Randy Newman sang ‘It’s Lonely at The Top’. Well, I wasn’t lonely because there were several hundred hikers, climbers and runners who all wanted to conquer Donard at the same time. I would have loved to have lingered and taken in the vistas and appreciated the beautiful scenery. I lingered for exactly 10 seconds, took off my shoe to get rid of a few pebbles, listened to the hammering sound of my heart trying to leave my ribcage, glanced at my watch and realised I had hit my first target – I wanted to summit in under 1 hour from Donard Car Park. I would love to tell you that I ran all the way... but anyone who is capable of running up Donard without slowing to a walk is a freak of nature.
You are meant to take all sorts of extra equipment when you are hill climbing in case the mountain top turns treacherous with mist and rain etc and a sudden plummet in the temperature. I was wearing running shorts and a short sleeved coolmax top and a bottle of high energy liquid in my body belt. I was travelling light, I was on a raid as I wanted to get up and down as soon as I could. I was also under a bit of time pressure. I was in County Down because young Patrick Jack was due to finish his three day / two night Silver Duke of Ed hike and I needed to be at his rendezvous three hours after I arrived in Newcastle so time once again, was the enemy.
I thought about Ed Smith, former Head of BBC Northern Ireland Sport who has taken up rock climbing and who fell 100 meters down a cliff face after he had conquered South America’s highest peak and was lucky to live to tell the tale. I knew my journey down wouldn’t be quite that hazardous but I didn’t want to risk any injury with only 14 days to go. As soon as I turned to go downhill and planted my left foot on the ground I got a shot of pain up my left quad for my effort. I then recalled the advice of my Chiropractor, Paula Gallen, who had told me my quads were as tight as a drum and I needed to stretch them every night. I had recently been doing my back strengthening exercises but the quads had been neglected. Every step down was like Homer Simpson falling down a cliff as he landed painfully on each rock. I recalled the Mourne Challenge a few years ago with my good friend Mark Kinkaid. The race had taken us over 10 peaks in 10 hours and the downhill section was just murder. There is a very special breed of athlete – a fell runner – who can leap down a steep hill with a huge gait and no apparent effort and they bound for meters before landing for the next stride. I read the fabulous ‘Feet in the Clouds’ book recently about the fell running fraternity. There is a race in the Lake District which attracts people from all over the world and the target is to break 24 hours. It’s all about making up as much ground as possible both on the way up – and also on the way down.
You’d think going down was the easy bit. Two runners appeared out of nowhere and bounded past me like kangaroos. I tried to follow them and put my feet where they had put theirs. Slievedonard is all rock with no forgiving grass. It’s harsh and uninviting. Most of the Sperrins are soft and you can look up and drink in the views because you know that every footfall is relatively safe. On Donard, you have to watch every step with an eagle eye. One false move here and you could end up with a broken ankle and your dreams in tatters. At one stage whilst hurrying and scurrying down the mountain, I planted my foot between two rocks that weren’t quite wide enough and managed to end up with less skin around my ankle than I had started with... onward and upward (or downwards) was today’s motto however. I foolishly thought that if I took an hour to conquer the beast on the way up 30 minutes would do it on the way down. Foolish boy! I was only 10 minutes quicker on the way back to base camp (Donard Car Park) where I finished with jelly legs covered in sweat and hotter than a Turkish wrestler’s jock strap... I managed to blag a shower in a local clubhouse and 10 minutes later was enjoying an exquisite seafood chowder overlooking Newcastle’s promenade.
5 minutes later I was were Patrick and his brave mates were meant to be. No sign of them but plenty of anxious parents. Patrick had been sick for 5 days before embarking on his quest with his six buddies. He couldn’t keep any food down, was alternatively hot and cold but he was hiking up and down the Mournes for 15 or 20K a day with a rucksack that weighed the same as a Belfast sink. On the one hand I envied him as I had never had the opportunity of testing myself as part of a team in nature’s back yard many moons ago (maybe that’s what drives me today?) On the other hand I know that whilst I can push myself really hard over one day the thought of doing it three days in a row (without the benefit of a hot shower and a comfy bed) rather lessened the appeal somewhat...
Apparently the assessor had decided to make them hike an extra 6K on day 3. I must confess that if this bloke had been in Newcastle, I could quite happily have strangled him. These guys had suffered enough and there was a whole bunch of parents wondering why there was no sign of their wee Johnny two hours after their ETA. Eventually thanks to the wonders of mobile phone technology we established that they had hit a main road and their teacher, the inspirational Stephen Bogle, had said they had done enough. It was with great relief that I picked up three very smelly, very tired young men, guys who were all heroes in my eyes. Soon after a feed of chips, chocolate and coke provided by their grateful driver, they were all fast asleep in the car, snoring like the angelic infants they were only 15 short years previously...
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