Posts from the ‘Hill Walking’ category

Galtymore – Frozen Lessons Above the Glen of Aherlow

The 32 County High Point challenge resumed in earnest this week and it did so with a bang – or perhaps more accurately, with a shiver! Galtymore, that shared summit between Tipperary and Limerick, reminded me that mountains don’t care about forecasts or optimistic hikers. They simply stand there, in all their magnificence, waiting to teach you a lesson if you arrive slightly undercooked.

What made it stranger still was how familiar this mountain felt before I even put a boot on it. The last time my wife and I passed beneath the Galtees we were on two wheels rather than two feet, swooping gently along the floor of the Glen of Aherlow as part of our Malin to Mizen cycle in 2021. Then, the mountains were something to admire from a distance – the sheer green north face of the Galtee Range is a majestic sight on a summers day. Back then they were scenery. Now they were my problem.

Expectation vs Reality

I had done the sensible bits: checked forecasts, looked at maps, reassured myself that the day looked promising. Cold, yes. Wintry, yes. But manageable. Unfortunately, my sense of competence didn’t extend to the basics: I left home without gloves and without snacks. Thought I’d pick some up in a shop but I didn’t pass one all the way down from Carlow! Clownish behaviour in winter. On a mountain. It’s the sort of lapse I could excuse if I was a novice, not from someone nearing the end of a 32-county challenge. You live, you learn… preferably not the hard way.

At Clydagh Bridge car park, I made the decision which shaped the day. Instead of heading for the Lough Curra stile – the established, friendly, sensible way up – I followed the sign to Galtymore Stile, confident that a sign surely couldn’t lie. But it did that quietly Irish thing: it pointed you in roughly the right direction and then left you to figure out the rest!

The path wandered out of forest and onto open commonage and then disappeared… no markers. No poles. Just vast, cold mountain ahead and a stream tumbling off the northern slopes. I followed the water, then committed to a small gully. Luckily (and there’s nothing like meeting fellow strays on a mountainside!) I encountered a couple who’d made the same mistake. We formed a little alliance of misplaced optimism and agreed to stick together, promising to turn back if it became foolish rather than adventurous. There is no way I could have completed this climb without their help and support. Hopefully they felt likewise!

Onto the Rough Side of the Mountain

This is not the tourist side of Galtymore. No lovely trodden track easing you gently toward the skyline. Instead, you get steep, frozen ground that demands attention and respect. Lough Diheen lurked off to our left beneath cliffs that we wisely avoided. The terrain pitched up savagely as we climbed – from about 450m to the 918m summit in a brutally direct line, a gradient that feels closer to a wall than a hill, a ladder wouldn’t be out of place.

The surface was iron–hard with frost. Grip was sometimes good, sometimes treacherous, but always tiring. I was also using poles which I found really helpful, once adjusted for the terrain. The kind of climbing where your legs burn, your breathing goes ragged, and you realise just how far removed this is from admiring mountains from a bicycle saddle in the sunshine.

Near the top, winter arrived properly. Cloud swallowed the summit, visibility vanished, snow swept across us, and strong gusts battered the ridge. Around the Lough Curra cliffs on the descent the wind became something wild – the sort that makes you lean your whole body against it and still feel unsure.

My hands had, since the upper parts of the frozen slope, decided to make their presence very much felt. Without gloves, they reached that sharp, screaming pain stage where you’re not entirely convinced you’ll ever feel your fingers again. Salvation came thanks to a borrowed pair of work gloves near the summit – agricultural by design, miraculous by effect.

A Race Against Darkness

Reaching the summit wasn’t the triumph I usually feel; it was relief. We didn’t linger. We took the sensible route down – the one we should have gone up in the first place – but the mountain wasn’t done. The ground was frozen, snow covering underfoot, light began to fade, and my phone battery slid perilously toward empty. Every modern comfort we rely on – navigation, weather info, timekeeping – all were quietly evaporating. A trail runner passed and gave us some directional advice for the best way down.

When I eventually reached the trailhead, tired, cold, hungry, and very aware of my own stupidity, I found myself thinking of the Glen of Aherlow again. Of that peaceful cycle in 2021. Of pedalling past farmers tending their livestock, the slow rhythm of rural life, the mountains watching silently above. The Galtees are stitched into local identity – songs, stories and folklore, Sunday drives, family picnics, history layered onto landscape. Indeed my first memory of the Glen was cycling through here with Tom Cullen all of 45 plus years ago! And then there’s us modern wanderers, arriving with apps, gadgets, performance fabrics, and occasionally… no gloves.

From Ireland to the Desert

All of this felt particularly vivid because only a week earlier I’d been scrambling in Wadi Al Dhahir in the UAE. There the landscape is heat-sculpted, bone–dry, dramatic in an entirely different register. Sun on stone, sand underfoot, heat shimmering off rock faces. You carry water like treasure. The danger is dehydration rather than frostbite. Yet the lesson is surprisingly similar in both places: the landscape demands respect, and complacency is never rewarded.

Standing on the Galtymore ridge in driving snow, I couldn’t help smiling at the contrast. One week baking in desert canyons; the next being sandblasted by frozen Irish weather. Two very different worlds, one humbling truth: nature is always in charge.

Lessons (Firmly) Learned

This was one of the hardest climbs I’ve done, less because of difficulty and more because of my own mistakes.

Bring gloves. Always. No excuses. Irish mountains are treacherous and changeable in an instant.
Bring food. Hunger is no badge of honour.
Don’t blindly trust a sign – know your route. I left my guidebook in the car….
Batteries die faster in cold. Plan for it.
The hardest-looking way up is rarely the wisest.

But Galtymore also gave back: companionship, resilience, perspective, and renewed respect for Irish mountains. Five county high points remain. I’ll face them with humility, better preparation… and a firm promise to myself never again to stand on a winter summit wondering where I left my gloves.

And somewhere along the way, as I often do, I’ll think of that quiet day cycling through the Glen of Aherlow, knowing that sometimes it’s okay to admire mountains from below – because sooner or later they will insist you meet them properly, and they’ll make sure you respect them and remember the encounter.

Moylussa – Clare’s Highest Point & Best Views over Lough Derg!

County Clare is often associated with the limestone pavements of the Burren or the towering Cliffs of Moher, but its highest point lies further inland in East Clare – the hurling heartlands, looking down on the broad waters of Lough Derg. Moylussa (532m) rises out of the Slieve Bearnagh range, overlooking Killaloe and Ballina, the twin towns that straddle the Shannon. Today I ticked off Clare’s summit – my 25th County High Point out of 32 – and it turned into a walk of woods, bog, lakes, history, and a little bit of hurling talk thrown in! The views over Lough Derg, Killaloe and Ballina are just stunning on a fine day like today.

Encounters on the Mountain

I thought I was doing well until I was overtaken on the way down by a Limerick man in his seventies, running the descent with ease! We’d shared a great chat at the summit about Limerick hurling – he turned out to be a fellow clubman of Tom and Dan Morrissey from Ahane. Proof, if ever needed, that hill fitness isn’t always a young person’s game!

On the way up, I also passed a touching shrine adorning some trees, a personal memorial lovingly kept. It felt fitting – these mountains, though not crowded, carry people’s stories as much as their summits carry views.

Mountain Goat!

Moylussa in History and Lore

The mountain is part of the Slieve Bernagh (Sliabh Bearna) range, meaning the “Mountains of the Gap.” These uplands acted as a natural barrier in medieval times, forming a wild border between the kingdoms of Thomond and Ormond.

Killaloe itself, nestled at Moylussa’s foot, is steeped in history. In the 10th century it was home to Brian Boru, High King of Ireland, who ruled from his fort at Kincora overlooking the Shannon. Standing on Moylussa’s summit, you can almost imagine his longboats drawn up on the waters below.

As for myth, the Shannon itself is tied to legend: the river is named after Sionann, granddaughter of the sea-god Lir, who is said to have drowned after tasting the waters of Connla’s Well in search of wisdom. From high on Moylussa, where the Shannon spreads into Lough Derg, the story feels close.

In more recent times Irish rugby stars Keith Wood and the late Anthony ‘Axel’ Foley are among Killaloe’s most favoured sons!

Weather, Luck and County High Point #25

The forecast had threatened showers, but apart from a few early drops the rain held off until I was safely back down. Sometimes the mountain gods grant a little mercy. With Clare’s high point now under the belt, that’s 25 of 32 climbed – the end of the challenge is starting to come into view.

Moylussa might lack the rugged cliffs or dramatic peaks of some counties, but it rewards with atmosphere, wide horizons, and a sense of standing at the heart of Ireland, looking out over river, lake and history.

County Clare High Point
Height: 532 metres
Starting Point: Ballycuggaran Car Park
Distance: 10kms out and back
Ascent: 450 metres
Moving Time: 1 hour 43 minutes
Terrain: Forest Trails, some slippy rocky sections, bogland boardwalk (no walking permitted on the bog)
Difficulty: Moderate – steep start and rocky sections tricky on the descent
Highlights: Has to be the view of Lough Derg and Silvermines Mountains

From Trostan to the Glens: High Points and Hurling Heartlands

Last Saturday I conquered Trostan, the 551 m summit of County Antrim, and hauled myself back home over a 700 km relentless but rewarding round-trip in my 32-County High Point Challenge! From that windswept trig-point, views stretched beyond the haze north to Rathlin Island, west to the Inishowen Peninsula in far off Donegal, east to the Mull of Kintyre and Scotland then just south to Slemish, the first known home of Saint Patrick, where he was enslaved; I climbed it on his feast day two years ago. Beneath my feet lay a mountain carved by basalt lava, long watched over by clans and cairns— this land was fought over by many chieftains and clans, both native Irish and of Scottish descent. Not far from Trostan Sorley Boy MacDonnell had a great victory at the Battle of Aura, following which they withdrew to Trostan, marking the spot with a cairn. Looking out to Rathlin brought fond memories of a trip many years ago with Tommy Wogan with one particular image being of the pair of us sitting on the top of the huge cliff edge watching RAF fighter jets flying low above the North Atlantic Ocean on a training mission. Never saw anything like it before or since! I hope to ride the ferry to Rathlin again sometime soon! Today though was about notching up my 24th County High Point, Trostan’s summit, yearning for the remaining eight high points still calling me onward to complete a few more before the onset of winter.

Looking down from Trostan into the Glens of Antrim, I wasn’t just seeing valleys and sea-cliffs — I was gazing into the cradle of Ulster hurling, where villages like Cushendall keep alive the flame of Ireland’s oldest game. Names like Sambo McNaughton and Neil McManus ring out here as proudly as any chieftain of old. In a county where nationalists often carried the heavy burden of politics and prejudice, the hurley and sliotar became more than sport — they were symbols of resilience, pride, and culture woven deep into the very fabric of the Glens. In villages like Cushendall, Cushendun, Glenariff and Loughgiel, the game is woven into identity and daily life, with the Ruairí Óg club in Cushendall standing as a powerhouse of Ulster hurling.

Hurling here isn’t just sport — it’s a cultural anchor. In an area where Irish music, song, and storytelling have long flourished, the clash of ash sticks on the pitch echoes a community’s resilience, pride, and belonging. Local festivals and the use of the Irish language keep that cultural thread alive in a way that still feels raw and rooted.

For nationalists in Antrim, especially during the difficult years of the Troubles, hurling and the GAA provided more than sport. They were safe havens of identity, places where Irish culture — language, music, games — could flourish against a backdrop of political tension and discrimination. To take the field in the maroon of the Ruairí Óg Club, the green and gold of Dunloy Cúchullains, the red and white of Loughiel Shamrocks or the black and amber of McQuillans Ballycastle was to play for more than points on a scoreboard: it was to declare pride in community and continuity of tradition. Terence ‘Sambo’ McNaughton, Neil McManus, Ally Elliott, the Donnelly’s, Liam Watson and Cloot McFetridge were as good a hurlers as any across the hurling strongholds.

Mention of Loughiel Shamrocks and I have to mention my good friends Bernie and Dermot Connolly of Corkey Road, who I met many years ago and with whom we stayed for a weekend when the lads were very young. True Gaels.

I knew from reading Kieron Gibbons guide book to Ireland’s County High Points that the approach to Trostan tended to be very soft and wet as it crosses a stretch of open bogland. It was no accident I took it on last weekend. The dry spell had made it spongy and nice to walk across. The climb follows markers for the Moyle Way / Ulster Way and involves climbing over a couple of stiles. On a day like last Saturday it was one of the easy High Points so far. The starting point is easily missed as it is on a remote minor road between Newtown-Crommelin and Cushendall / Cushendun and there was no information panel present on the day identifying it as a trailhead; a brick pedestal probably held a sign at some stage. There is only parking for 1 or 2 cars. It can also be claimed from the Glenariff Forest car park on the eastern side.

After finishing the climb I detoured into Cushendall and paid a quick visit into Sambos pub, the walls adorned with photos of hurling legends and signed jerseys. A GAA watering hole off ever there was one. The homeward journey brought me through Glenravel Glen, made famous by Bobby Sands who wrote a ballad about the blind fiddle player and poitín maker, ‘McIllhatton’ and sung by Christy Moore.

Four Peaks, Four Provinces, Three Days and Absolutely No Sense!

Easter 1993/1994. A weekend I’ll never forget, not sure of the exact year — and a time when Éire Óg, was at the very peak of its powers. Thanks to Donal Nolan sending me on some photos he snapped of us, capturing the achievement for ever!

Donal Nolan and me taking a break on the scree slopes of Croagh Patrick.

Fresh off an incredible journey to the All-Ireland Club Final on St. Patrick’s Day 1993, three of panel decided to keep the momentum going and raise a few bob— in a slightly mad way. Donal Nolan, John Wynne and yours truly (can’t recall if there was a fourth at this remove) set ourselves a challenge: climb the highest mountain in each of Ireland’s four provinces over the Easter weekend.

L to R: Donal Nolan, Turlough O Brien, John Wynne in the Glen of Imaal, on the edge of the army firing range after we climbed the 4 Peaks in 3 Days!

Good Friday: Carrauntoohil, Kerry – the tallest in Ireland at 1,038m.
Easter Saturday: Croagh Patrick, Mayo – sacred ground in every sense.
Easter Sunday: Slieve Donard, Down – towering over the Irish Sea.
Easter Monday (or later the same Sunday, as it turned out!): Lugnaquilla, Wicklow – the Leinster giant, right in our backyard.

The sheer driving alone was an epic road trip of almost 1,200kms! We drove from Carlow to Kerry (270 kms) to Mayo (350 kms) to Down (320kms) and back home v Lugnaquilla (250kms) — a winding, glorious loop of wild terrain and wilder ambition. There was still snow on Carrauntoohil that April, but we didn’t let it slow us. In truth, we more or less ran up and down every mountain. Youth, fitness, and a kind of joyful madness carried us on.

John Wynne and Turlough O Brien on top of Ireland’s highest mountain, Carrauntohill.

In the end, we were so full of drive that we climbed Slieve Donard and Lugnaquilla on the same day. It was a bit mad, looking back. But we didn’t think twice about it at the time. That’s what the club spirit felt like back then — all heart, no hesitation.

L to R: Turlough O Brien, Saint Patrick and Donal Nolan!

It was a great era for Éire Óg and Carlow GAA – 5 Leinster Club titles and 2 All Ireland Finals. In many ways the Club had indeed made it to the summit of the GAA World. Looking back now, it wasn’t just the mountains we climbed. It was everything Éire Óg stood for: loyalty, teamwork, no shortcuts. Three lads in one car. Sleeping where we could. Eating what we could find. Racing up and down hills with lungs full of fire. That kind of spirit doesn’t just appear — it’s built over years by generations of those gone before us; through trust, effort, and a sense of belonging. Memories made.

Donal Nolan facing away, John Wynne.

The Mourne Wall on Slieve Donard

From Rebels to Rail Trails: A Joyride Through Rural Wicklow

Today’s 28km spin through the quiet roads of south east Wicklow reminded me yet again why I love cycling in rural Ireland. I parked up at Crossbridge Church and set off into the April air with no particular hurry—just the promise of a loop that would wind me through history, hills, and the kind of scenery that stops you mid-pedal to take it all in.

My first leg brought me around by Ballycumber and Kyle, two townlands that feel suspended in time. There’s a peaceful rhythm out here—sheep in the fields, the odd tractor, and birdsong that fills the gaps where traffic might be elsewhere.

Just after Kyle, I spotted a River Ford marked on my Ordnance Survey Map and I made a short detour: a quiet stone at the roadside caught my eye: a memorial to Luke O’Toole, the GAA’s first full-time secretary. Luke served ar secretary of the GAA from 1901 to 1929; an historic time in Irish history. He would have dealt with the most tragic day in GAA History; Bloody Sunday, on 21st November 1920, in Croke Park when British Forces murdered 14 innocent people during the game between Dublin and Tipperary. It’s a simple marker, but a powerful nod to someone who helped shape Irish sporting life from this very landscape.

Onward to Ballinglen! I stopped at the bridge to read another piece of local memory etched in stone—this one erected in memory of two local brothers Philip (22) and Patrick Lacey (22) who were shot beside the bridge while returning from the Battle of Vinegar Hill on 21st June 1798. A nearby seat, unveiled in 1998 by President Mary McAleese, invites you to pause. I did just that. Sat for a moment in the quiet, the only sound the murmuring of the Derry River below, and thought of the lives and stories rooted deep in this place.

The scenery all along the route was nothing short of spectacular—mountains rising up and rolling away to the horizon, softened by spring’s early green. There’s something nourishing about being surrounded by hills; they don’t rush you, just rise steadily and remind you how rejuvenating the outdoors are for mind and body.

From there, I rolled down into Tinahely, a real hub for hill walkers with its many fantastic loops. Rather than take the road out, I picked up the old rail walk, which winds gently along a narrow wooded path toward Tomnafinnoge Wood. It’s a lovely trail—tree-lined, quiet, and full of little surprises. One of those was a ‘rag tree’ along the way, its branches fluttering with ribbons and cloth left behind by those with wishes, prayers, or memories to leave. A simple, powerful tradition still alive in the hedgerows.

Tomnafinnoge is one of the last remaining mature oak plantations in Ireland. The magnificent oaks were planted by the Fitswilliam Estate several hundred years ago and timber from the forest is said to have been used in the construction of Trinity College Dublin, King’s College Cambridge and St. Paul’s Cathedral London. During the 1980s, a public campaign by locals, politicians and artists such as U2’s ‘The Edge’ ensured the survival of the woods from total destruction and the remnants are now protected as a ‘Special Area of Conservation’ owned and maintained by the National Parks and Wildlife Service.

After Tomnafinnoge, I turned uphill toward Ballyraheen. The climb had some bite, but nothing too fierce, and the reward was a roadside audience: a herd of colourful goats, lounging and curious, as if they were expecting me. Their presence gave the whole moment a kind of comic charm. You just don’t get that on a spin around Carlow Town!

The loop closed back at Crossbridge, with 446 metres of climbing in the legs and a warm satisfaction in the soul. Not a long spin, but one rich in variety—history, beauty, solitude, and the kind of quiet moments that make rural Ireland such a joy to explore by bike.

If you’re ever looking for a route that feeds the legs and the spirit, you could do worse than this corner of Wicklow. And if you’re lucky, the goats will be out to greet you too.

Rothar Routes

Cycle routes & pilgrim journeys in Ireland and Europe …..