sugarloaf*
The day dawned bright and clear. There was anticipation in the air. The time of the big ascent had come. I walked up to Christchurch and met my friend Dr Ortho, our breath clouding the early morning air, the normal banter muted with the anticipation of the day ahead. Ropes were checked and re-checked, carabiners linked together, and climbing apparel donned…With that we commenced the long drive down to Eniskerry south of Dublin. The obligatory road diversions and traffic failed to dampen our enthusiasm and we made it to the starting point of our expedition.
It was a 5km trek to the foothills of the Sugarloaf Mountain. We dodged affluent traffic down the C roads of the Dublin/Wicklow countryside, all the while making small adjustments to packs and equipment for the invariably tough climb ahead; the mountain looming silently ever closer, small clouds obscuring the mighty summit. We eventually arrived the the grassy foothills and walked through a small farm gate glancing nervously at the precipitous peak above. With nary a hesitant step we marched forward, thighs burning as we ascended the steep slope. Through the low-lying fields, before we needed to suit up for the cooler weather and well before the air became too thin; we picked our way through the bones of mountain goats (well sheep really) who had succumbed to the perils of altitude and natural selection.
Closer to the peak we hit the scree, which marked the separation between humble farmer and die-hard city-dwelling afternoon hill climber. We pressed on. Our dogged footsteps sinking ankle deep into the thin slippery shale, the slope ever increasing in angle until it felt more like we were lying against the hill crawling on our bellies skyward. At the base of the indomitable cone of the Sugarloaf, we had our first casualty. Older Nurse (who later became New-Age Christian Nurse following a bizarre and thankfully ill-defined tale of her ‘moment of clarity’ over lunch) began to flag. The combination of shale-blindness, and the thin Irish air had taken its toll. It was unclear whether she would be able to push through for the final ascent.
Dehydration can cause many symptoms, one of which is hallucinations. It was this affliction I believed I was faced with, when we had climbed one particularly tortuous section on the Eastern face. I thought I saw and heard a child of about 7 years old yelling to his parents. ‘Impossible at this height.’ I thought to myself and shook my head pushing on slowly. I couldn’t tell if my companions were similarly afflicted, but I kept it to myself thinking they would tell me to stop and return to base camp. It would only be a matter of time before things would get worse. The hallucinations continued. I was certain that we passed family groups and even an octogenarian – it’s crazy what the mind can do.
The final push, over 200 vertical feet seemed easier than I thought. A rocky scramble, air whistling through my pursed lips, feet cramping from the narrow toeholds and then bliss as my hands found flat ground, my head popped up and there in front of me was an easy 1m climb and the summit would be ours. As I stood on the ‘roof of Dublin’ I swept my gaze around 360 degrees. The suburb of Bray a huddled cluster on the coastal shore. The gardens of Powerscourt (Ireland’s Versailles) an indistinct cultivated blob, and the surrounding hills lay below me. So too did the family sitting on the other side of the summit, their children playing gaily on the flat. I looked closer. They had a picnic basket…The pack on my pack weighed uncomfortably…I looked down the southern face of the mountain where only 100m below cars ventured in and out of the carpark, where couples and the elderly, yes the elderly, began their trek up the easy narrow path that led to the summit.
I looked over at Dr Ortho and Older Nurse, both sweating and tired with the type of faded glee that only heavy exertion can bring. Dr Ortho was smiling:
‘Nice view isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, especially of the car park…’
‘Sure but you wouldn’t have had the satisfaction if we’d driven up would you?’
That shit.
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*Note: lots of artistic licence taken with this account
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