now a coffee shop, so I got tea (nice girl and only 2 euro) and availed of their loo (very clean) and seating (my legs needed it). The bus was immaculately clean, on time and I got me a window seat, and so into Derry. Where it was raining, but very brief shower so no need to dig out my raincoat.
Over the curly Peace Bridge (pedestrian) and so to the train station (1.5km). Here the announced place name is “Derry-Londonderry” all in one mouthful, thus kowtowing rather awkwardly to both sides of the divide. The station has a ticket office but it isn't manned. Apparently you get a ticket from the inspector on the train. But no, you get one at the gate onto the platform. There are no signs to direct newcomers so I and several others were briefly at a loss. I finally boarded the train which was clean, with lots of empty seats, USB charging points, and good wifi. And so to Belfast Lanyon Place where there was a long queue for the Dublin service but despite this we all fitted with space to spare so don't know why they queued us. Strange how different train stations have different methods for boarding, methods which the weary traveller is kind of expected to know.
And so to Dublin with time to spare before the 17:30 bus, so another loo stop and another tea at Connolly station: O'Briens has best price at 2.80 euro which includes a “free” chocolate!
Total track statistics over two days whilst cycling: 117.7 miles, average speed 11.1mph, elevation gain 1062m, maximum altitude (at Barnagh) 247m.
Home to Heuston station 24.6 miles, Limerick to Banna 69 miles, Banna to Tralee 8.6 miles, Sallins to home 15.5 miles
It will be clear by now that these "forays" I describe are going to be mostly about railways and the recent spate of "greenways" that have sprung up around the island of Ireland. The amount of money that is being spent on these is insane and I am riding (literally) on this generosity as there are no entrance fees and even the train fare is free with my free-travel pass. The Limerick Greenway follows the path of the former Limerick to Tralee railway line, and has been paved in smooth tarmac the whole way.
My plan was twofold: to ride the Limerick to Ballybrophy branch line, and to "do" the Limerick Greenway. Within this plan the major challenge was biking from Limerick to Tralee via the Greenway, overnighting in the dunes at Banna Strand. I had been planning it for several weeks and circumstances meant that it had to be this week or else delay for at least a month. But the weather forecast was disturbing and so I vacillated like the Mock Turtle's will you, won't you? with every change of the forecast. I made my final decision to go ahead the day before departure and once I had done so I had better (though it turned out to be largely unfounded) peace of mind. Lewis describes this act of making a decision rather well in Perelandra:
The thing still seemed impossible. But gradually something happened to him which had happened to
him only twice before in his life. It had happened once while he was trying to make up his mind to do a
very dangerous job in the last war. It had happened again while he was screwing his resolution to go and
see a certain man in London and make to him an excessively embarrassing confession which justice
demanded. In both cases the thing had seemed a sheer impossibility: he had not thought but known that, being what he was, he was psychologically incapable of doing it; and then, without any apparent
movement of the will, as objective and unemotional. as the reading on a dial, there had arisen before
him, with perfect certitude, the knowledge 'about this time tomorrow you will have done the impossible'.
The same thing happened now.
I remind myself of the principle every time I go to the dentist.
I knew, without much doubt, that I would encounter rain and wind, even though the total daily amount of precipitation looked reasonably low in the forecasts. And rain and wind are the enemies of biking.
It was deceptively dry on all but the last half hour of my journey to Limerick. To catch the one and only morning train from Ballybrophy to Limerick I had to take the 08:00 inter-city from Heuston heading to Cork, and this in turn implied biking to Heuston (Dublin), and leaving home no later than 05:30. In the event, and due to my habitual nervousness about missing boats, I left shortly after 05:00 giving me plenty of time for the loo and to purchase some Club Orange.
At Ballybrophy (the first stop) I transferred to the awaiting branch line two-coach train. Although all Iarnród Éireann (Irish Rail) trains are to a high standard, this service is like another world. It pootles along at between 30 and 45mph, repeatedly sounding its horn before frequent farm crossings. There are still semaphore signals (see my pictures below) although I am not sure whether they are in use - after all with only two services in each direction per day the line hardly needs signals. Although passenger numbers may be low and the service is slow (it takes almost an hour longer than travelling from Limerick to Dublin via Limerick Junction), the line was recently upgraded to CWR (welded rail - see video) so it looks like there are no plans to terminate the service. I hope not anyway: I enjoyed every minute and I'm hoping some enterprising driver will make a cab view video.
Upgrading the line to CWR
As the train neared Limerick it started to rain so I donned my rain jacket before venturing from the station. And so started the real challenge: getting on for 8 hours with long periods of persistent though not heavy rain. But heavy enough to saturate the jacket. And a head-wind to boot.
The Greenway does not disappoint (apart from the weather). It is paved all the way in smooth tarmac (why are these cycle ways called green?) and, speaking of ways, it is advertised as "starting in Rathkeale, on through Ardagh, Newcastle West, Barnagh, Templeglantine and finishing in Abbeyfeale" but in fact it continues past Abbeyfeale "to the Limerick / Kerry border". I cycled on wondering what might await me at the border. To my delight and some amusement the greenway continued on, only now under the name of "Kingdom of Kerry Greenway". The Kerry website purports this goes "from Listowel to the Limerick border" with not a suggestion that it in fact seamlessly connects with the Limerick Greenway! Likewise the Limerick website has no mention of the Kerry Greenway.
There's an old railway tunnel to explore at Barnagh. Incorporating it into the greenway (where strictly it belongs) appeared to have been an afterthought, with the original greenway running parallel to the tunnel section. Coming from the Limerick direction it is necessary to cross the busy N21, but a fence bars the way and there is no formal crossing. Even after risking one's life to get across it is not immediately obvious how to reach the tunnel. But after traversing the tunnel to its west end a purpose built underpass under the N21 returns the rider to the greenway proper.
Barnagh tunnel diversion
Since the internet was strangely silent on the subject, I provide the map above (OpenTopoMap excerpt annotated in blue for the original greenway, and in purple for the necessary diversion to the tunnel). Note - it is necessary to overshoot in order to avoid climbing over the fence between greenway and N21. Click on the image to enlarge it. The black rectangle is the Barnagh Greenway Hub which might have served me tea and buns had I the inclination (literally) to climb the very steep access from the tunnel greenway after already climbed the incline to Barnagh.
After Barnagh there is a well earned downhill section down to Abbeyfeale. And thence to Listowel where the now Kingdom of Kerry Greenway deposited me in Listowel within a few hundred yards of an Aldi and a Lidl. The latter provided me with fodder (scones, fruit cake and orange juice).
My legs being now weary, the rain persistent, and the wind in my face, it seemed like an eternity until I at last found the first sign for Banna Strand. I prayed for a remission in the rain and thankfully one came, just long enough for me to erect my tent, climb inside and strip off to dry. I did not read, watch a video or listen to music. I ate my fodder with due thankfulness, then fought cramp (took some magnesium tablets, drank, consumed chocolate for its sugar content and did leg exercises), then climbed into my sleeping bag and slept the sleep of the just.
My camp site
Morning came and it was still raining. I had planned to explore the beach, maybe even swim, but the wind was cold, the rain wet. I snuggled in my bag a little longer then took my breakfast (more of the same) and prayed for remission and, when it came, hurriedly struck camp and set off for Tralee. It started to rain again, heavily enough. The number of heavy goods vehicles on that road is biblical, and there is no hard shoulder. One wonder where in Kerry can all that traffic be going?
And thus I arrived at Tralee Casement train station and settled down in its waiting room with a hot mug of tea and a book from the station "library" (there were only three books to choose from).
And the rest is history - the Tralee Mallow line (see my photo at the level crossing which I had photographed from the road in my last post), the intercity to Portlaoise, the commuter service to Sallins and Naas, thence the final bike from there to home.
Our track: 7.08 miles, elevation gain 874m, highest elevation 1041m, average speed 1.82mph.
Invited by JR to join his expedition, we parked in the municipal Carrauntoohil car park and set off, the weather forecast suggesting some cloud, some sun, no rain all of which turned out to be true. The intent had been to climb via Brother O'Sheas gulley, past Lough Cummeenoughter the highest (and maybe coldest) lake in Ireland to the saddle then left towards Carrauntoohil. We got that far but the summit was windy, cold and in cloud cover. The intent was to retrace back the the saddle then beyond to The Bones and along the ridge to Beenkeragh (the second highest in Ireland) then descend via Hag's Tooth. We waited (whilst luncheoning) for the cloud to disperse but as it showed no signs of doing so we chickened out and reverted to Plan B, the easier descent via the Devil's Ladder. At which point the cloud cleared.
The purpose of this trip, beyond the all consuming desire to explore nature and railways and make good use of my Free Travel card, bicycle, sometime tent and other paraphernalia, was to suss out the Old Rail Trail Greenway which follows a former railway linking Athlone and Mullingar, and the Phoenix Park tunnel.
The Old Rail Trail Greenway - 42km
This was a day trip, so I travelled light, cycling to Sallins (Naas) to catch the 10:50am (bikes not allowed on commuter services before 10am) service to Portarlington where I would change for Athlone.
When travelling by train with my trusty Trek 1.2, I look out for other bikers supposing that they are more likely to know the spot along the platform which will match the only carriage bike door. There was a boy with a heavy looking bike at Sallins. I urgently needed the loo and, figuring he was a local, asked him where I might find one. He told me, somewhat nervously, that there were none at the station but there would be one in the train. This, and his propensity to take pictures of passing trains, identified him as a fellow ferroequinologist or siderodromomaniac. After this brief exchange he wandered away with his bike. I reckoned he didn't want my company. But as there was only one bike compartment the two of us ended up together again, but an electric scooter-er preceded us and plonked his machine in bicycle slot one. Our friend used the only other slot but, not having the necessary dorsal muscles, he needed help to lift the bike in. It remained for me to stand with my machine in the lobby. Our friend was disembarking at the next station and again needed my help to first lift the bike from the slot and then over the top of mine which was fouling the lobby, and we had to do this before the door could be opened to secure his retreat. He was duly appreciative and I figured I had made a friend. But then (I mused) the likelihood that I would ever meet him again, or even recognise him if I did, was sadly remote.
At Portarlington I had a half-hour wait for the service to Athlone. During that time I ventured out to nearby Carrick Woods and its curious folly nicknamed "the spire" which of course had to be found and duly photographed for the album. The picture above was taken by William Forster back in 1852 and the spire may have been part of an old windmill on the hill which was converted into a landscape folly as part of the estate for Viscount Carlow at Emo Court. Climbing a small hill through a beautiful broadleaf wood to find a ancient folly is something that one just has to do in an odd half hour. Especially as there is a waymarked trail to the Spire (1.5km, 40mins, moderate) that will bring you to the entrance of this wonderful folly and my challenge included getting there and back (less than a mile) in the available time, cognisant that Iarnród Éireann waits for no man.
Once ensconced in Athlone I had to find the beginning of the trail (end of green trail bottom left in the aerial view above) which was curiously lacking in signage. I ended up crossing the mighty river Shannon by accident in this pursuit but, once found, there was no chance of loosing it given its straight course and the still extant old track alongside complete with rails. Did they intend at some point to resurrect the line (the rotting wooden sleepers would need to be replaced), or is it just not worth the bother to salvage the rails?
Whilst motoring along the greenway it seemed like I was being followed by an electric storm - one clap of thunder seemed right overhead. Thunderstorms had been forecast and for this reason I had packed my waterproof. But I managed to avoid the rain until I reached Mullingar but even there it was insufficient to wet me. To use up spare time before my 5pm train to Dublin I explored the Royal Canal Way and found it sort of paved - dressed with loose small grit which my narrow tires accepted without too much complaint.
And so to Drumcondra (north Dublin). My service was running 10 minutes late and I feared I would miss my connection, but in fact I had 5 minutes in hand, enough to cross to the other platform for the Phoenix Tunnel service to Sallins.
Built in 1877, the Tunnel was opened for passenger traffic on 21 Nov 2016 to link the rail network emanating from Heuston station serving the West to that from Connolly serving North-East and South-East.
Trip stats: 33.3 miles, average speed 12.6 mph, elevation gain 146m. This does not include from home to Sallins and back again in the evening.
It’s always good to have a goal. In this case the goal was to cycle the Waterford Greenway (46km of free-for-use, dedicated, paved cycleway / footpath on the bed of a former railway line - more on that later), which implied an overnight stay. The Greenway boasts three original viaducts and a tunnel, and numerous other bridges including a new bridge over the N25. The details included balancing tent and sleeping bag on my bike, with backpack for the rest of the stuff even we minimalistic humans require to exist, cycling from home to Sallins (Naas), then train (using my free travel pass) with bike to Waterford (I had to change at Kildare), thence following the Greenway to its terminus at Dungarvan. Potter about a while, visit Lidl and finally to succumb to fish and chips, and after consumption thereof setting off for Trá na mBó on Ireland’s majestic Copper Coast, where I made camp on a grassy promontory.
Without doubt Trá na mBó is an idyllic spot and A1 for wild camping. The name translates disappointedly to “Strand of the Cows”. The Irish is more charming. In old Irish Bó translates as ‘cow’. The prefix ‘m’ is a mutation (i.e. modification of the initial consonant of a word) so that a mBó translates as ‘their cow’. Or ‘cows’. Leastways I think so.
The night was fitful, not warm and with the leg cramps I always get after arduous cycling, but I survived. I got up at around 7am with the original intent of frying bacon. But Trá na mBó had lost its charm - it was overcast, cold and windy and all I wanted to do was to hasten to warmer climes, so I struck camp without breakfast, travelling north to Kilmacthomas where I rejoined the Greenway and found myself a bit of grass on which to stand my new camping stove and cook my bacon.
Track statistics
Tuesday: Home to Sallins (Naas) 13.2 miles average speed moving 11.65mph
Waterford to Lidl Dungarvan 30.4 miles (48.7km)
Dungarvan to Trá na mBó 13.1 miles, average speed moving 8.95mph, elevation gain 274m
Wednesday Trá na mBó to Waterford 23.7 miles average speed 8.1mph elevation gain 243m
Newbridge to home 15.2 miles average speed moving 8.7mph elevation gain 250m
Check out the Suir Valley narrow gauge railway here where can also be found:
The Waterford, Dungarvan and Lismore Line was still not linked to the main network of rail lines, to overcome this problem, the Red Iron Bridge was built in 1906 and after this passengers could travel directly to Rosslare. Many wealthy families living in London bought summer houses in Killarney and could leave Paddington by the evening express train to Fishguard complete with children and domestic staff. On arriving at Fishguard the train ran alongside the ship and passengers were able to transfer, thus allowing immediate departure. The ship journey was at least half an hour faster than nowadays, and the train was waiting on the pier at Rosslare when the boat arrived alongside, facilitating another prompt departure. There were of course no customs delays in those days. The train stopped at Waterford around breakfast time, breakfast being served in the dining car of the train. On arrival in Mallow the train took the Kerry line from Mallow, arriving at Killarney around lunchtime.
Sadly so many of these branch lines have now been closed. Thankfully the branch to Killarney and Tralee is still operational.
Kilmacthomas viaduct drone video courtesy of JJ's World Tour:
