Tag Kerry Way

Walking SW Ireland #6 – Halfway

Robert Bradt 1 Comment


Between mid-May to late June 2024, I will be walking along the SW coast of Ireland, taking in the Kerry Way, the Dingle Way, the North Kerry Way, and parts of the Burren Way in Clare and the Western Way in Galway. This is the story of part of that journey.

A big thank you to everyone who has bought me a coffee over the past year. The Buy Me a Coffee service allows patrons like you to fund writers like me, to cover things like the costs of running this blog, new shoes and gear, and journeys like this. If that sounds like a worthy idea to you, then go ahead – keep buying me coffees.

Where Am I?

In Tralee, taking a break before starting the second half of my journey.

The Rose of Tralee statue

I got here by walking about 500 km over 3 weeks, starting in Killarney, and walking – 

  • more or less the whole 220+ km of the Kerry Way
  • with a detour between Waterville and Cahersiveen to take in the Cliffs of Kerry, Portmagee, and Valentia Island
  • plus a road walk between Killarney and Camp on the Dingle Peninsula to get onto the Dingle Way
  • and then the 200 km or so of the Dingle Way which finishes in Tralee
  • from which I finished my first half with a 26 km section of the North Kerry Way up to Ballyheigue

There’s much to tell about those sections, probably in some future posts.  In the meantime, here are a few stories and pics from my journey so far.

Stories and Pictures Along The Way

I’ve noticed in some of the towns I’ve been in that some of the pubs have gone all out to come up with creative Guinness art.  Here are a few of the ones I saw just wandering here in Tralee. 

*****

The beaches in Ireland are an under-appreciated attraction.  The Dingle Way in particular includes about 20 km of beach walking.  Unfortunately for me, about 15 km of those came on a day when the wind was lashing and the rain was off and on, always hard in my face.  Attempting to wear a rain poncho in those conditions was futile, so I was soaked and chilled by the end of the day.  

And yet the scenery, the pounding surf, the salt spray tang in my nostrils – it was exhilarating.  Exhausting too.

*****

It was around mid-day, after leaving Kenmare.  I was up on a hillside following a dirt lane, and turned a corner near an old farmhouse.  The scent of a turf fire wafted faintly, and instantly my mind jumped 300 km northwards – memories of sitting round the kitchen at the Doherty family farm outside Donegal town, next to a warm turf stove, trying to decipher Charles’ story through his Irish accent, drinking tea and laughing, laughing.  

*****

And speaking of accents, I was walking down a wee road, and as I was going down a man was coming up, on the same side of the road as me.  We approached, and he didn’t move, so I stepped aside as he said “Good morning, and how do you do?” in such a musical faith-and-begorrah south Kerry accent that I almost burst out laughing.

I nodded politely instead, and continued on, and only later realized that I had been on the left side of the road, and he was correctly walking on the right, hence our collision course.  His polite question was his way of inquiring as to whether I was the addled foreigner that I appeared to be, and a reminder to me that in Ireland one walks on the right side of the road to face oncoming traffic.

*****

Trail food for me has been a combination of ready made things picked up in shops, mostly sandwiches, as well as things I can heat up with minimal cooking.  Instant rice mixed with tinned fish is a staple.  It isn’t the most flavoursome meal but it fills you up and is relatively healthy.  

But when in a town, I’ll eat at local cafes and pubs.  Favourite meals so far have included the fish and chips at the South Pole Inn in Anascaul, the pizza at Tango Street Food in Killarney, and the grilled local fish that I had at Pisces Restaurant in Castlegregory.

And of course, it’s Ireland, I wouldn’t be exploring if I didn’t sample the pubs along the way.  I do like a pint of Guinness, so that’s been my beverage of choice when in a pub.  

Probably my favourite pub and pint was at O’Connor’s Bar in Cloghane – it had been a rainy blustery day, and was still a rainy evening, cold to boot, and I was tired and cranky.  

I walked into a properly old-fashioned place, cobwebby wooden beams overhead and dusty flagstones on the floor, with a bar propped up by regulars and the requisite loud American, a turf fire smoldering away.  

That pint was delicious. I spent 2 hours eavesdropping on the conversations going on all around me

“that bloke is creepy, look at him leering”

“who’s that?” – referring to a movie playing on a telly in the corner – “Sean Connery”; “who’s Sean Connery?”

“What if we buy a round for everyone in the bar and put it on the musicians tab”

and listening to a young guy playing the piano and singing songs like Raglan Road.  There was the Celtic magic I’d been searching for.  Sláinte.

*****

And it wouldn’t be Ireland without tea.  One of the toughest parts of the Kerry Way for me was the section between Glencar and the Black Valley.  This had two steep climbs in it, and by the time I had huffed and puffed up the second one, I was gasping and hungry.  

So I paused at the top, got out my cooking gear, and made myself a cup of tea – cure’s everything, as Ann’s gran used to say.

*****

In walking the Kerry Way , and then the Dingle Way, I covered two of the three most popular walking trails in Ireland (the other being the Wicklow Way).  Even though it’s still early in the tourist season, there were many other walkers with whom I crossed paths.  

They come from all over, though I would say that the majority of hikers that I’ve met so far have been from Germany, with Americans a close second.  Other accents and languages I’ve overheard include French, Spanish, Icelandic, Irish, English, Australian, Canadian, and Italian.

It’s an international community, and very different from my experience walking in Canada, on the Bruce Trail, the Island Walk, and my Nova Scotia journey last year.  The national waymarked trails of Ireland are a treasure, and I’m deeply jealous – I would love it if Canada had such a system of trails dedicated to walkers.  

*****

When I reached Camp, after walking in the wind and rain for several hours, I was delighted to find a snug little place called Anne’s Cafe.  I went in, grateful to be warm and dry, and ordered a pot of tea and a bite.

I was just sitting down when a young family came in and asked if they could share the table.  They had two youngsters, about 5 and 3 years old.  

We got chatting, and I explained a bit about the walk I’m on, and they talked about walking the Camino Frances a few years ago. 

We were comparing experiences, and I said that one of the things that I had told myself on my previous long walk in Nova Scotia was that I should try to find at least one moment every day when I felt at peace, a place of total calmness.

It occurred to me as I was explaining it, that I hadn’t been consciously doing that on this trip.  I had had my Zen moments, but I hadn’t had to say to myself “ok, focus, this is your Zen moment “.  I realized that I had simply felt it – absorbed the calm in the moment – without having to prompt myself.  

I guess that’s growth.  Old dogs and new tricks and all that.

Where to Next?

From Tralee, I’ve changed my route a bit.  I think I want to head as directly towards Doolin as I can so that I can spend a bit more time on the Aran Islands, and then in Connemara.

Weather and circumstances may change that, of course, but my time is pretty flexible.  As long as I make it to Galway in time to catch a train to Dublin so that I can rejoin Ann, I’m fine.  Let’s see where I go.

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Walking SW Ireland #4 – Killarney to Kenmare

Robert Bradt 1 Comment


Between mid-May to late June 2024, I will be walking along the SW coast of Ireland, taking in the Kerry Way, the Dingle Way, the North Kerry Way, and parts of the Burren Way in Clare and the Western Way in Galway. This is the story of part of that journey.

A big thank you to everyone who has bought me a coffee over the past year. The Buy Me a Coffee service allows patrons like you to fund writers like me, to cover things like the costs of running this blog, new shoes and gear, and journeys like this. If that sounds like a worthy idea to you, then go ahead – keep buying me coffees.

*****

Where Am I?

In Killarney, at a B&B, catching up on blog writing.  

I arrived in Kenmare by taking the train from Dublin to Killarney, getting in at about 1:30.  The train ride was fine, not a ton of scenery, but quiet so I was able to read for a bit.  

As soon as I stepped off the train, my feet were itching to go.  But I had to visit a grocery store first for dinner that night, and some food for the next day.  The local Tesco’s had a good selection of simple healthy hiker foods so I stocked up.  But in a foretaste of things to come, I realized later that I had lost one of the rubber tips for my hiking poles.

After finally setting off, I was quickly at and then past the official start of the Kerry Way near the Killarney Tourist Office, opposite Killarney House. 

I sailed along the path beside the busy roadway, with Sunday tourists out in force on a nice day.

It’s about a 4 km walk to reach the entrance to Killarney National Park, through which the trail traverses. Soon I was staring at stunning views over Mucross Lake towards the hills.

After a quick but much-needed pit stop at one of the Park’s conveniences (a thousand flowers of blessing upon the inventor of the toilet), I joined a steady stream of day hikers climbing the path to the Torc Waterfall.  It’s beautiful, I assume, though I couldn’t see it as it was meant to be, unadorned with selfie grabbers.

The climb up past the waterfall is steep, about 100m in total, but after that I was out past the last of the day trippers and onto the trail proper.

I walked at a good pace on fresh legs and feet, anxious to find a camping spot.  I’d spent more time than I had planned to get to this point.  It was past 5 pm as I approached the edge of the forested area.  My original thought had been to camp just inside these woods, near the Owengarrif River, which on satellite pics looked doable.  

In practice however the ground was too uneven, a foretaste of what I was to encounter along much of the trail – the right combination of sheltered, level, dry, and off the trail was elusive much of the way, as I was to find.

But I did settle on a spot after searching a bit, an old sheep pasture with a lovely view, and set up camp there for the night.

After an eventful night (more on that later), I woke to rain and slogged the next day, soaked and grumpy, into Kenmare.

A hot Irish breakfast and strong pot of tea did wonders, reviving me enough to find a nice B&B that was right beside the trail just outside of town, and I checked in there to change out of and dry my sopping clothes.   The first 2 nights had given me a wet intro to my journey.

Stories Along The Way

As I have learned on my travels in the past, trail angels come in all forms.  The first on this journey was Fionnulla, at the Kenmare B&B,  who let me put my wet boots, pack, and socks in the boiler room to dry out, and took my wet sweat pants and threw them in the dryer.  Between that, and judicious use of the hair dryer, I had all my stuff dried off ready for the next day.

*****

Right near the start of my journey, about 2 km out of Killarney, I met Chris, a Kerry Way thru hiker who was just finishing.  As we sized up each other, I realized he and I were pretty similar – same build, same age, same #HikerDude fashion sense, even similar Osprey packs.  

We chatted for a bit, and he remarked about how wonderful the trail is. “You’ll love it”, he said. I walked away feeling pretty good about myself – if he was about my age and had just solo walked it, then it should be no problem.  Right?

*****

As I said, I had an eventful first night, on my seemingly lovely bit of sheep pasture.  

By the time I had set up my tent, made dinner, and climbed into bed, it was about 8 pm.  The skies were clear and there was no wind to speak of.  Still, I had made sure to place two bracing guy lines on the tent plus added two extra side pegs.  I drifted off to sleep thinking, “I should be ok”.

I woke up at about 10:30 to the sound of rain against the tent, driven by moderate winds.  I fell back asleep, only to be awakened at about 3:30 am by the side of the tent slapping my face.  The wind had picked up tremendously, and the whole thing was shaking.  I reached out and checked the corners from the inside – all seemed secure so far.

After that, I just lay awake, weighing up my options.  The tent was taking a pounding but it was holding, in part because my weight lying on the tent floor was helping to provide stability.  It was still dark at 4, and at 4:30, and finally a predawn twilight crept in around 5.  I could see that things were holding, but the wind wasn’t just refusing to ease, it was getting fiercer, as was the lashing rain.  

I was tempted to make a run for the trail, about 200 meters up the sloped pasture, but packing up my gear and taking down the tent in that gale was foolish.  Better to wait it out.

Suddenly, a corner peg let go, followed by one on the side holding the vestibule. I snatched a couple of spare pegs from my pack and stretched out on the wet ground to grab the snapping fabric, jabbing the corner peg in as best I could, and wrestling with a flapping peg strap to get the other one in.  But that held for just a minute or two and then it was loose again and crackling wildly, like a blown out sail in a gale.

It was clear that I couldn’t hold the tent down with my hands from the inside, the wind kept tearing it from my grip. I risked losing it altogether if another peg went, so I decided to make a run for it. I turned from madly stuffing my gear into the pack to see that one of my trekking poles, which is used to support the tent, had come loose from the grommet which should have held it and had punctured the tent fabric. 

Yanking out the trekking pole while trying not to tear things further, rolling on the wet ground out of the tent dragging my pack, and simultaneously trying to hold onto the tent fabric, was a slow motion nightmare. Somehow I gathered up the sopping fabric and stuffed it into the pack, trying to count the pegs as I pulled them out.  

I was missing 3 but thought myself lucky it wasn’t worse. As it was I had to stumble across the uneven ground in untied boots to catch my pack cover before the gale whipped it off into the gloom.

Then came a slipping, sliding, soaking climb back up to the trail, more panic-driven than I want to admit.  I couldn’t find the spot in the stone wall around the pasture that led out the way I’d come down, so I searched frantically for a path through thickets of prickly gorse, sloshing through boggy puddles which filled my boots to the brim with muddy water.

At one point I took a wrong step into a hole and lost my balance, falling face first into the muck.  “Slow down and think!”  I struggled back to my feet, checked make sure both boots were still on, and kept moving upwards, panting through grasping gorse and snagging brambles, at last nearly falling to the ground when I finally reached the trail.

Taking a deep breath – “slow down dummy!” – helped me to regroup. I realized I was still wearing my sleep pants, just cheap cotton sweats, and they were soaked. My light windbreaker was saturated and my clothes underneath were wet to the skin.  I couldn’t change clothes there, but I could and did empty a pool of water from each boot before lacing them up properly.

And since there was no way I was crawling back to Killarney with my tail between my legs, I turned towards Kenmare, slipping and sloshing with each step.  Finally, about a km or two later, I found a semi-sheltered spot where I could take a breather, eat something, change out of my wet sweats into my hiking pants, take off my socks and wring them out, and generally get a grip on myself.

After that, I relaxed a bit.  I wasn’t in any immediate danger, I was relatively warm even though sopping, and Kenmare was only about 15 km away.  I trudged through gradually diminishing rain and winds, until just a misty mizzle remained to ensure I stayed wet all the way into town.

A hard lesson that could have been worse.  But I made it through.  What would the Trail bring next to test me.

Where to Next?

From Kenmare, I continued to follow the Kerry Way – Blackwater Bridge, Sneem, Waterville, and Cahersiveen were up next.

Walking SW Ireland #3 – Getting There

Robert Bradt


Between mid-May to late June 2024, I will be walking along the SW coast of Ireland, taking in the Kerry Way, the Dingle Way, the North Kerry Way, and parts of the Burren Way in Clare and the Western Way in Galway. This is the story of part of that journey.

A big thank you to everyone who has bought me a coffee over the past year. The Buy Me a Coffee service allows patrons like you to fund writers like me, to cover things like the costs of running this blog, new shoes and gear, and journeys like this. If that sounds like a worthy idea to you, then go ahead – keep buying me coffees.

*****

Where Am I?

On the train from Dublin to Killarney.

I left this morning from Ann’s cousin Mairead’s house in Castleknock outside Dublin, and walked through Phoenix Park to the station, a lovely start to the journey with fine spring weather, birdsong, and green grass and lilac scents.

To get to Mairead’s, I left home a week ago, with Ann, and travelled to Ontario to visit first my family in Leamington, and then Ann’s family in Peterborough.  It was great to catch up and see everyone and to celebrate my father-in-law Stan’s 90th birthday, and yet I was mentally counting down the days and then the hours till departure.

My flight out of Toronto Dublin was ok, the usual airport stuff, and the usual lack of sleep on the plane.  Mairead collected me at the airport, and after a quick cup of tea and a chat, a nap and a shower revived me in time for an early dinner with her and her daughters.  After a pint of the black at the local pub, and a whiskey nightcap, it was an early bedtime and a much needed sleep.

The next day, I walked into Dublin along the Royal Canal, beautiful and peaceful under clear blue-skied sunshine

and meandered in town, picking up a fuel canister for my stove and a few trail snacks.  I ate lunch like a tourist off Grafton Street, and savoured a beer.  I strolled past St Stephen’s Green, and St Patrick’s Cathedral, and the Guinness Storehouse, and through Phoenix Park, getting back to Castleknock in time for a cup of tea and a shower before dinner.

After some adventures at the Hill of Tara, and a last glass of wine, it was after midnight before getting to sleep.  But I woke early, before my alarm, and was coffeed up and ready to go before 8.  

And with a quick hug and a thank you, I was off.

Finally.

Stories Along The Way

When we reached Ontario, Ann and I decided to spend the night on our own in Stratford, so we’d have a bit of quiet to ourselves to celebrate my birthday.  We had a lovely dinner at a place called Lovage, and the next morning as we were packing up I noticed that I had somehow chipped a tooth, not realizing it at the time.

For the next couple of days, I worried at it, running my tongue over the bicuspid in question, trying to decide if it was bad enough to have fixed before I left.  I didn’t have any pain from the tooth, but it nagged at me, and finally when we were in Peterborough 2 days before my departure I decided I should get it fixed.

Since my regular dentist was in Nova Scotia, I called around and found a walk-in dental clinic in Toronto and arranged to go in the afternoon before my flight.  

When I got into the chair and explained to the dentist about the tooth, he took a look, took another look, and sat back to ask – “where? I can’t see a chip”.

It was a small one, granted, but it felt obvious to me having had multiple such chips of my too-brittle teeth over the years.  He finally picked at it and agreed that if it was bugging me, it was enough of a problem to fix – “We aim to please”, he exclaimed – and without the need for much more than a bit of epoxy filling and some polishing, I was in and out in 15 minutes.

*****

Walking through Phoenix Park on the way to the train station, I glanced over towards the south.  The Wicklow Mountains loomed, close to the edge of the city, mist shrouded and mysterious.  I had a sudden urge to turn right and walk towards them, throwing out my careful plan, to wander the hills and go where I pleased.

My feet were in auto mode, stride locked in and step by step the urge faded.  

But what if ….

*****

The night I arrived in Dublin coincided with an impressive display of the northern lights, which Mairead’s daughter caught on camera and shared with us.  Since in Dublin there was too much light pollution to see, the next night, my final one in Dublin, we decided to go out of town to the Hill of Tara, to get a better view of what was to have been another great display.

We reached the hill around 2115, at sunset, to find a jammed car park with the overflow crammed along the side of the narrow road.  We found a spot and walked up the hill, exploring a bit whilst waiting for the twilight to fade.

Unfortunately, clouds were moving in, and while the slim crescent moon was a charming sight, we couldn’t see the aurora through the mist.  We gave up after an hour and headed back to the car.

By now, the parked cars were lined along the road for several hundred meters, making it a one-lane passage.  But as we started down the hill, we came to a car coming up, and behind it 3 more.  With nowhere to go but back, Mairead started to slowly inch a hundred meters in the dark, in reverse, and in little spurts and wobbles as she dodged pedestrians, overhanging shrubs, and jutting cars.

We got lucky when a parked car left, putting another downhill soul in front of us and by now several behind us, allowing an uphill soul to park, and giving us the numerical advantage to start down again, now forcing the cars in front of us to reverse themselves.

They slowly inched back as we crept forward, and after 20 stressful minutes, and with a surprising lack of curses from Mairead (I would have been swearing down the gods upon all heads), we finally reached the road back to Dublin.

This is why I walk – no traffic jams for me.

*****

Preparing for this journey has been a long process, probably too long as I endlessly stared at maps and imagined routes and stopping points.  Part of my prep has been spent watching YouTube videos made by a number of Irish walkers, in particular Ellie and Carl who have a website and YouTube channel called Tough Soles, and Derek Cullen who has his own adventure website and channel.  

These were great sources, showing me the conditions on the trail and pointing out things to see along the way.  And I especially liked Derek’s mantra, which he repeats every day:  “Feet good, body good, head good, heart good – All good”.

Thank you for your inspiration.

Where to Next?

My train journey ends in Killarney, and about a kilometer from the station is the official start point of the Kerry Way.  

I’ll follow that route for the next 10 days, clockwise round the circular route, from Killarney to Kenmare, to Sneem, to Waterville, to Cahersiveen, to Glenbeigh, to Glencoe, to Blackwater, and finally back into Kerry.

I’ll be camping along the way, with a planned first night somewhere off the trail near Killarney National Park, perhaps 8-10 km outside of Killarney. Hope it’s relatively dry.

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