And……splosh. Splosh, squelch, splosh. I’m underway on Ireland’s only wilderness trail and this sucking sound will be my sole accompanying voice for the next two days.
The Bangor Trail is considered to be Ireland’s only true “wilderness” trail, so I’ve chosen to take on the challenge alone to fully experience the space and solitude. I’m completely self-sufficient, carrying my tent, cooking gear, food and so on. I counted the items as my children helped me pack. 65 pieces. 20kg. With 39km of beauty, challenge…and “splosh” ahead.
The trail follows an old livestock driving path between the towns of Bangor Erris and Newport in County Mayo dating back to the 16th Century. Known for its remote and challenging terrain, the trail offers panoramic views of the Nephin Beg Mountains and the surrounding countryside out to Clare Island, the storied home of the pirate queen Granuaile.
Looking ahead, I can see the trail meandering along the side of a mountain and the first 3km looks pretty reasonable. An hour later, still only halfway along the track, I realise just how deceiving this was. A slight calf strain picked up running is beginning to cramp so I take a short break to ease it out, dropping my heavy pack to the ground. The views out to Clew Bay and Clare Island are stunning, but the GAA football fields of Bangor Erris still seem to be within touching distance. My progress is terrible and I’m shocked at just how bad the conditions are underfoot. Even on this dry day, it’s like waddling through a stream.
With calf muscle restored I haul my pack, and immediately both hear and feel my back crack. Then the spasm. I’ve thrown out my back. One hour into this escapade and it seems over already. Should I turn back? What if I continue but wake up in the morning, crippled in my tent, unable to even stand? There is no phone coverage in the wilderness and I have no one to send for help. If the painkillers don’t work I’m stuffed. This area is not known as “the loneliest place in Ireland” for nothing.
But I’ve already come too far to take the safe option. Not just on the trail, but the planning, the weather, the four-hour drive from Dublin, and the humiliation of failure! There’s no turning back now. One way or another I’m going to have to make this work. I think of the pictures that I had printed and put up in my children’s bedrooms: “If it’s going to be, it’s down to me”. I press on.
The next few hours are what I always call “donkey time”. Although I stop to admire the scenery quite regularly, it’s mostly just head down and make the mileage. Unlike Wicklow, I see no deer or wildlife here, just a few ground-nesting birds like the White Wagtail and Pipits.
By now, it’s 2.30 pm and my progress is still shockingly slow. Conditions remain very heavy underfoot but either it is getting easier, or I’m getting used to it. The location already feels very remote, and I haven’t seen a sinner all day. Not only have I not seen any wildlife, I haven’t even seen a tree!
After a quick lunch and three more hours of slogging it out, I come to a ridge overlooking a valley surrounded by hauntingly still mountains. It’s now 6 pm and I’m a long way from my intended camping destination. There is no way I’m going to make that, so I look around for fresh water and shelter and spot an old stone sheep pen down the hill that might meet my needs.
By 7 pm in late August dusk is not far away so it’s time to cook up a feast. The ignition on my stove refuses to ignite, but I had cleverly packed backup matches. After many false starts (with the gas still running) I’m finally able to put a flame to the stove. It takes but is accompanied by a very frightening gushing sound. Suddenly I find myself holding a live firework attached to what I quickly realise is now a metal bomb. Fearing that either I or my tent are about to go up in flames I quickly fling the combined gas canister and stove into the marshy ground.
The liquid gas is now leaking from the canister leaving multiple flames spread out across the, mercifully, sodden grass and mud. After minutes that seem like hours, I’m finally able to douse most of the flames and position the stove into the mud to the point where I can stamp it into the swamp. With a gurgle, the “bomb” is finally extinguished.
Sitting down to take stock and recover, I’m gifted the most wonderful vista to calm my nerves. All around the mountains are being painted the most wonderful pink and orange by a hidden setting sun. This fabulous panorama takes the sting out of the fact that I am now faced with a feast of cold, dry tuna and pasta with no evening cup of tea. The sumptuous breakfast of coffee and rashers that I had carried all day are also now utterly obsolescent. It would be half rations on the Bangor Trail from now on.
The Bangor Trail is deep inside Ireland’s first International Dark Sky Park, showcasing some of the darkest, most pristine skies in the world. With no light pollution, it feels like I can simply reach out and touch the stars. Thanking my good fortune at not being crippled or burned alive I retire to my cosy tent to review a day of beauty and drama, as the temperature drops and the wind picks up.
And pick up it does! My “Lanshan” style ultralight tent uses only walking poles to prop up both ends and is heavily reliant on guy ropes. The flapping tent makes sleep impossible which is just as well because at 2 am the wind rips out a guy rope and the whole tent comes crashing down on top of me.
Having restored my home I manage two hours of sleep and wake early with 23km to go. I’m ecstatic though to find that my back is no worse and I can continue on my merry way. I unzip the bottom of the tent to let in fresh air and…
My God! I have had bad midges and mosquitoes before but this is something out of a bad horror movie. Clouds of hundreds of thousands of midges immediately attack. I keep my mouth shut but can still feel them getting into my ears and eyes. I grab the insect repellent and when I hear them laughing as they swarm into my every available crevice. I find my midgeproof net and, roughly pulling it over my head can finally both open my eyes and breathe. I can still hear the loud buzz of hundreds of thousands of frenzied midges trying to get in to access the protein that they so dearly crave.
Breakfast is sacrificed until I can locate a calmer location. I quickly pack and regain the trail on an empty stomach, but midge-free. Two hours later I finally reached last night’s intended campsite. I sit down to a lavish breakfast of banana on a stale roll with water instead of the planned freshly cooked bacon and ketchup roll with hot coffee and milk.
After another hour of hiking, suddenly hints of civilisation appear. Flagstones to help cross some of the bog’s swampiest parts. Sections of boardwalk on others. Even a wooden bridge to help cross a stream. I have reached the national park boundary and the improvement in trail conditions is stark, but most welcome.
Within an hour I reach the Brogan Carroll Bothy and celebrate that the worst of the conditions are behind me. From here it will be standard walking trails, part of the Western Way, and a couple of hours on roads back to Newport.
The stark, wild, treeless façade of the Bangor trail now gives way to a lush coniferous forest and I meet my first humans in two days. By late afternoon the heat continued to rise as I marched the last few kilometres on road into Newport. An hour later I am thrilled to see a sign confirming only one more kilometre to go. Anyone who has ever run a marathon will empathise with me that the last kilometre seems endless, and so it is with this one.
Was it all worth it? For me, the answer is an unequivocal “yes”. However, I did get the two best days of weather you can imagine in Mayo and I had been looking forward to doing the Bangor Trail for many years. I’ve done some pretty tough trips over the years in the Alps and several of the Seven Summits, wading through snow and cutting ice steps. This trail is right up there in terms of challenge. This is not down to altitude, danger or height gain of course. It is purely the difficult terrain underfoot. At times it felt like I was wading through a stream or swamp rather than bog or grass. However, the stunning scenery, solitude, wilderness and stars were justly rewarding and I’m thrilled to have experienced it all. Thank you Mayo, you have never let me down.
