HH Challenge, Day Two Continued, and Day Three

Time to give a quick run-down of yesterday's events.

But first, I must explain another part of the challenge I hadn't mentioned before.  At the start of the challenge, each team received an orange to take with them, which they’re to try to swap for something more interesting as they go about their journey, and  will continue swapping for the week.  The best or most interesting orange substitute by the end of the challenge will be the winner. 

One reason I hadn’t mentioned this on Saturday, apart from having mounds too much to write about, was that I had not yet succeeded in swapping it out for anything, and I had visions of turning up in Bundoran with a mashed and bruised orange (and all my gear covered in juice).   There had also been stages during the day when I had been considering simply tucking into it.

Thankfully, my first lift on Sunday not only took a detour from his journey to Shannon in order to drop me in Quin (thanks so much again, you legend), but also upgraded my pot to a shiny, lidless, teapot.   A marvellous step up, and to be honest I haven’t really tried very hard to get anything else for it, because I’d be happy to roll up to Bundoran with it on Friday.  But you never know what’s next.

Met my aunt for lunch in Quin, as she lives nearby, and I almost accepted a lift from her into Ennis, which would be on her way home, but decided that would be cheating, so I stayed put in Quin to await my next lift, all legitimate-like.  I’d say I almost beat her into Ennis anyway, as the third car that came along stopped and dropped me on the Lehinch side of Ennis, where I bumped into two other hitchhikers (non-challengees) from Germany and Spain.  I’d decided that I’d make a detour to Doolin to check out the last day of the Doolin Folk Festival, and rendez-vous with my cousin and a few friends that I knew would be up there.  It turned out my new hitchhiking friends were also heading in that direction.  I walked on a bit further up the road, in order to allow them to get the first lift, as good hitching etiquette dictates, where I got a short spin out to Inagh.  The lady that picked me up was still waving goodbye when the next car stopped for me, destination Doolin, how bad!

We covered a range of diverse topics on the way up, and popped in to the Ivy Cottage for a coffee, and to continue our chat once we arrived.  He and his friend, who joined us, were very enthusiastic about the event, his friend wanting to swap the teapot for something like a fire extinguisher or a hatchet, just to make life a bit more interesting (and difficult) on the road.  While there, one of the hitchers from Ennis came up to say hello.   Got chatting to him after the lads left (they weren’t going to the festival but were going fishing nearby), and he very kindly offered me a space in their tent as they were planning on pitching it on the cliffs – I’d explained my reservations about pitching my tent, as it’s grand for dry(ish) weather, but I still have to repair a few pinprick-sized holes in the ground sheet from camping on rough ground last year in Greece, so the teaming rain outside wasn’t really tempting in me). 

The craic at the festival was mighty, the atmosphere, the music (particularly a band called Beoga – check them out) and the bants with the people I knew, and some I didn’t (but do now) was tremendous, and I had an amazing time, although I stayed up far later than I had intended.  Opted for staying in an apartment my cousin and her friends had rented for the weekend, in favour of camping in the end.  I must be getting old.

Day Three

Destination: Claddaghduff, Connemara

Set out with an audience this morning, the girls from the apartment sat in the window and shouted encouragement (at least I think it was encouragement – couldn’t really hear them from across the road).  I had intended leaving earlier as I thought I was going to have trouble getting through Galway, but of course the late night made me lazy and I didn’t get out until about noon, but it worked out well, as my first lift was heading all the way to Leenane, in Connemara, only a short hop away from my target destination.   He was transporting bags from the Doolin Adventure Centre (where I’d stayed) to two hotels in Leenane, while the bag’s owners took the ferry out to the Aran Islands, to rendez-vous with their luggage later.  The long journey was over too soon, as we talked the whole way up, even though my voice was almost completely gone after the night before, and I helped him unload the bags at their destination.  I was blown away by the view from the living room area of the Portfinn Lodge, where we deposited the majority of the bags, so I took a sneaky picture.  We hung about Leenane for a coffee and to enjoy the views, as neither of us was in a rush to get where we were going.  Interestingly, both today and yesterday I have been picked up by people who have been active in sports that I’ve been hoping to get involved in – my lift to Doolin yesterday was a free diver, and did a bit of spear fishing, while this man was an ultra runner.   Not a huge believer in Fate or any of that, but does kind of feel like I’ve been ending up where I’ve been meant to be – it all just feels…right.

 Ah, Universe who will you send me next?

A text from an unknown number, advising me to stay in Acton’s Eco Camp Site, a stone’s throw from Claddaghduff, came in while I was in Quin yesterday.  I had literally no idea, who it might be, and did my usual trick of starting a reply and then getting side tracked, while I was en route to Doolin (the getting sidetracked bit is typical, but not exclusively when I’m going to Doolin).  Only got back to it this morning before setting out – part of me wanting to know who was giving me useful tips, another part happy to believe it was the Universe communicating with me via my phone.  Turned out it was the hero that had dropped me into Quin, so felt awful about not responding straight away.  The advice seemed good though, and I planned on staying there as I hadn’t gotten round to contacting the CS host that was in Clifden, which is really a shame.  However, a gentleman that dropped me out to Letterfrack told me that if it were him he would free camp on Omey Island, just across from Claddaghduff.  When the tide is out you can walk (or drive, as I’ve since observed) across the strand to the island, and then when the tide comes in it cuts you off.   I decided to let the tide choose for me when I got there, if it was in I’d go to Acton, if not I’d stay on Omey.

And Omey it was!  Walked across the spit to the island (tremendous views again) and decided to hike around to the west side of the island.  It was a long and windy road, weaving through stone walls and past ruins and some pretty, yet apparently deserted houses.   It did occur to me as I passed these that once the tide came in it would just be me, and the unseen islanders, and I tried to force scenes from Deliverance (which I haven’t actually seen, but know by reputation) or various horror films out of my mind, but it didn’t help when the only person I saw as I came towards the dunes on the west of the island turned out to be carrying a shotgun.  Thankfully it wasn’t meant for me, he shot a rabbit for himself and went on his merry way again.

I dropped my bags by the beach a few hundred metres from another tent, and got chatting to my neighbours, whose dog ran over to greet me.  I mentioned that I was thinking of going for a snorkel, even though it was getting a bit late – 8pm, so the heat from the day was starting to drop (genuinely, it was a fabulous day, I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned that already), just so I wouldn’t have wasted my time bringing the gear with me.  They very nicely leant me a pair of fins for the dip.

Must have spent about 20 minutes in the water, but I didn’t come back empty handed – the bay seems to be a good spot for spider crabs, and I caught a big one (at least he seemed big to me) so we had crab claws for tea, cooked over my friendly neighbour’s campfire, which warmed me up after my swim.

More good conversation before I decided to turn in, later than expected considering my previous late nights.  Honestly, I wish I could just transcribe all the stories and observations I’ve heard in the past three days, but there’d be a book in every day.

Right now, I’m typing this from my tent on my island, listening to the waves.  A little bit cold, even in my sleeping bag and warm clothes, but I’ll be grand.  No way of getting this online tonight, as the 3G reception isn’t the best, but what can you do - at least it’s typed. 

But what a day.