Lugnaquilla

LUGNAQUILLA

Written by Sandra Behan

I drove into Fenton’s Car Park at the Glen of Imaal.  Black clouds concealed the top of the mountains and the sky threatened rain.  A strange feeling came over me as I stepped out of my car; the air was cold but fresh. 

I remembered the last time I climbed Lugnaquilla. I had struggled towards the end and you reassured me,

“Don’t look up Jane just take one-step at a time; you’re doing great,” you said.

A tear rolled down my face as I reminisced. 

I sat down on a rock to lace my worn boots.  As usual I struggled to zip my gaiters, you had always helped me with them. I dressed in layers, body armour, waterproofs, scarf and gloves.  You would be impressed.  I checked my GPS and made sure I had spare batteries. 

You loved the mountains and walked every Sunday, come rain or shine. You always phoned me as you sat on top of your latest pinnacle, with a well-deserved coffee and cheese sandwich.

You encouraged me to join you on the mountains in the past couple of years.  You taught me how to read maps and use a GPS.  I loved your motivation and passion for nature.   

I cautiously walked up the wide gravel track used by the Army as a firing range. I had checked it was safe to climb, there was no red flag flying so I kept going.  I didn’t notice the steep but short ascent of Camara Hill. The track levelled off and Lug looked daunting in the distance. 

I walked steadily, sometimes in a daze.  A bolt of lightning tore across the sky and a roar of thunder made me jump.

************

My mind drifted back to that fateful Sunday morning in 1977. I was at mass in my local church. I saw you from the corner of my eye. You always stood in the same spot at the back of the church.

You had black shoulder length curly hair, vibrant blue eyes and a charming smile. You wore a long navy coat with brass buttons and thick navy corduroy trousers.  You walked over to me with a cheeky grin on your face to shake my hand,

“Peace be with you”, you said.

You held my hand a little longer than you should have and I felt the colour rise in my cheeks.

When mass was over, you waited outside the church. Boldly, you introduced yourself as you leaned against the wall.  A cigarette hung out of the side of your mouth.  

We chatted and laughed the whole way down the Navan Road in a cloud of white smoke.  I detested cigarettes and you gave them up for me.  From that day, we became inseparable.

************

The memory sustained me through the walk up Lug. I stopped half way and ate a bar of chocolate to give me energy.  You warned me not to eat too much until I reached the top; it would slow me down, you said.

As I climbed the final kilometre, the terrain got steep and rocky. The clouds closed in overhead and a shower of hailstones as big as cotton balls came out of nowhere.  I pulled my hood up; pulling my scarf tight around my face.

I was tired and had to push myself to keep going. Counting steps when it got difficult, I could hear you whisper,

“Don’t look up Jane; take one-step at a time. You’re doing great.”

My heart lifted as I took the final few steps, my feet and legs ached. But it was worth it.  I scrambled the last 20 steps over stones and rocks to the summit. The landscape was barren; it had a harsh feel but was spectacularly beautiful.

I used the cairn as a windbreaker and sat down with a flask of coffee and a cheese sandwich. The sun chose that moment to break through the dark clouds in great watery shafts of gold.  I could feel the tears sting my eyes as I carefully lifted the urn from my bag and placed it beside me.

When I was ready I walked to where the ground dropped away steeply into the valley. I scattered rose petals, took the lid of the urn and watched as your ashes fell and then rose, high over the cliffs.

“Goodbye my love,  I whispered.

Words 724