Its name might make you think it's a hill, but it's definitely a mountain. So if you plan to climb Carrauntoohil, prepare well. Michael Kellyand two friends scaled Ireland's tallest peak in an unexpected snowfall
It was only when we got back that I felt it might have been a little risky. Only when I looked at the photos and videos did I think how dangerous it had been. I am sure the people at Kerry Mountain Rescue Team will read this and think: "Jaysus, that's why we are so busy - people like them going up Carrauntoohil."
Recently, my friends Kevin and Shay and I scaled Ireland's highest mountain. We are all in our early 30s, and increasingly we look to physical challenges to remind ourselves how young and supple we are.
Carrauntoohil is in the western range of Macgillycuddy's Reeks, in Co Kerry, a stomping 1,041m high. The word Carrauntoohill derives from the Irish corran tuathail, which means "left-handed sickle" - a reference to its shape. It is also a nightmare to type, so in this article you will find it often referred to as "the mountain".
Comparatively speaking, the mountain isn't huge. Everest, for example, at 8,850 metres, is nearly nine times as high. But three lads hatching hare-brained ideas over a few pints are unlikely to decide it would be a good idea to climb Everest. If you are taking on Everest you are likely to be an experienced climber and to spend years in training and weeks preparing to summit. Many people who have never climbed anything at all, except maybe a ladder, get the notion over breakfast to attack Carrauntoohill, set off at lunchtime and hope to be back down for supper.
As a result there have been a number of deaths over the years, some caused by climbers simply underestimating the challenge of the mountain. They are often underdressed, unprepared and unfit. If they have to deal with a fall, or some other piece of bad luck, things can get really serious.
It's the relative ease of this climb that makes it so dangerous. Undoubtedly a portion of those who go assume they are embarking on a day's hillwalking. Maybe that's because it is called Carrauntoohil as opposed to Carrauntoomountain.
On our descent, at about 4pm, we passed three people heading upwards. One was wearing an Irish rugby jersey, tracksuit bottoms and runners. The key issues with mountain safety are in that observation. Some people dress inappropriately or ignore the fact that weather on the mountain is extremely changeable. We started out in what felt like summer sunshine, but it was bitterly cold by the time we reached the summit. Many people don't allow enough time to get up and down. Carrauntoohil is not the Sugar Loaf. We spent about eight hours getting up and down it, which is probably pathetic, but we recognised we were novices and so took great care.
It is worth mentioning that Shay had climbed it before, so we weren't clueless. He had convinced us of the need for appropriate attire, so we had climbing boots, fleeces, jackets, woolly hats and gloves. I had even borrowed galoshes, which made me feel like Edmund Hillary. (The world of outdoor pursuits has given the English language two of its very finest words. Galoshes is one. The other is dubbin - a special rub for waterproofing your boots. We had backpacks with plenty of food - everyone knows that a square of Dairy Milk can save your life - and drinks.
We set off from our base camp in Cork at the unlikely hour of 6am, aiming to start climbing by about 8am. On the way to Co Kerry, in the car, I texted Martin King on Today FM, asking him to play a request for us. For the craic, I said the request was for "Mick, Kevin and Mary, who are climbing Carrauntoohil today." Oh the childish hilarity when he read that out.
But things turned serious when King went into TV3-weatherman mode and started telling us about some class of a front moving in over Kerry mid-afternoon, and didn't we know about it? And were we mad? The laughter was replaced by our first pangs of unease.
We parked our car in what's called Cronin's Yard, and at that stage we had a beautiful view of the mountain peak in the distance. I'm no expert on the routes up Carrauntoohil, but I'm fairly sure we went up via the ridge between it and Beenkeragh. It's not for the faint-hearted or inexperienced, which meant it was difficult for us on both counts.
There are some sheer rock faces that need to be negotiated. There is one video clip of me awkwardly pulling myself up over a fairly steep ledge - it's taken from below me. As the camera pans around it looks as if I am climbing the Cliffs of Moher. It's probably perspective that makes it look so scary, but, nonetheless, it's great stuff.
There was a funny moment on our ascent when we had to climb over another ledge. "Mary" and I went first. Kevin, coming last, decided to throw his backpack up to us, ahead of him. So he threw it, in one of the worst throws in history. It came nowhere near us and fell back past him, then kept rolling and bumping down the side of the mountain for a few hundred metres. Laughing was good for the fatigue, so we laughed non-stop for 10 minutes. Kevin, who had taken over the Mary moniker in the light of his feeble throwing skills, had to trudge back down to retrieve the errant backpack. It had the sandwiches in it.
Martin King's weather arrived as forecasted. It started to spill rain, and the wind picked up. Visibility was so poor we could no longer see the summit - a serious issue, as, without a compass, the summit was a key marker for us. On Carrauntoohil it's a fine line between views that make you feel as if you are on the roof of the world and a misty fug that makes you feel as if you are climbing with a plastic bag on your head. We scrambled on. Limbs began to ache.
By the time we reached the summit a blizzard was lending the experience a Tom-Crean-at-the-Antarctic sort of vibe. The video at the top is great - the wind howling and the two boys, heads down, struggling towards the summit as if they were the first people to conquer it. We had planned a leisurely picnic at the metal cross that tops the mountain, but it was so cold we could only munch some sandwiches before agreeing we would all die of hypothermia if we stayed any longer.
A party that had reached the top before us had brought flasks of hot tea, and we watched with envy the steam rising from the mugs. We clearly had a different view of things in mind when we packed all those cold drinks that morning. It should have been a great feeling, being the highest people in Ireland, but it was just bone-chillingly cold. We left.
One of the points of controversy about any climb of Carrauntoohil is the Devil's Ladder, a notoriously steep and dangerous route that is badly eroded from years of heavy activity. We heard stories before going up that you often have to avoid rocks the size of rugby balls that get dislodged by climbers ahead of you. It seemed to us to be the most direct route down, so for the sake of expediency we decided to try it. This was a terrible idea, given that it was raining, which made it more treacherous than normal, and all the erosion meant there were very few rocks to hold on to - perhaps the Devil's Slide would be a more accurate name. We went most of the way down on our arses.
One of the cruellest blows was that when we reached the bottom we still had almost two hours of walking to get back to the car. The sense of excitement at having conquered all before us gradually dissipated as we struggled with this last challenge. A stream we had crossed with ease earlier that morning had swelled to a torrent from the rain. We got wetter and colder crossing it.
Kevin and I fell asleep on the way home, leaving Shay to drive and to ponder our triumph alone. That night I managed one measly pint before hitting the bed, half-dead with exhaustion. I could hardly walk for a week. It's a hell of a thing, that mountain, and a hell of an achievement to climb it. But hillwalking it ain't.