On my first multi-day hike I packed so much stuff that I was constantly exhausted, and kept tripping up repeatedly and falling under the weight of my rucksack. To lighten my load for my next trip, I got rid of the tent and instead took a bivvy bag but, because I only had cheap gear, I spent most of the night awake and shivering, and found myself just as exhausted in the morning. After that chilly trip I bought new kit, and had every intention of using it, but for whatever reason I didn’t and for an entire year it sat lost in a cupboard between Christmas decorations and old duvets.

I had been reading ‘Extreme Sleeps’ by Phoebe Smith at Christmas, which helped inspire me. So, on New Year’s Eve, one of the resolutions I made was to get back out camping in the mountains. I set aside a long weekend in April and picked Connemara as the place to visit. I had previously enjoyed a day in the Twelve Bens back in August 2017 when we climbed Carrot Ridge, Ireland’s longest rock climb, and had a day in the Maumturks planned only a month prior to this trip.

Connemara is one of the wildest places in Ireland for weather, remoteness, exposure and dramatic scenery. The conditions can be cruel and prevailing on-shore winds have bent all the trees into unnatural shapes, leaving them like sign posts pointing in the same direction. Although not the biggest in the country, the mountains rise up more steeply than those almost anywhere else in Ireland and they are surrounded by an incredible number of loughs, many with islands big enough to have their own small copse of trees on them. Along the coastline there is a dramatic mix of rocky coves, inlets and islands, as well as fishing villages and sandy beaches: it is the perfect place to visit for an adventure.

I fully expected that the weather would dictate everything on the day and that things would go wrong, which is inevitably what happened. To be as prepared as possible I spent time researching different routes and paths, bus timetables, trains and tide times. I didn’t want to take my car so using public transport was a must, no matter what I did. As the planning became more involved, I actually started to use mapping software to calculate heights, distances and timings to work out where I should be and at what time for every step of the trip. I also booked a B&B in Clifden for the Sunday night because I knew I would need comfort at some point on my journey.

Day 1 and 2 – the Twelve Bens

When my spring break arrived I took the evening train from Dublin to Galway. The forecast was already decidedly mixed, with Saturday being the best day and Tuesday being the worst. My first planned adventure was to attempt the “Twelve Bens Mountain Challenge” (also known as the Glencoaghan Horseshoe) which is about 15km of mountain walking with an intimidating 1660m of ascent on challenging ground. To make things even harder, using public transport adds another 10km onto the route!

For this reason I decided that it would be more manageable as well as more fun to tackle the challenge over two days, rather than the traditional one, and to wild camp half way around. This way I would be able to climb all the peaks and have the added bonus of a night out in the mountains. The only potential fly in the ointment was the forecast for high winds on Sunday, potentially making scrambling along the narrow ridges dangerous, so I altered my initial choice of camping spot to a place with an escape route, should it be needed come the morning.

I was so fixated on the wind that, when I arrived on Saturday, I was taken aback to find the mountains hidden behind a grey expanse of cloud. I decided it was best to start out on the route anyway and hope that it would clear; I could climb Derryclare (677m) and then head back down if needed. The bus dropped me off in Recess, which is a small tourist trap with a pub and craft shop. It was an hour’s walk to reach the trailhead and the sun was already starting to break through when I finally made it.

The initial ascent was a bit of a slog and there were so many false summits on the way up that it felt like I was trapped in a loop, like a chase scene in an old cartoon where they keep reusing the same background. On the upside, when I finally made the summit I was welcomed with glorious sunshine and only a light breeze. It is amazing how uplifting good weather can be and my legs, previously crying out for help, now happily carried me along the ridge and up the more difficult climb to Bencorr (711m).

By this point, it was getting late into the afternoon and I had to think about making my camp on the other side of Bencollaghduff (696m). There is no real path linking the two mountains so I had to start by scrambling up an exposed 6m step to get on the ridge to Binn an tSaighdiúra. Rather than following ridge, I had to pick my way down a very steep scree slope, a route that required sudden detours to avoid cliff edges. Using trial and error I slowly descended towards the gap below.

As I neared the col I heard a sound that, at first, I thought was a large waterfall, although there were no streams marked on the map. As I got closer I started to feel my clothes rustle and soon afterwards the wind, which was the actual source of the sound, was so strong that it became difficult to stand upright. The bad weather had arrived early and I had no choice but to continue onwards to the nearest safe exit. The climb to the summit was the worst section of the route: I had to almost crawl in places to keep going forward.

Deep down, given the forecast that the conditions would deteriorate even further overnight, I knew that this would be as far as I would get along the ridge. I was exhausted, so when I found a sheltered spot to stop in, I decided it would be good to set up a camp, enjoy the views and wait it out until morning. I fired up my small solid fuel stove and cooked a meal of boil-in-the-bag pasta bolognese. I felt a little bit better after eating and realised I was getting low on water, so I hiked 1km down the slope to top up my reserves from a stream.

It was when I was heading back to the camp that I again heard the loud, ominous sound of high winds, only this time it sounded like a jumbo jet coming around the mountainside. I returned to find my camp blown over (although nothing was lost) and I decided I better check the forecast online. According to Mountain Forecast they now expected 75km/hr winds, so I thought “forget that” and started stuffing everything back into my bag. I still had a few hours of sunshine left in the day, and cowering in the valley was preferable to being blown off of a mountainside, even if I had to rush down quickly and in an undignified way.

In the valley I found a dry stone wall for additional protection. I have an Alpkit Rig 7 tarp which I set up using walking sticks as poles to create a shelter to sleep under and a Thermarest roll mat for ground insulation. I have a Snugpak sleeping bag (comfortable to -5 degrees) which I stuffed inside a Rab Survival Bivvy Bag and climbed inside just as it was getting dark. Despite the night being a lot colder than when I had tried bivvy bagging before, I was thankful for how warm and comfortable I felt with the new kit.

I was exhausted: so far I had walked 20km and climbed 1425m with a heavy rucksack. My sleep was not unbroken and the occasional rain storm woke me up, but I slept better than I had ever expected to. I even managed to sleep through the sunrise and woke up at 7am to the sound of skylarks and sheep, which is far preferable to any alarm clock set for work. To my horror, I found that I was laid in a huge pile of sheep poo that had been invisible in the twilight, but apart from that – it had been a good night.

I had already sort-of-decided not to continue hiking in the mountains, but the sound of the wind in the morning confirmed my decision. If, yesterday, it had sounded like a jumbo jet, today it sounded like a whole battalion of Harrier Jets fighting above the peaks. The surface of Lough Inagh, which had been calm on Saturday, was choppy and covered in foamy white waves and there was an occasional tuft of mist passing through, like a thick mushroom soup. I recalled a café in Recess and the idea of a cooked breakfast seemed magnificent, so I packed up my gear and set off on the 14km road trek back to the village.

When I arrived in Recess, I was upset to find the café closed as it was only the thought of sausage and eggs that had kept me going for the last 8km. At least the post office was open, so I was able to buy some Pringles to eat while I sat for an hour, shivering and waiting for the bus. I must have stunk when I arrived at the B&B that I had pre-booked, but I felt amazing after a shower, like a whole new man. For the past 48 hours I had only had sheep and ravens for company, so I was glad to have a few people around even if I ended up tucked away in the corner of a dark pub, drinking whiskey. As the evening continued I watched a local Trad band (two guitars and a banjo) play, before retiring to the comfort of a real bed.

Day 3 and 4 – Clifden

For the next part of my trip I had planned to walk down the coast, hiking out to Omey Island (which is tidal) and finding a quiet place to camp for the final night before returning to Dublin. The weather though, was continuing to deteriorate. Met Eireann had issued a yellow weather warning and the only description on their website was this: “strong, gusty winds and heavy rain”. Only Monday morning was going to be manageable and, by manageable, I mean only mild gale force winds and some rain. I suspect that my friends think I only enjoy myself if there is some measure of discomfort!

I decided I would have to explore as far and as fast as possible before the weather became too awful, and the fastest way to do this was to stay around Clifden and rent a bike. I therefore left my rucksack behind and set off down the Sky Road for a morning’s cycling. I started near Clifden Castle (I was disappointed to find it was actually a ruined manor house from the 1800s) and made my way out the peninsula along Clifden Bay, where I passed fishing boats and oyster farms. Eventually, I reached a secluded sandy beach that overlooked Inishturk Island, near to a house once owned by the actor Peter O’Toole.

I was able to stop there, dip my hand in the sea and skim a few stones. Out over the Atlantic I could see storms brewing so I didn’t want to hang around too long. The winds were already battering the peninsula and, although it wasn’t raining, the air was so full of moisture that I was soaked regardless. I felt like a bit of a wuss: here I was complaining about the weather while the local wildlife (clearly used it) were still out in full. Goldfinches skipped along the hedgerows, skylarks sang in the sky and there were groups of oystercatchers digging up the beach in search of sandworms. Unlike them, I am not tough enough to survive Connemara in the long term.

I finally decided it was time to cycle back and catch a bus to Galway, which required a grueling uphill battle directly into the wind. As the temperature dropped, the water in the air turned to ice, ricocheting off my face. This really didn’t feel like April. I returned along the Lower Sky Road and then the Beach Road which made for a nice 20km loop (with 350m ascent). I had earned a pub lunch and wanted to enjoy some local seafood so bought myself a pint and a big bowl of mussels: my last meal in Connemara.

So, nothing quite went to plan, but I had a great time regardless. Arriving back into Galway I had already forgotten about the discomfort I’d felt and instead I was thinking about all the fun that I had. I was sad not to have made it further down the coast and climbed more mountains, but there is so much I want to do in Connemara that I will be back again. I ended my trip with a few drinks and a nice meal in town before retiring to a comfortable bed. Listening to the heavy rain outside the window I felt relief rather than disappointment that I had decided not to camp out after all.