We had woken up in our hotel extra early, wolfed down a huge breakfast and were half way from Galway to Connemara when I suddenly realised that I had forgotten to pack the compass. I’d taken it out of my bag two weeks ago, before our scrambling trip to Glendalough, because I had been worried about falling in the lake and losing it. It now sat, 275km away, on a bookshelf in our hallway. I swore, a lot, and we turned around and headed back; I didn’t want to get lost and have to waste the time of the local Mountain Rescue with a preventable call out.

I told myself it was a sign of a good mountaineer to always make the safe call but I was not-so-secretly pissed off for making such a basic cock up. The good news was that we were in Galway for the whole of St. Patrick’s Day bank holiday weekend so we would again have the chance to do the walk on Sunday instead. Rather than waste the current day, we decided to dump our hiking kit in the Travelodge and picked up our climbing gear instead, before driving south to the Burren. We wanted to climb south of Fanore in Ailladie (our first time) and Ballyryan (where we climbed last year).

It was cold (about 3C with an arctic wind) but the rock was dry and the sea a lovely turquoise blue. If you ignore our down jackets, you could look at the photographs and think they were taken in summer. I was a bit overconfident setting out. I haven’t climbed outside since Carrot Ridge in August and it has been a long winter of indoor climbing. Long enough that I had forgotten what Trad Climbing is like. It was a bit of a shock when, half way up my first route, three basic realisations came back into my head:

It is bloody terrifying to lead. Even on a diff grade (the lowest), if you are still fairly new to climbing, and especially if it is an on-sight and your first climb outdoors in 6 months. Protection is never nice or convenient and its often not there when you need it. Putting trust in your protection is another thing completely. Finding holds that aren’t painted bright colours isn’t straightforward and there is nothing worse than grabbing around wildly as you peel off the rock.

The aforementioned “diff”, and our first climb, was O’Connor’s Corner in Ailladie, a sea cliff over a rocky platform that is reachable with a little bit of easy scrambling. Honestly, the route felt harder than it should be and wether it was our lack of recent experience or not, the top move (a mantle onto an overhanging shelf) felt tough for its grade. Once we reached the top, we set up an anchor and lowered onto Lisdoonfarout (HS, 4a) a lovely vertical crack climb that made me wonder where my previous stamina has disappeared to. Despite the fear, I had forgotten how much fun climbing is and I still love the buzz of the adrenaline that kicks in once your legs stop shaking.

It was very cold: my hands were numb and not responsive to the feel of the rock. We retreated to the car for a lunch and to get warmed up before moving on to Ballyryan. I made a repeat lead climb of Rib (V-diff) to get my confidence back up, this is a nice climb with no difficult moves and plenty of (not always great) places for protection. Feeling warmed up again, I took the time to set up a top rope above Slave Labour (E1, 5b). This is a climb up a very thin line and the crux move is getting up to and into a crack, which involves a large step out and quite a physical layback. We took it in turns and dogged our way up, successfully getting to the top and finally burning out our last bit of energy for the afternoon.

On Sunday, we decided to set off to Connemara again, this time with a newly purchased compass in my bag. By some measure of luck, despite the forecast saying otherwise, the hills were much clearer and we had better views than we would have had on Saturday. OK, so the temperature had dropped to -6C (with a wind chill down to -13C) and the winds had picked up to 45km/hr, but we had warm clothes to keep us safe and it felt like a fair trade as the views in this area are especially exceptional.

We parked in the Irish speaking area of Bun na gCnoc next to the Maumturk Mountains. We started out by walking to Maumeem, where an isolated church sits nestled in a mountain pass. The story is that St. Patrick, when travelling on foot, stopped here to drink from a natural well that sits at the foot of the mountain. Worshipers make a pilgrimage here every St. Patrick’s Day to watch a mass that is given in an open air alter, which we would have walked past if we had been here the day before as planned. Visitors leave small statuettes of the Virgin Mary at a shrine around the well and these inevitably get broken down by the harsh climate. The small plastic halves litter the ground now looking like shells shed by a giant beetle.

The walk to the top of Binn Chaónaigh (633m) was steep and strenuous and we hadn’t gained much height before the water in the tubes of our hydration sacks had frozen, a first for us! There were a few hares out, dashing between the boulders, and some of them had turned partially white due to the excess snow that had fallen during the “Beast from the East” earlier in the month. We passed by a few natural springs and their usually cascading water had formed large icicles on the rocks and cliffs around. The snow was gone but the ground was frozen hard and some treacherous ice patches had to be avoided on the tough initial ascent.

The ridge from here to Bin Idir an Dá Log (712m), the highest mountain in the range, was long, rocky and exposed to the high winds that I mentioned earlier. The discomfort was worth it because the views, especially over to the Twelve Bens (or Pins) further west, were magnificent. Every time I looked over those peaks I was, again, mesmerised and I must have taken the same photograph at least 100 times from slightly different angles. The final 150m of ascent looked impossible from below but, although steep, it was surprisingly easy to navigate between the cliffs and slabs, and we reached the top relatively unscathed.

The descent to the valley was always going to be the trickiest part of the day. It follows a steep and exposed ridge that is hidden in places by the aspect of the slope and ends with a short descent down an unpleasant scree slope. The biggest problem was the wind which was funnelled up from the valley, and it was frightening in places on the narrow path when the stronger gusts blew. This made for inhospitable conditions in quite an extreme landscape and I was happy when we reached the bottom.

Whilst walking back to the car, as if to demonstrate the extreme power of the wind we had faced, a 30m high whirlwind of water (like a mini-tornado) crossed the surface of Lenanagh Lough. There were wheatears in the valley and I don’t expect these summer visitors were particularly enjoying the strong winds or bitter cold either. Back at the hotel my legs ached, my arms hurt, my back was sore, the muscles in my face were tender from grimacing into the wind and there were cuts on my hands from crack climbing the day before. We staggered the 2km into Galway and ate the biggest curry ever before heading to a pub. Any plans for partying were soon overtaken by the need for sleep and we braved the cold one last time to make a final trip to bed.