Diary of a long-distance walker, Bernie Comaskey, day 7

Today was by far the most difficult day of the week. I am not used to climbing so it was a killer on the legs. Coupled with this was the fact that my climbing boots were harder on the blister. And whilst I never got a drop of rain all week on the flat, I got soaked on Croagh Patrick.

After an agricultural breakfast at my brother Camillus', my sister-in-law, Maura, dropped us both at the head of Lodge Road, the exact spot where I had made my grand entrance the evening before. Camillus and I proceeded to walk the six miles from there to the butt of the Reek, at Murrisk. We were joined there by Olga's Conor, Dolores O'Farrell's Ricardo, Castlepollard's Eidhne Conlon; and I was chuffed when the cathaoirleach of Westport Urban District Council, Oliver Gannon, having heard my radio interview, came out to say 'well done'.

The weather was mild with light rain to start, but as our ascent progressed, it got progressively colder and the rain got heavy. Underfoot conditions were bad - even if you didn't have blisters. I had climbed Croagh Patrick once before and I didn't find it difficult that time: Of course the fact that this was twenty years ago, and I hadn't walked to Westport, might have something to do with it!

Not reaching the summit was never an option. The lads were great company and the banter was good. I was surprised at how many people were on the mountain and we met a few randoms who were turning back due to the condition ... or maybe the lack of their own. We had energy bars and water, but at a later stage when good old Conor produced flasks of tea and coffee from his backpack, we all could have kissed him ... well nearly like!

Three quarter ways up we met a bunch of girls coming down. You are not going to believe this, but it was a 'hen party'. Now, I have been a long time in the bar business and I know hen parties ... or I thought I did; but any previous ones I encountered, wouldn't be doing a pilgrimage up Croagh Patrick. The party were full of the joys of life, lots of fun, but the nicest bunch of young women you could hope to meet. Paula Hanlon, from Tullamore, is getting married in five weeks time. And it is a Westmeath wedding, taking place in the Middleton Park Hotel, with the lucky groom being Kevin Beacon from Tyrrellspass.

I was struggling at times now and sat resting in the rain often - but it was still upwards and onwards until we reached the summit at last. Visibility was poor at the top - but I didn't care. I had done what I set out to do from Killucan last Sunday morning and I wasn't worried about coming down: It would happen somehow, sometime.

Then I had another uplifting experience, loaded with symbolism. I had left on my pilgrimage after 1030 Sunday mass in St Camillus Nursing Centre and as we got to the tiny church on top of St Patrick's mountain, a priest was saying mass for a handful of people and we joined in. This was pure chance, as the mass was being said for a family celebration and by a friend of the family. I am not a religious person, but there are very few masses said up there and it seemed to me as an extraordinary coincidence and for me a spiritual experience. I got chatting to the priest afterwards. Fr Paidi Moloughney, a native of Thurles, is a Kilteegan priest who worked most if his life in Brazil. Stranger still, he is a self-confessed addictive walker and he embraced me warmly on being told of my long walk.

Coming down wasn't easy either. I thought my legs were going to buckle sometimes. Pamela was there to meet me when I arrived down. I was wet, weary and wounded; but I don't know when I last felt so good about finishing something I started.

 Straight back to Camillus' house, where I peeled off the wet clothes and into the ice bath for the last time. Camillus brought me a mug of soup in the bath and then Maura drove me down to Brian McEniff's Westport Woods Hotel for a complimentary massage in the hotel spa. It was absolutely fantastic and left me a new man. From there we went back and devoured the dinner Maura had prepared for us. Family and friends had gathered in McGing's Bar and so we went back there for a while. There was a superb Dixieland jazz band playing and they were well primed for the signal, and blasted out my favourite tune, with a word about the walk, as soon as I crossed the threshold: "When the saints go marching in."

So there you have it, Dear Diary. I hope the people will remember that it is all was about raising money for the 'Patients Comfort Fun' at Saint Camillus Nursing Centre - and not about the honour and glory of Bernie Comaskey.

 I am out on my feet as I make this last entry, but I have a wonderful feeling of satisfaction and contentment for doing what I did. I enjoyed every step of it. A friend who helped a lot, sent me a txt at half way, hoping all was well on "my lonely walk". It wasn't lonely; nothing could be further from the truth: It was exhilarating and exciting - and I won! And would I consider doing it again? Absolutely, emphatically and definitely.... NO, NO, NO!

 

- Bernie Comaskey