2024 Foray #2 Rosslare to Kilmore Quay

Sunrise over Lady's Island lake

Last year my forays were limited to a one night layover, so this year I figured I should make better use of the tent JMB gave me, so herewith is an account of my first two night stint. The raison d'être for my route was partly to assuage my desire to walk the entire coast of Ireland, partly because of the lure of that cliff-top walk from Rosslare harbour and partly the peculiarity of Lady's Island lake q.v. 

The general area - bottom right of Ireland

My track - 35km. Click on the image to enlarge

The route

• 07:00 Bus 65 from the bottom of our road into Dublin
• Dublin Connelly station for 09:33 train to Rosslare Euro-port
• On arrival, a brief detour to Super Value for munitions
• Cliff walk south from Rosslare then along the beach to The Cut q.v. where I overnighted
• Next day following the coast to Kilmore Quay (KQ), thence to a suitable pitch in the dunes
• Next day back to KQ to catch the 07:35 bus to Wexford town
• Several hours chilling in Wexford before the 13:20 train to Wicklow town
• Bus 183 over Wicklow Gap stopping at the end of our road

En route

Connolly rail station

The Dublin Rosslare railway must count as one of Ireland's most scenic routes running alongside the coast from south Dublin to Wicklow town and thereafter hugging the Slaney estuary. The Deeps Bridge is a bascule bridge (i.e. it has a lifting section) crossing the estuary.

Deeps Bridge over the Slaney, through the train window

The food

Squashed sandwiches from home and 1.5 litre of water, supplemented by a chicken sandwich from said Super Value (not good) and six fruit scones which reappeared at intervals as a sort of "hard tack" and a litre of apple juice. That kept me going until KQ as there were no shops anywhere along my route. Everything had to be carried on my back. Then tea and pastries at KQ and, later on, fish and chips.  

Carnsore point

This is where the coast turns a corner. Those wind turbines are truly awesome up close. A few were out of commission as some sort of maintenance was being carried out. As I rounded the corner I got my first view of the Saltee islands.

First view of Saltee islands

Wind farm at Carnsore point

Lady's Island lake, beside which I enjoyed my first sleep-over, is legendary. The "island", now a peninsula, is the oldest Marian shrine in Ireland. Its known history predates the Christian era. I hadn't the energy or will to detour to explore it, so was satisfied with gazing over the lake and watching two wind-surfers enjoying the wind.

Our Lady gazing across the lake (copied with thanks from here)

Having consumed my customary fruit scone rations, next morning I set off at about 06:00 for KQ fighting a head-wind all the way. The shore here is mostly small pebble, but with some stretches of fine sand, beside sand dunes all the way. After leaving Lady's Island lake the next landmark was Tacumshin Lake. These inshore lakes are troublesome. They tend to fill up and overflow onto private land and that is why, every Spring, bulldozers arrive to excavate The Cut to let surplus water out. I would have thought it would seep through the loose gravel by itself in the course of a year but, apparently, no.

The Cut ready for next Spring

Tacumshin Lake is similarly affected but is better behaved because, in this case, an overflow tunnel has been built under the dunes to obviate the need for an explicit cut.

Tacumshin Lake and the Tunnel entrance

As one approaches KQ, human activity becomes more and more obvious: houses or private land making the coastal hiker's job more difficult so, now picking my way across larger boulders, I pass St Patrick's Bridge. This is neither a bridge nor was the worthy saint ever seen in these parts. This site says it is a natural glacial moraine of stone and gravel which forms a natural causeway that once connected Little Saltee with Kilmore Quay at low tide. It would have been fun to explore it but I had this urge to speed up and possibly catch the Wexford bus a day earlier than planned. In the event I missed the bus by about an hour but by then the thought of retracing my steps was simply past my ken. I was tired.

St Patrick's Bridge

And so to KQ, arriving at around 10:30am, I had the rest of the day to "chill", part exploring the dunes to find a suitable pitch, part reading, or part listening to Gunter Ward's interpretation of Bruckner's eight (I have a copy of his later symphonies on my cell phone for such a time as this), and finally back-tracking to KQ for my promised fish and chips, and the rest, as they say, is history.

When, the next day, I finally got to Wexford, I had several hours more spare time to wander aimlessly around the streets of Wexford town or read a book on my cell phone whilst waiting for the 13:20 train service to Wicklow town where I would catch the 183 bus over the Wicklow Gap and home again back to the end of our road.

Wexford town from Ferrybank

Here is a link to more photos from this trip.

2024 Foray #1 the Suir Blueway

As I remarked to my granddaughter, at her age the world lies at her feet, but at my age I'm thinking "can I even do this?" or " this may be the last time I get to..." But in good faith that the body the Good Lord gave me won't let me down yet, I set off for what must count as the first of my 2024 forays. The particular destination was the Suir Blueway bicycle path following the river Suir from Clonmel to Carrick on Suir and the railway linking Limerick Junction with Waterford.

Outward journey 

The foray started with a 5:15am departure by bike for Heuston station, Dublin,  where I boarded the 08:00 Cork service, changing at Limerick Junction to the branch line to Cahir.

Segment (1) to Heuston 42.4km

Changing trains at Limerick Junction

From Cahir I followed the wide, paved path along the river, past Swiss Cottage, until it ended abruptly. Here there is a short footpath to the nearby road, but very overgrown and full of stinging nettles. I survived.

beside the Suir, looking north towards Cahir

looking south towards Swiss Cottage

The blue-way

Forced to leave the river I fought my way to the road and biked to Clonmel (land of cider) where I joined the blue-way, so called because the river is navigable for canoes and suchlike, though I did not see any. But I did pass many walkers and cyclists on the nicely paved path. And folk fishing out in their waders - but the fishing in these parts is all private, some clubs having well appointed fishing shelters.

From Cahir to Clonmel

From Clonmel to Carrick along the blue-way, totalling 51.5km

Beautiful bridges

Orchards to feed the cider works

The paved blue-way

The tower

I had several hours to kill before my train, the only train, would return me to Limerick Junction, so after checking the whereabouts of the station (and finding it all locked up) I entered part (b) of my foray, destination De Le Poer Tower. This involved a steep climb of about 150m elevation gain over 1.5km out of the Suir valley and then another battle with undergrowth before emerging onto a forestry track beside the tower. The wonders of GPS!

16.6km there and back

Having emerged from the undergrowth...

Towards the Comeragh mountains

The top is obviously unfinished

Towards Waterford

The plaque is visible but not the inscription

There is a steel door, but it was open

Much of the following is quoted from various internet sites. 

The De Le Poer Tower has a sad back story. It was built in 1785 by the second Earl of Tyrone, George de la Poer Beresford, in memory of his eldest son Marcus. We are told that the plaque above its door states that the monument was dedicated 'To his beloved Son, his niece and his friend'.  His son Marcus died aged 12 in a horse riding accident at Curraghmore. The 'friend' refers to his tutor Marcus, Charles Poliere de Botens, who died at shortly after the boy's death. It touched me that his tutor was also his friend.

Curraghmore is the estate and its big house is just visible in one of my photos. More sadness followed: the tower was planned to be 120ft high but was left unfinished at 70ft. Why? Maybe as a poignant statement of grief. Its unfinished look makes it even more special, like a symbol of a life that ended too soon; a powerful reminder of how precious life is and how memories last forever. Surprisingly in this age of safety first, the entrance is laid open and I climbed up the 92 steps to the top where the spiral staircase ends abruptly. There is no parapet or rail, nothing to stop the more adventurous from standing on the edge and falling. Indeed, at the base there is a recently erected wooden cross where, I suppose, someone lost their life that way. All very heart wrenching. But I had no time to commiserate: I had to get back to catch the one and only train. Hurrying down to the road, the undergrowth inflicting many bramble scratches on my legs, a further testament to the sorry story.

Curraghmore is the seat of the Marquess of Waterford. The estate was part of the grant of land made to Sir Roger le Puher by Henry II in 1167. One wonders on what basis Henry II could grant Irish land. Today it is the home of Curraghmore Whiskey, a 100% authentic, Single Estate Pot Still Whiskey, crafted from barley and oats grown on the estate.

My original intention was to go on to explore the estate's nearby church which I could see from the tower, and Mother Brown, a curiosity that you can do your own research on. Driven by an irrational fear of missing the train I let those historic items be and hurried back.

The tea shop

Mostly downhill, it took less time than planned to return to the railway station, indeed I discovered an error in my calculations: I actually still had over an hour spare. So I roamed the streets of Carrick in search of tea and found the unlikely named Sunnyside Café. Propping my bike against the neighbouring derelict property (Carrick is a bit run down) I was accosted by the proprietor who kindly coerced me into ordering a pot of tea and scone with butter and jam, for which I was eternally thankful. Who wouldn't be after peddling up that hill?

The railway

Then back to the station. It was still locked up, after all it serves only two trains in each direction every day. But eventually the signal man cum porter cum station master unlocked the gate and led me to a waiting room complete with electric heater.  I still had half and hour or so to wait so I familiarised myself with things railway.

Carrick on Suir station towards Waterford

Section signal protecting the level crossing

Signal boxes are still in use on this line

The level crossing gates are opened manually

home signal 'off' shows our train is on the way  

Gates closed to traffic and section signal 'off' 

Our train arrives at last!

One of our stops is this iconic placename

Having I suppose ascertained that the train is running on time and that the section ahead is clear, just before the due time of arrival the signal man descends from his box and drives his car the 200m or so to the level crossing. He manually closes the gate to traffic, then drives back to his box where he lowers the section signal to indicate to the arriving train that it is safe to proceed. He then climbs down from his box again, carrying the block signalling token to give to the train driver. By this time I am in the train, but doubtless the signal man communicates with the next box that the train has entered the section, sets the signal 'on' (stop), drives down to the crossing gates and opens them, then closes up shop and takes a well earned rest. Which melodrama all seems a bit OTT given that there is likely only one train set that trundles from end to end of the route.

On the return journey I noticed that there are a number of similarly manually operated level crossing on this line, complete with signal boxes, although I noticed that one crossing was automated with lifting barriers and colour-light signals protecting it. I suppose it warranted this special treatment because it was a busier road. 

Based on the appearance of the track (concrete sleepers, welded rail, clean ballast), Iarnród Éireann has obviously spent a small fortune on bringing the line up to standard so one wonders why so few trains each day and so few folk using those trains. I was surprised to find semaphore signalling, indeed the signals look brand new so I suppose they also were upgraded. And why the 80km/hr speed limit? I do hope the line stays open because I like branch lines. I went to school on one. But at present it surely cannot be economical. One blogger sums it up with "It is like spending a fortune upgrading a hotel but only opening on a Wednesday during the depths of winter".

Once again I managed to convey my bike from train to train at Limerick Junction and then again at Portlaoise catching the slow train that would stop at Sallins. Here I exited to cycle the last segment of my trip back home. A total of 131.9 km biking.

21.4km from Sallins to home

Wow, how I slept well that night!

2024 Foray #0

Strictly this was not a trip so it doesn't qualify for my Foray rules, hence my title #0. I have regarded climbing Church Mountain as both a Foray-prelude and as a kind of test to see if I'm still up for it. At my age one cannot help thinking "this might be the last time I will ever do such-and-such". Seriously. 

Anyway, the self imposed test is to run/walk barefoot from home to Church Mountain and back. I skipped it last year - I think I was too taken up with my 2023 Forays. And that made this year even more of a test. I did it, the off-road parts were delightful as always, but the last few miles on road were hard work, meaning walking pace, and hard on the feet too. It could even be the last time.

23.4km, elevation gain 544m, avg. speed 5.6km/hr

It was ideal weather

The "gulley"

Our lake

The cairn (was it a church?) and beautiful Ireland

A tree - because it was so beautiful

The Lost Chord

The Lost Chord is a song composed by Arthur Sullivan. For me it evokes distant childhood memories the details of which evade me. I also remember a clever play on words which amused me, from some radio show: 

Seated two days at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease...

The concept of a lost chord fascinated me, still does in fact - I love to explore new harmonic relationships. Like as in Frank Lloyd Wright, all of the nights we'd harmonize 'til dawn. But this post is not really about a lost chord but rather a lost key albeit with its similarly seductive effect on me. It happened after this wise....

I can identify with Earl in Pickles cartoons like this. To combat my wobbly short term memory I have learnt to designate places where certain items belong. The Kia ignition key, for example, is either in the ignition or in my pocket when I'm out. When not in use the key lives in a little basket in the office.

My alternate pair of glasses (I have one for close work and another for long distance) goes in my shirt pocket, or stays in a drawer in my bedroom if not in use.  My hearing aid goes in my pocket when I need it, otherwise it lives in that drawer.  And so on: wallet, passports, senior travel card...

A couple of weeks ago I had to go out in the evening unexpectedly to help a friend install his new washing machine. So I took my tool bag. On coming back home I remember returning my tool bag to my office where it belongs, filling in the log book (we record all car usage) and was pretty sure I then locked the car and returned the key to the basket.

Several days later I needed to use the Kia again, so went to get the key and it wasn't there. Fortunately we have a spare key which I was obliged to use. And so the first key remained lost until last night, despite my repeatedly searching my memory and every possible place - what exactly did I do with the key? I wasted a considerable amount of time and heart ache hunting for it. After several days of these shenanigans A advised me to leave it be - we'd have to buy a replacement - but I couldn't leave it.

I checked the log book - yes I was the last person to use the Kia. I checked the odometer and there were no missing kilometres, so it had to be my fault. I asked other folk here to join me looking for the key, to no avail - doubtless they imagined - "it's just Michael again, the key will eventually turn up".

And then, on top of this, I lost my long distance glasses. Not to mention the daily minor fights like - where did I put my phone? Did I put my wallet in the drawer where it lives? The glasses likewise remained lost for several days, despite my looking "everywhere". 

And so I was beating myself up cruel about this ridiculous state of affairs. It's one thing to misplace something for an hour or two, but when the things have considerable value or nuisance factor, and the loss persists for days, weeks, despite repeated hunting... Or one's memory turning up something that did not happen. False memory syndrome? I began to doubt my sanity. Or was this the onset of dementia?  Seriously.

Whilst all this was happening I had an appointment with my GP for a routine check-up and learnt that my blood test results showed a higher than normal PSA reading - with all that implies.

And then a few days back A found the glasses (broken) in the washing machine. Phew! And last evening my daughter found the Kia key in her coat pocket, a coat she didn't often wear. Apparently she had used the Kia to drive to the barn, not far enough to have incremented the odometer. She had considered it unnecessary to record such a short journey in the log book.  

And on taking a second blood test the PSA value had reduced to well within the normal range, although the doctor wants me to schedule a third test and examination "to be sure to be sure" as they say over here.

Phew and triple Phew, perhaps I am not so senile after all! What relief! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

The lesson?  Of course I know the theory: "have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds..." but when you're in the battle it's not quite that easy. If lesson there be, clearly I have not learnt it.

First warm day of the year

As Met Éireann reckoned it would stay at 12°C all afternoon together with it being the first day without any rain for so, so long and having finally recovered from the flu and it being Saturday, all this spelled the first bike ride of the year. Nothing special and not long enough to warrant the title Foray but all the same at my age even 33.6km and elevation gain 501m seems like a challenge. So it was off to the Wicklow Gap, a good practice run as it has plenty of ups and downs. I took some Galaxy chocolate with me as a reward at the summit. 

My photo was taken on the return and shows my trusty steed, the Valleymount peninsula, blue sky and, oh how beautiful the gorse is when in full bloom.

The flu

OK, so I have blogged for ages - I know. Part of the reason is that we have both been down with a nasty bug - probably "the flu". We are not vaxxed for "the flu" for what that is worth. Anyway it was nasty the first week: unable to function in any positive manner... and it dragged on for almost four weeks. So I haven't felt like blogging and had nothing of consequence to say anyway. The only "fun" thing since ,my last post was a quick trip down to Rosslare on the train from Connelly station - such a beautiful ride - and back again as far as Wicklow to catch the new "local link" (Arklow to Sallins) 183 bus service which goes past the bottom of our road.

Oh, and biking to intercept and then walking the new Ballymore loop - full marks to whoever conceived and executed this walk.

I wish I were running fast and free

It may be the cold, but more likely my age (but I know I mustn't let my age dictate my actions) but I do often find running hard work. I tend to limit myself to c. 5 miles during the winter (ok so I'm soft) and that is not enough to get runner's high. But I can dream.

Not me! But it reminded me of my dream

Last night and the night before I dreamt I was running fast and free. Free from aches and pains, free from loss of breath, free from tiredness, able to speed along without growing weary. I don't know where I was running: it hardly matters - suffice it to say I was not familiar with the route but it was beautiful. Amazing how the brain can supply 3D landscape imagery - where does it get its data from? It took me along a rough footpath on one occasion, along a track in another. At one point I stopped abruptly with a fast flowing river ahead, too fast and too deep to ford. There were a couple of other runners there contemplating what to do next. But the path opened up on the left, alongside the river - and then I woke up.

More on seventy

 

I opened a new box of Shreddies this morning and too my surprise saw that Shreddies were a similar age to myself. Is this significant?  Yes, I think so in as much as Shreddies is at least one of my most favourite breakfast cereals. Yes, I know there are cheaper look-a-likes on the market but they don't taste as good.

And whilst we are on the subject, on February 28, 1953, James Watson and Francis Crick discovered the structure of DNA.  And (if you believe in such things) it was 70 years ago that the danger of carbon dioxide build-up in the atmosphere first travelled around the world.

For what it's worth...

Glory

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?

Why we follow

Pilate and Jesus by Nikolai Nikolaevich Ge

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.

In the Final Moments of His Life, Calvin Has One Last Talk with Hobbes

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.