Tackling Croagh Patrick

Thursday, July 15, 2010
3:00 p.m.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Only a few more steps to go, I tell myself. I can do this.

Two hours and fifteen minutes earlier, I had no clue what was in store for me. I knew the facts on the mountain – it was 2,500 feet tall, it was located in Westport of County Mayo, it was an important sight of pilgrimage, that at the end of Saint Patrick’s 40-day fast he threw a silver bell down the side of the mountain and banished all snakes from Ireland – but I never imagined how arduous, challenging and steep that mountain would be.

Starting out, the climb has a steep incline, about a 45˚ angle. Small trickles of water run in and out of loose pebbles and rocks. Sun shines brightly overhead, making my three layers unbearably warm. No more than ten minutes in, I strip down to my t-shirt. As I reach higher ground, and stop to look behind me, the town of Westport is almost fully in view. White cottages, lines of cars on gray, gravel roads, brown harbors surrounded by sailboats, and forest-green islands appear in the distance. To my left, a fog sweeps by, making the dirt hills and sea of trees invisible. To my right, clear sapphire skies light up the landscape full of green pastures of sheep. Tiny, purple flowers vegetate on small patches of grass. Making my way farther up what I thought was the main mountain, I see Croagh Patrick far off to the right. It seems unreachable; the summit can’t even be seen due to dark fog. This fog encroaches on me as I continue on. I take a break at a bridge between the current mountain I’m on and the start toward Croagh Patrick. As my sweat dries, the temperature becomes increasingly colder. I put my layers back on.

Halfway there, my legs begin to burn an unbearable sting, my body envelops in sweat and my left foot painfully cramps together. After a short sprinkle of rain, the narrowing path to the top becomes muddier, the rocks looser. What started as roughly a 45˚ angle climb has now become closer to 80˚. The increasing elevation causes flashes of hot and cold. The change in altitude causes my breathing to become heavier and my nose to steadily run. I feel the need to stop every few minutes to catch my breath and shake off the burning in my legs. The murky fog is dense and heavy now. I am unable to see the summit up until a few steps away. Right after making these final few steps, rain starts to fall. I have reached the summit. As the rain comes down on me, I perch myself on a rock near the edge of the mountain. Pools of water form in my eyes, but I successfully hold back the tears. Exhaustion, elation, self-pride, pain and disbelief overwhelm my tired, wet body.

When it comes time to descend, gravity is not my friend. In its on way, the climb down Croagh Patrick is just as challenging as the climb up. I turn my body sideways to help with traction and prevent myself from toppling over. Some people whiz by me with their climbing sticks and ski poles dug into the ground while others from my group slip and fall, scraping their hands and knees on the jagged rocks. A large amount of the fog has dispersed and my surroundings are different than before. Looking out onto Westport, I see dispersed sand bars in the lake. Once I hit the second stretch of the climb downward, the streams of water flow more rapidly than on the way up. I take another look out at the sheep in the pastures, but now I can also hear them “baaaa-ing.” The sky has returned to its clear sapphire color and the temperature has become warmer once again.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Only a few more steps to go until I exit rocky ground and enter the smooth, paved road I began on. I can’t help but turn around and stare at the massive mountain I just tackled. I did it.