Ireland's Holy Reek.

For all my sporting achievements (don't laugh), it took 38 years for me to fulfil the most basic test of West of Ireland mettle - the climbing of Ireland's holy reek - Cruach Phádraig (Croagh Patrick). I put this black mark on my character to right yesterday in the company of hardy mountain climbing Mayo friend, Micí Mac an Ghabhair.

We left Galway at a little past 10am and arrived at the foot of the hill, just 3km outside the picturesque town of Westport, at a little after 11am.  After a scone and coffee in the tourist information shop we set off on our 764 metre climb, with two little sticks that the tourist info woman had kindly given us. 

The reek itself is no Everest and certainly not Ireland's highest mountain, but it is a sharper climb than many of it's more imposing cousins.  It's also Ireland's most popular climb and is populated at every turn with a great mix of first-time climbers, spiritual seekers, and experienced hillwakers.  At the top we met with a Liverpudlian who lived in Germany, an elderly man from Wisconsin who was completing his third climb of the reek and a couple from the continent who were sipping a bottle of beer.  Thousands take to the hill every year on Reek Sunday (the last Sunday in July) as part of a pilgrimage in honour of Ireland's patron saint, who spent 40 days fasting on the mountain in the year 441 (it was all over Sky news at the time).  

The climb begins with a few well laid out wooden steps that bring you up past a little gate entrance where you are met by the statue of Patrick and the wilds of the mountain side.  The incline slowly increases as you pass a beautiful little stream and slowly make your way up to the first real section of the climb. There follows a steep gravely gradient that stretches and winds upwards for a few hundred metres until the mountain turns again on the shoulder, giving the walker a nice little respite before having to tackle the head of the hill.  The views at this point are spectacular - down to our left we could see stretches of bog and woodland, whilst behind us the islands of the bay grew smaller with every step.  Of course, ahead of us we could see that the toughest section of the climb was still to come.  

The head of the mountain is a very sharp climb and deceptive in that you think at every turn that the end must be around the corner, only to see another tough incline ahead.  Mící sprung ahead of me like a cat climbing a shed and my lack of fitness really told on this section.  'One foot ahead of the other', I said to myself as I puffed my way up slowly to the top.  

The very last section of the climb was undeniably a spiritual experience as the fierce wind blew us up towards the little church that magically sits at the summit.  Micí was there before me, huddling for shelter inside of the church wall.  We sat and ate a few sandwiches while we met and chatted to our fellow climbers.  Our fingers were stinging cold at the summit - even though we wore gloves! 

The first part of the descent was very difficult as the ferocious wind that had helped us summit was now pushing us back and throwing grit at our eyes.  It settled as we got further down and eventually the descent itself became a real pleasure.  

We reached the bottom again after a round trip of about 2 and a half hours and met a very nice old Kerry man at the foot of the hill.  There was nothing to do then but to celebrate our achievement with a pint of plain in Matt Molloy's in Westport... legends of the Reek!