Camping in the Shadow of Brandon

September 19-21, 2008

Disclaimer: At no point during this weekend trip did I participate in alcohol consumption or smoking of any sort. I remained the “sober judgment” of the group, and am quite glad I did so.


While the American youth worries and stresses about the men and women they will become, my new Irish friends are crammed into a car that is bursting at the seams. We have surfboards on top, tents, sleeping bags, bodies and a dog shoved inside. They roll a joint and pass it around, letting the smoke slip out of cracked windows as we snake down mountain roads. It’s a beautiful day here—the best kind that exist, and it feels almost like Spring Break. (At least that is what the guys keep shouting out the window to innocent civilians as we drive by.) For some reason I laugh each time they do so. It’s smooth and easy; it feels and smells of freedom and eternal youth. It’s a different kind of living that goes on here, one that is more…alive, if that even makes any sense at all.

Our weekend begins with the opening of a gate sporting a sign that reads, “Camping prohibited by law.” Naturally this worries me, but I trust the more experienced bunch to bring me to a safe place and so I sit quietly in the back seat while we launch the car over bumps of grass and surf through sandy paths. At moments I figure the wheels of the car will be swallowed entirely by the sand, but we somehow make it through to a spot that suits for camping. Four tents and six people; two couples and I am one of the odd ones out. Still, I do not mind pitching my own shelter, and it is actually quite a relief to have my own space. The Siberian husky we brought along is clearly in her element here, and she is freed from the leash and allowed to roam around as she pleases. Only when she needs a drink of water do we see her; I imagine she is having more than her fill of chasing rabbits and dodging the rolling tide. Our campsite is within a stone’s throw of the ocean so the air smells faintly of salt and we have the constant sound of crashing waves to make beautiful background music. Before long it is nighttime and it is the best I have been able to see the stars since I arrived here in Ireland. No city lights and no fog, just the wide open sky with a campfire and six friends sitting below. Drinks and smokes are passed around, stories and laughs are shared, and of course the guitar is brought out. I sit in silence and blink back tears as the guy sitting next to me strums hard. He throws his head back and sings his soul into the night. There are moments in life when I get embarrassed by listening to a loud voice singing untamed into the surroundings, but not tonight. Tonight I cry because I am witnessing the stripped and vulnerable center of people who have reached out to me, and I am overwhelmed by the good that I meet. It is too dark to write and viciously cold in my tent, but I fall asleep to visions caught by firelight and comforting thoughts of how it felt to learn people in such an authentic atmosphere.

I wake up close to nature and decide that “using the toilet” where there is none, is not my favorite way to begin the day. (By the close of this weekend, I am over it.) Today we are climbing Mount Brandon, the second highest point in Ireland, which sits at an elevation a little over 3,100ft. To mountain climbers this height is anything but impressive, but to a girl from Iowa who is still new to mountains at all, it is an exciting challenge. Of course before we begin our climb, we bypass a sign that reads, “No dogs allowed,” and we all laugh as our husky, Aurora, hops the fence. Our laughs turn to gasps as we realize there are sheep dotting the hillside, and there seems to be no catching her now. After a long while, her owner finally drags her up to the rest of the group and we realize we’ll have to leash her somehow. She is leashed by a rope that came attached to one of the backpacks, and then attached to a climber. Huskies are famous for pulling dogsleds so tugging a human up a small mountain is effortless for her, but extremely difficult for the unlucky passenger. It’s a humorous sight to watch—a person being pulled along by a large dog with nothing he can do about it. His legs are far apart and his arms out for balance. It’s funny and yet I feel guilty laughing when he is tugged too quickly and unexpectedly by her excitement. The climb takes us longer than it should, but we have inexperienced athletes in our group and most of them need an occasional smoke. I have yet to understand how one can smoke a cigarette or joint while attempting to do something physical. All the starting and stopping disrupts the pace I would prefer, but there’s no reason to complain. I feel that I am “just along for the ride,” so I wait patiently as they feed their addictions. We eventually lose the path and it proves difficult to summit, but it is well worth the effort. We pose for pictures next to the plain wooden cross that adorns the top, and it is even more satisfying to take a break for lunch. A ham sandwich has never tasted so good! I find the climb down to be the hardest on my knees, as it is challenging to resist slipping down loose rocks, but it could mean tumbling down the whole mountain and bringing others down with me, so I take my time. Though I believe the descent is all about focus and control, we cannot ignore the approaching darkness and must do our best to beat it.

Another night of campfire songs, and we are greeted with a morning full of waves ideal for surfing. The boys strip down to their boxers and wrap a towel around their waists. It’s actually hilarious to watch them hop up and down attempting to squeeze damp, black wetsuits over their pale Irish legs. I have come to realize that it is anything but effortless to dress for surf, especially with a suit that is somewhat wet from the day before. I decide not to take part in the water sport, but lounge in the sun instead. (They said it was “Spring Break,” right?) Before I left for Ireland, I packed a swimsuit without thinking I would ever use it, but sure enough, the country surprised me with sunshine and dolphins and surf. The trip comes to a close and in order to exit the spot we stayed, we must honk our way through lounging cattle, who lay directly in our line of fire. The lazy beasts eventually move and we are back on the road again, back to everyday life in Ireland, which is still not quite the same as being home.