I have recently completed a three day ride and hike in County Kerry in the Republic of Ireland, specifically the Dingle peninsula, and would like to share my trip and my reasons for going.
My mobile phone photographs don't really do Co Kerry justice, and if I’m honest I lack the ability to compose and frame a decent picture.
To be truthful I haven't camped out properly for about eighteen years apart from doing the back yard wilderness thing with my young children. Co Kerry is renowned for its breathtaking scenery and I had only visited the area once previously in late autumn when it was cold, grey and overcast.
In search of adventure I have recently read lots of motorcycle adventure books which filled me with admiration, fascination and envy. I felt like I was missing out on something and also felt that at the age of forty-three life was in danger of slipping away from me. One evening whilst moaning to Avril about not getting out and riding for pleasure she said to me, “What’s stopping you”? I had leave already booked from work, I had the permission from my loving wife, I had no excuses.
Although the trip only lasted for three fantastic days I managed about two weeks of sheer enjoyment out of it. Like a child I packed and re-packed my equipment pretending to my wife it was vital to get the weight down.
I brought an ordnance survey map (# 70 of the discovery range if you please) of the area I was going to be visiting. When I wasn’t packing and re-packing I was spreading the map out on the floor imagining my routes and where I would stay. I booked a pitch at the Brandon Mountain hostel for the sum of €10.00 per night including breakfast.
I set off on a beautiful afternoon in bright blue skies with the temperature reading 22C. (The weather was so fantastic I wore my Hein Gericke mesh jacket and gloves, which had not ridden in anger since last summer). I made great progress on the N52 picking up the M7 motorway heading SW past Limerick for the 240km journey which took about three hours including a fuel stop, tuna sandwich and brief episode of getting lost.
https://www.google.ie/maps/dir/39+T...1acd026ced6e40e6!2m2!1d-10.194287!2d52.186122
The road was very easy going with beautiful rolling hills until Newcastle west Co Limerick where the motorway kind off stops suddenly. It took me by surprise as I encountered a 4km tailback. Initially I thought there had been an accident as the traffic was just not moving. I filtered past the traffic (much to the annoyance of many a cager) travelling at about 50kph. I later found out that it is a particularly bad spot for traffic at peak times because for some reason the motorway does not bypass around the town.
The road improved again but remained fairly nondescript until I got to Tralee bay (Tralee is also famous for an annual beauty pageant called “The Rose of Tralee”) Rose of Tralee (festival - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia) when I came across the Irish version of a dyke and the lovely looking Blennervillel windmill, which was slightly wierd.
Tralee bay was the main port of emigration from County Kerry during the Great Famine (1845 to 1848). Soon after the contrast of the windmill which I have always associated with the very flat Netherlands, I began to wind my way up the hills of Kerry to be met with the jaw dropping sight of the Dingle Mountains. It was at that moment mind blowing, I had to pull over and stop the bike to take it all in.
Just as I was lining up to take the mother of all panoramic photographs to post on this great forum, a man pulled up in his (no doubt) poxy company car and parked right across my aperture. Undeterred I took a few pictures and rode on talking to myself “That view will take some beating”.
Shortly after this I managed to lose, firstly myself on some wonderful traffic free bends, and then secondly my satnav signal.
Relying on my trusty internal compass (which must have rusted in the rain some eighteen years previously) I got lost on the mountain roads and spent about twenty minutes hacking around until I remembered that the Dingle peninsula is right on the coast. I was suitably elevated enough to see for miles so I headed for the bay which indeed turned out to be Dingle.
Arriving in Dingle I needed to get off the bike because the FZ6 seat was trying to give me a playground wedgie. I got my map out and being the intrepid explorer that I am soon realised that I was on the wrong side of the mountain to where I wanted to be.
This error in fact turned out to be a slight embarrassment and a Godsend. Without wishing to embellish you all with the gruesome details and mindful that some members could in fact at this time be about to start, (a) breakfast, (b) lunch (c) dinner, my embarrassing episode involved a call to nature on a not so secluded bend and a kindly looking pair of old ladies.
But I believe in Karma and Ying and yang and my yang so to speak came to me in the form of the amazing Conor Pass
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dingle_Peninsula
[/URL]
A beautifully crafted road up the side of a mountain with breathtaking views
I summated the pass and was then drawn to the sheer drop. I had one of those Hitch**** Vertigo moments and for about three to four seconds my eyes were swimming as I tried to prevent myself throwing myself over the precipice.
I was only able to get a couple of pictures of the beautiful Glacial lakes of which Loughadoon is the largest (another one of those “Nothing’s going to beat this” kind of moments). My satnav had once again kicked in and I once again set off.
I took a gentle ride down Conors pass into the village of Colghane. I stopped by a man hard at work Painting a building in preparedness for an impending RTE TV crew to arrive and do a piece on this picturesque village by the sea. As it happens Chris is a top fella and fellow motorcyclist. The first thing he says to me was Hi I’m Chris, Your bike sounds great. I run a B&B called River view cottage. I have a fully kitted out workshop. “My tools are available if you need them” Do you want to meet me for a beer later”? “Was this my motor Eden”?
I actually felt sad that I wasn’t staying with Chris as straight off the bat we had some pretty good banter.
Chris kindly directed me to the hostel where I found my pitch right at the waters edge.
I had the tent erected in less than ten minutes and I had a beer in my hand within twenty minutes.
The people of Colghane are remarkably friendly and I soon joined in the banter and watching a bit of the world cup.
The only down side was I had no mobile signal what so ever. The pub had WIFI and like so many “Man” plans that fail to impress our long suffering spouses. I had the brainwave of letting Avril know that I had arrived at Colghane ok by Facebook, but not by the more secure IM feature of FB, no no no, I just posted on my wall for all and sundry that I was (a) in great form (b) in a public house (c) not wishing to come home soon. Lead balloons have lasted longer. It must have been a combination of altitude and the wonderful Creans Larger which those Kerryites refuse to ship up to my neck of the woods.
The next morning I got up early and decided to walk along the pilgrims route.
The lovely weather and beautiful scenery made the
13km hike seem to pass by very quickly, I met a number of fellow hikers on the way and I was struck immediately how hikers / walkers are very similar to motorcyclists.
Walking in the mountains is all about taking and accepting risk based upon your level of experience and skill. People would stop and say hello, ask where I was going and be happy to offer advice on different routes, basically making sure I was ok. I am a complete novice at this activity but have to say I am completely bitten by the bug.
I experienced some amazing views and wonderful weather. To put it into perspective with how lucky I was with the weather, I met a local couple who had waited twenty two weekends to get out on the mountain in good visibility.
pg.html
That evening I headed back to the hostel absolutely shattered but grinning ear from ear. I had a fantastic shower and headed out to the pub for a bit of banter, a few pints and to watch the world cup.
Outside the pub I noticed an unusual display, it appeared to be an old aircraft engine
Over the years the damp salty air of the coast had slowly eaten the aluminium cylinders. To me they looked like partially eroded sandcastles as the tide comes in to once again reclaim them.
Inside the pub there was an aircraft tail wheel and part of the rear wing. Intrigued I asked the landlord where the aircraft parts had come from. He was a big man who had an even bigger voice, without any further to do he regaled the whole pub with the story. A brilliant story of how during WWII on the 20th August 1940 a German Fw200 F8+KH of I/KG40 crewed by
Kurt Mollenhauer
Dr. Eric Kruger
FW Ludwig Wochner
SFW Robert Beumer
Unt. Hans Bell
Gef. Kurt Kyck
Crashed on Faha ridge (Mt Brandon) in bad weather, they were in fact the first German crew to land in neutral Ireland in WWII. The men of Cloghane set off to greet the pilots and crew. Ger O’Regan writes a lovely account about the episode in this link: http://homepage.eircom.net/~wrgi/ikg40.html
In addition to this several bags of Red cross letters were recovered from the wreck that gave allied soldiers families the long awaited news that their loved ones were interned in prison of war camps. These letters were passed on to the allies and greatly received.
The following morning I planned to walk up the route heading towards Mt Brandon which peaks 850 meters; again following the pilgrim’s path. The route takes you out of Cloghane village past an old derelict church built in around 1846 along a path that is known locally as the road of the dead. It’s not creepy but I didn’t take any pictures as it somehow felt disrespectful. The path to Faha ridge from Cloghane is about a 5km hike through lush grassland with a panoramic glimpse of Mt Brandon in the background. This was actually a mistake because i could have ridden the FZ-6 up to Faha ridge and really saved my legs like the local people do.
The initial assent up the mountain is marked every 300 meters or so by white and red poles. It’s a well trodden path and is very steep gaining altitude very quickly. After my 13km hike the day before I was suffering both in the legs and lungs department.
I paced myself by ploughing on at a good pace to each marker, with my heart beating in my throat I rested for about two minutes. During one of my rests I was caught up and passed by a wonderful older gentleman (early 70’s) and his son. They stopped to chat to me obviously recognising I was a complete novice and asked me where I was from and where I was going. The older fellow also gave me the most disarming grilling I have ever had. Basically he wanted to know that I had (a) a map (b) I was orientated to the map (c) I had water and waterproofs (d) I had left my route with someone and my estimated return time. I was able to satisfy him with my map abilities and I had left my route with my wife and the hostel manager. Mt Brandon is Ireland’s second highest and like many mountain ranges the weather can turn hostile very quickly. The gentleman in question was a former member of the mountain rescue volunteers whom I’m sure had helped to extract many an ignorant tourist from the hillside. He was a really nice man and took the time to point out local features which made the map make more sense. As he departed he warned me that within the beauty of Brandon lies a beast.
The most difficult part of the route had had a recent rock fall and the path was not ultimately obvious. It is narrow, slippery and to be respected at a times. I bib them good bye and continued trying to summit the mountain. I soon got to the part of the mountain where the path had been disrupted and I found it very difficult to work out a safe way to pass around the contours.
I was a mile high and on top of the world, but still quite far from the summit of Mount Brandon. Unable to safely identify a safe path I took the decision to turn back. I have to admit that I felt really disappointed in myself and my failure to get to the top. I had to face facts that I did not have the necessary experience to continue.
On the long walk down I started to think about my trip and what I had achieved.
Without breaking the bank or any bones, I had achieved my aim of having a little motorcycle adventure in my own back yard. I had met lots of new people and discovered new places. Importantly I had rediscovered how to ride a motorcycle for the sheer pleasure of it. I was fulfilled, happy and at peace with myself.
So if you’re forty something and you feel that life is slipping by, give yourself a couple of days to discover what’s in your own back yard. You won’t be disappointed.
Thanks for reading,
Nelly
My mobile phone photographs don't really do Co Kerry justice, and if I’m honest I lack the ability to compose and frame a decent picture.
To be truthful I haven't camped out properly for about eighteen years apart from doing the back yard wilderness thing with my young children. Co Kerry is renowned for its breathtaking scenery and I had only visited the area once previously in late autumn when it was cold, grey and overcast.
In search of adventure I have recently read lots of motorcycle adventure books which filled me with admiration, fascination and envy. I felt like I was missing out on something and also felt that at the age of forty-three life was in danger of slipping away from me. One evening whilst moaning to Avril about not getting out and riding for pleasure she said to me, “What’s stopping you”? I had leave already booked from work, I had the permission from my loving wife, I had no excuses.
Although the trip only lasted for three fantastic days I managed about two weeks of sheer enjoyment out of it. Like a child I packed and re-packed my equipment pretending to my wife it was vital to get the weight down.
I brought an ordnance survey map (# 70 of the discovery range if you please) of the area I was going to be visiting. When I wasn’t packing and re-packing I was spreading the map out on the floor imagining my routes and where I would stay. I booked a pitch at the Brandon Mountain hostel for the sum of €10.00 per night including breakfast.
I set off on a beautiful afternoon in bright blue skies with the temperature reading 22C. (The weather was so fantastic I wore my Hein Gericke mesh jacket and gloves, which had not ridden in anger since last summer). I made great progress on the N52 picking up the M7 motorway heading SW past Limerick for the 240km journey which took about three hours including a fuel stop, tuna sandwich and brief episode of getting lost.
https://www.google.ie/maps/dir/39+T...1acd026ced6e40e6!2m2!1d-10.194287!2d52.186122
The road was very easy going with beautiful rolling hills until Newcastle west Co Limerick where the motorway kind off stops suddenly. It took me by surprise as I encountered a 4km tailback. Initially I thought there had been an accident as the traffic was just not moving. I filtered past the traffic (much to the annoyance of many a cager) travelling at about 50kph. I later found out that it is a particularly bad spot for traffic at peak times because for some reason the motorway does not bypass around the town.
The road improved again but remained fairly nondescript until I got to Tralee bay (Tralee is also famous for an annual beauty pageant called “The Rose of Tralee”) Rose of Tralee (festival - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia) when I came across the Irish version of a dyke and the lovely looking Blennervillel windmill, which was slightly wierd.
Tralee bay was the main port of emigration from County Kerry during the Great Famine (1845 to 1848). Soon after the contrast of the windmill which I have always associated with the very flat Netherlands, I began to wind my way up the hills of Kerry to be met with the jaw dropping sight of the Dingle Mountains. It was at that moment mind blowing, I had to pull over and stop the bike to take it all in.
Just as I was lining up to take the mother of all panoramic photographs to post on this great forum, a man pulled up in his (no doubt) poxy company car and parked right across my aperture. Undeterred I took a few pictures and rode on talking to myself “That view will take some beating”.
Shortly after this I managed to lose, firstly myself on some wonderful traffic free bends, and then secondly my satnav signal.
Relying on my trusty internal compass (which must have rusted in the rain some eighteen years previously) I got lost on the mountain roads and spent about twenty minutes hacking around until I remembered that the Dingle peninsula is right on the coast. I was suitably elevated enough to see for miles so I headed for the bay which indeed turned out to be Dingle.
Arriving in Dingle I needed to get off the bike because the FZ6 seat was trying to give me a playground wedgie. I got my map out and being the intrepid explorer that I am soon realised that I was on the wrong side of the mountain to where I wanted to be.
This error in fact turned out to be a slight embarrassment and a Godsend. Without wishing to embellish you all with the gruesome details and mindful that some members could in fact at this time be about to start, (a) breakfast, (b) lunch (c) dinner, my embarrassing episode involved a call to nature on a not so secluded bend and a kindly looking pair of old ladies.
But I believe in Karma and Ying and yang and my yang so to speak came to me in the form of the amazing Conor Pass
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dingle_Peninsula
A beautifully crafted road up the side of a mountain with breathtaking views
I summated the pass and was then drawn to the sheer drop. I had one of those Hitch**** Vertigo moments and for about three to four seconds my eyes were swimming as I tried to prevent myself throwing myself over the precipice.
I was only able to get a couple of pictures of the beautiful Glacial lakes of which Loughadoon is the largest (another one of those “Nothing’s going to beat this” kind of moments). My satnav had once again kicked in and I once again set off.
I took a gentle ride down Conors pass into the village of Colghane. I stopped by a man hard at work Painting a building in preparedness for an impending RTE TV crew to arrive and do a piece on this picturesque village by the sea. As it happens Chris is a top fella and fellow motorcyclist. The first thing he says to me was Hi I’m Chris, Your bike sounds great. I run a B&B called River view cottage. I have a fully kitted out workshop. “My tools are available if you need them” Do you want to meet me for a beer later”? “Was this my motor Eden”?
I actually felt sad that I wasn’t staying with Chris as straight off the bat we had some pretty good banter.
Chris kindly directed me to the hostel where I found my pitch right at the waters edge.
I had the tent erected in less than ten minutes and I had a beer in my hand within twenty minutes.
The people of Colghane are remarkably friendly and I soon joined in the banter and watching a bit of the world cup.
The only down side was I had no mobile signal what so ever. The pub had WIFI and like so many “Man” plans that fail to impress our long suffering spouses. I had the brainwave of letting Avril know that I had arrived at Colghane ok by Facebook, but not by the more secure IM feature of FB, no no no, I just posted on my wall for all and sundry that I was (a) in great form (b) in a public house (c) not wishing to come home soon. Lead balloons have lasted longer. It must have been a combination of altitude and the wonderful Creans Larger which those Kerryites refuse to ship up to my neck of the woods.
The next morning I got up early and decided to walk along the pilgrims route.
The lovely weather and beautiful scenery made the
13km hike seem to pass by very quickly, I met a number of fellow hikers on the way and I was struck immediately how hikers / walkers are very similar to motorcyclists.
Walking in the mountains is all about taking and accepting risk based upon your level of experience and skill. People would stop and say hello, ask where I was going and be happy to offer advice on different routes, basically making sure I was ok. I am a complete novice at this activity but have to say I am completely bitten by the bug.
I experienced some amazing views and wonderful weather. To put it into perspective with how lucky I was with the weather, I met a local couple who had waited twenty two weekends to get out on the mountain in good visibility.
pg.html
That evening I headed back to the hostel absolutely shattered but grinning ear from ear. I had a fantastic shower and headed out to the pub for a bit of banter, a few pints and to watch the world cup.
Outside the pub I noticed an unusual display, it appeared to be an old aircraft engine
Over the years the damp salty air of the coast had slowly eaten the aluminium cylinders. To me they looked like partially eroded sandcastles as the tide comes in to once again reclaim them.
Inside the pub there was an aircraft tail wheel and part of the rear wing. Intrigued I asked the landlord where the aircraft parts had come from. He was a big man who had an even bigger voice, without any further to do he regaled the whole pub with the story. A brilliant story of how during WWII on the 20th August 1940 a German Fw200 F8+KH of I/KG40 crewed by
Kurt Mollenhauer
Dr. Eric Kruger
FW Ludwig Wochner
SFW Robert Beumer
Unt. Hans Bell
Gef. Kurt Kyck
Crashed on Faha ridge (Mt Brandon) in bad weather, they were in fact the first German crew to land in neutral Ireland in WWII. The men of Cloghane set off to greet the pilots and crew. Ger O’Regan writes a lovely account about the episode in this link: http://homepage.eircom.net/~wrgi/ikg40.html
In addition to this several bags of Red cross letters were recovered from the wreck that gave allied soldiers families the long awaited news that their loved ones were interned in prison of war camps. These letters were passed on to the allies and greatly received.
The following morning I planned to walk up the route heading towards Mt Brandon which peaks 850 meters; again following the pilgrim’s path. The route takes you out of Cloghane village past an old derelict church built in around 1846 along a path that is known locally as the road of the dead. It’s not creepy but I didn’t take any pictures as it somehow felt disrespectful. The path to Faha ridge from Cloghane is about a 5km hike through lush grassland with a panoramic glimpse of Mt Brandon in the background. This was actually a mistake because i could have ridden the FZ-6 up to Faha ridge and really saved my legs like the local people do.
The initial assent up the mountain is marked every 300 meters or so by white and red poles. It’s a well trodden path and is very steep gaining altitude very quickly. After my 13km hike the day before I was suffering both in the legs and lungs department.
I paced myself by ploughing on at a good pace to each marker, with my heart beating in my throat I rested for about two minutes. During one of my rests I was caught up and passed by a wonderful older gentleman (early 70’s) and his son. They stopped to chat to me obviously recognising I was a complete novice and asked me where I was from and where I was going. The older fellow also gave me the most disarming grilling I have ever had. Basically he wanted to know that I had (a) a map (b) I was orientated to the map (c) I had water and waterproofs (d) I had left my route with someone and my estimated return time. I was able to satisfy him with my map abilities and I had left my route with my wife and the hostel manager. Mt Brandon is Ireland’s second highest and like many mountain ranges the weather can turn hostile very quickly. The gentleman in question was a former member of the mountain rescue volunteers whom I’m sure had helped to extract many an ignorant tourist from the hillside. He was a really nice man and took the time to point out local features which made the map make more sense. As he departed he warned me that within the beauty of Brandon lies a beast.
The most difficult part of the route had had a recent rock fall and the path was not ultimately obvious. It is narrow, slippery and to be respected at a times. I bib them good bye and continued trying to summit the mountain. I soon got to the part of the mountain where the path had been disrupted and I found it very difficult to work out a safe way to pass around the contours.
I was a mile high and on top of the world, but still quite far from the summit of Mount Brandon. Unable to safely identify a safe path I took the decision to turn back. I have to admit that I felt really disappointed in myself and my failure to get to the top. I had to face facts that I did not have the necessary experience to continue.
On the long walk down I started to think about my trip and what I had achieved.
Without breaking the bank or any bones, I had achieved my aim of having a little motorcycle adventure in my own back yard. I had met lots of new people and discovered new places. Importantly I had rediscovered how to ride a motorcycle for the sheer pleasure of it. I was fulfilled, happy and at peace with myself.
So if you’re forty something and you feel that life is slipping by, give yourself a couple of days to discover what’s in your own back yard. You won’t be disappointed.
Thanks for reading,
Nelly
Last edited:
... Thanks for sharing mate & the pics are great :thumbup: some rep on its way 
