Day 3: Lugnaquilla loop walk, Glenmalure, 17 km
When I walk back to the Glenmalure Inn after a hundred meters I see the hut I missed yesterday. Right next to the gravel road, nice bit of grass in front of it. How I could have passed it by is a mystery to me. Still, I'm glad I didn't find it yesterday, because I hear voices coming from the hut and I had my spot by the stream all to myself. A little further on there are two goats on the path. Wild goats? In any case, they don't have a bell. When I get close, a whole herd appears from the higher forest and plunges into the valley. At the Inn I leave my backpack in the lounge and fill my camelback. Then I hit the road, looking for the Glenmalure youth hostel which must be somewhere at the end of the Glenmalure Road. The loopwalk starts with a few kilometers of asphalt, but I’d rather start than finish with it. I am now getting closer to the spectacular waterfall I already admired from afar yesterday, but there are still a few farms between me and the falling water. When I check my GPS, this turns out to be the end of the tour. For a moment I consider walking the route the other way round, but then I end up with a long asphalt road and I don't feel like doing it. Two kilometers further the road ends in a parking lot. I cross a bridge and follow the gravel road. The youth hostel is still not in sight. How glad I am to have a tent I can put right along the route when I am done for the day, simply to pick up the Wicklow Way again the next morning. Imagine having booked the youth hostel and having to walk such a long stretch extra at the end of the day. But when I get to the youth hostel, it doesn't seem to be in use. It is a small house, with closed shutters and closed gate. A little further on I turn to a side road and start climbing. Again I come across a goat which doesn't seem to belong to a farmer. The road continues to climb and gradually the end of the valley comes into view. And I immediately believe they call this valley the Switzerland of Ireland. Gray rocks rise in a huge bowl. Glenmalure is formed by a glacier, carved out eight kilometers straight. And I get to go over its edge. The gravel road changes into a track, which again changes into a sheep's path along a beautiful waterfall, a thin layer of water flowing down across slippery rocks. Sometimes the path is difficult to follow, but the ground itself is my guide. Dark earth between rocks and green grass, the semicircular holes in the earth where my hiking shoe fits exactly and sometimes the small pit of a trekking pole. I climb, stop to pant and drink. I have two liters with me, but I am starting to wonder whether it is enough. That's why I drink differently. Instead of five sips of water, I only take two more, one of which I use to rehydrate my mouth before swallowing the water. The view is worth every drop of sweat. How beautiful this is! The whole valley stretches out before me. And when I get higher, there are the Wicklow Mountains. I couldn't have picked a better day to do this trip, it is sunny and clear and I can see for kilometers. Mountains behind mountains behind mountains. I don't think I could have had such a beautiful view anywhere on the Wicklow Way as here. In the distance I hear cannon shots, probably a military training area not very far away. As I approach the edge of the valley, the worst climb is behind me. I am still climbing, but less steeply. And I still come across tufts of sheep's wool and excrement. A brook murmurs with me through the grass and past thick patches of brown peat. I know better than to drink the water, but on a ford, where the water has collected in a clear pool, I lie down on the grass and completely submerge my hair. Cold! And also very nice. I don't like caps, but getting your hair wet every now and then is wonderful. The path becomes more difficult to follow and here and there also swampy. When I make a mistake my right leg sinks into the peat up to the knee. Whoops! Am I glad to have gaiters. I pull my leg out of the peat and my socks haven't even gotten wet. And then I am finally really on top and the hiking is easy. I check my GPS again and it appears that I have gone astray. I had also not recognized the hill on my left as the top of Lugnaquilla. It's not an impressive climax, no dramatic rock formation which commands respect. An obelisk in a circle of stones marks the highest point. The plaque with the names of the mountains in the area is hardly legible anymore. The view of the mountains is spectacular though. As far as you can see, out of this world. On one side a mosaic of mountains, on the other civilization of land divided into neat squares. After a while I start on the way back. Initially the hike is easy, then the path becomes more challenging, full of stones and rocks. I try to stay on the main path to prevent erosion. It is clearly visible where the hikers, like a herd of buffalo, have worn a brown ribbon cross the peat and root remains of the heather plants. Sometimes I am also guilty of it, when I have had enough of the puzzle it is very tempting to be able to continue unhindered. And sometimes there is so much erosion that it is difficult to see what the original path is and what hikers have thought up themselves. The nature managers have also noticed, because lower on the slope a sign reminds me to stay on the main path to prevent further damage to the landscape. Thus I descend and I am no longer thirsty. Not hungry either and that strikes me. It's well after lunchtime and I had breakfast almost eight hours ago. Then there is a stile and I arrive at what the map calls ‘the zig zags’, a grassy path which slowly brings me down. There are still rocks now and then and I am so busy watching my feet that I don't see the deer until they give a high cry and flee. They were far away, but still nice to have seen them. And as I get lower, I notice that I don’t hear the waterfall I admired so much this morning and which must now be very close. Only just above a farm do I hear it’s rustle. There is not much to see, but fortunately there is a side trail which takes me to the foot of the huge waterfall. A shame the sun is now unfavorable for a good picture. I take a few anyway and think how much satisfied I am because of this day. A wonderfully challenging tour which every hiker should put on his wish list. An Irish couple gives me a ride back to the Inn and just when I settle on the terrace with a coke, the Belgians are there too. And just like that I don't feel like going any further today. Fortunately, I don't have to. I turn today in a nice and lazy day. I only hike on to the brook next to which I camped  yesterday and wash up in the cold water. Then I walk back to the cabin, which I have to myself tonight. Until at eleven o'clock in the evening two survival guides arrive after their work with troubled youth. One is celebrating its fortieth birthday. Eventually they calm down and I fall into a restless sleep.

Day 4: Carringurtna wood - Ballin rush + Upper lake loop walk Glendalough, 22 + 9 km
The weather gods bless Ireland yet again with a bright day and as soon as the light is decent I set out. I follow the gravel road up to the mountain Mullacor, which at 657 meters offers a beautiful view around Glenmalure. The slope is bare, the wood has just been harvested. Yet the mountain has a surprise in store, because suddenly the route leaves the gravel road and goes up steeply with stepping stones. The mountaintop is used as sheep pastures and I follow the fence to the left. Then the trail changes into thick beams. A fork turns left to another summit, but yesterday's view can't be beat and I keep hiking. Again I end up on a gravel road and this time I see activity for the first time. An empty truck rattles upwards to be loaded. There is also a diversion because on part of the route trees are being cut down. It doesn't matter to me whether I walk on one gravel road or the other. But that turns out to be a misconception when I see a doe along a fence. She looks at me in surprise and rushes into the forest before I can take a picture. I get back on the route, at a bridge across the Lugdurf brook. The trail follows the stream on its way down to Upper Lake. One waterfall after another, all equally beautiful. The water has carved a deep gorge into the rock and at the Poulanass Waterfall the rocks are smooth and polished round. A few meters further I come to a picnic area, which is still empty. Here I leave the Wicklow Way again, this time for the Upper Lake loop walk of nine kilometer. It is supposed to be very beautiful and I am simply greedy when it comes to hiking. I first walk to the information office which just opens, but unfortunately I cannot leave my backpack there. The caretaker can be called away for an human or animal emergency and then everything is locked up. With backpack it is. The view of the elongated lake from the beach is spectacular. I start hiking on the Miner’s Road, a wide gravel path through the forest along the lake. At the end of it there’s a swampy area where a river flows into the lake and higher up I notice a waterfall. The road winds along the edge of the valley. I catch up with a group of Canadian hikers and it is nice to be able to chat again. Then we come to the lead mine  ruins, buildings of which only the walls are still standing. The path continues and climbs out of the valley, but it never becomes very difficult or hard. A lot of tourists come here and that can be seen in the effort put into this path. You don’t have to have mountain hiking experience or be able to read the ground for this, a good physical condition is sufficient. As I get higher, both the view and the river become more beautiful. Once at the top, a path of beams begins which guides me safely across the swampy ground. I unconsciously look at my feet and not around me, because of this I only see the pack of does when one of the Canadians points it out to me. There are dozens of them, grazing quietly higher up the slope. They do not care about us and that’s a wonderful sight. I follow the beams up and then there are men working to maintain the path. A sigh when I ask if all those round nails are hammered in by hand, but another is enthusiastic and I am encouraged to hammer one in myself to try. Several people now meet us, tourists from all over the world, day trippers. The beams lead me across a ridge, and I look back once more to that beautiful valley and the river which flows into the lake while meandering. Then the beams form a staircase which quickly takes me back to the stream and the picnic area. And if tourism has one advantage, it is this: after this effort, I treat myself to a delicious ice cream.I pick up the Wicklow Way again and follow the yellow men along Lower lake. You can walk around this lake too, but I don't see why you would. It’s a lake like there are thousands, without the splendor of Upper lake. Busloads of tourists meet me along the path, returning from Glendalough's second attraction: the monastery town. In the middle of a cemetery full of Celtic crosses are the ruins of a church and a beautiful slender tower. After a lazy walk between the graves I continue, because the afternoon is progressing steadily. I leave the village past a souvenir shop, where I score a fridge magnet and another popsicle. I shouldn’t have gotten that ice cream because the route immediately starts to climb and on the other side of a road there is a stile. Try that with a heavy backpack, two trekking poles in one hand and an ice cream in the other. I finish the ice cream before continuing and the next stile takes me to the forest. Real forest this time, where trees only grow to drink in the sun. Soft earth under my feet, wonderful. I climb again, until I see two walkers standing still in front of me. They are watching a young deer, which is quietly searching the leaves on the ground for a treat two meters away. Two velvet stumps on his skull will form small antlers this year, the white dots which mark him as a calf still shine through his brown fur. I leave it behind and continue on lovely forest paths and the vicious paddock hill, which is not high, but very steep. In the meantime I have arrived in a cultural landscape, sheep pastures, houses, fields. Yellow gorse in jagged lines up the hill, fortunately they have never heard of land consolidation here. A school class comes to meet me. I ascend, but want to descend to find water Then I reach the edge of a heather field and I just have to know what it looks like in the morning. I pitch my tent right along the gravel road. I've had it for today.

Day 5: Ballin rush - Dublin, 36 km
Water is my main concern this morning. My camelback has leaked and I have about half a liter left. According to the map, I won't see any houses for the first 16 kilometers. Fortunately, it’s not thirsty weather, it’s cloudy and there’s a nice breeze. And frankly, if there's anyone who can walk 16 kilometers on just a few gulps, it's me. My body can take a lot and I always drink too little water. The hills look just as beautiful as I hoped. I reluctantly pack my things before leaving. Can you feel homesick for a place where you have only camped one night? I continue on the gravel road until I reach an asphalt road. Here is only a marker for hikers from Dublin, the other arm of the signpost is missing. The GPS helps me on my way and I follow the tarmac up past Lough Dan into the depths. Fortunately I do not have to follow the road for long, I get to enter the forest and what a forest. Between the tall pines with their low dead branches there is a twilight uninterrupted by sunlight. This is a forest in which fairytales do not end well. When I have to climb again, the beams appear which make this path so easy. Here and there I pick up some plastic waste and as I get higher it gets lighter. A little further on I see a way marking pointing back to the road slightly lower than the path. Judging by the tracks, a number of walkers have taken the shortcut  and immediately hiked back. But when I follow the trail further I see other markings, still shining with novelty. I suppose the route was diverted a bit to avoid the road, which is something I can only be happy about. But it would have been more convenient to remove the old way markings to avoid confusion. The new trail climbs a hill with beautiful views of Loch Tay. The mountains are reflected in the mirror-smooth water. A stream winds across an estate to the loch and there’s a gazebo near the water. What an idyllic spot. At the top of the hill is also a memorial stone for one of the initiators of the Wicklow Way. I stay in the hills and this is truly the wildest part of the Wicklow way. Nature, heather, birds, mountains everywhere. Amazing. Every day should have been like this. Now I am approaching a second hill, higher than the first. Fortunately, I don't have to go all the way to the top. In the distance I see does fleeing again, their alarm call so high that it reminds of a bird’s cry. Just over the edge of the hill, I see their slender necks and heads, their ears turned intently in my direction. The descent is long and just as I reach a valley with a beautiful river, there is a short, but vicious climb for dessert. Halfway through I turn to a gravel path that winds along the edge of a valley. On my left gray cliffs, sometimes overgrown with moss or heather. To the right, in the depths, a beautiful waterfall I can only half admire from above. And the visitor center which is marked as to be built in my guide book. A lawn full of picnic tables looks tempting, but my feet take me away from it. Slowly I descend until I reach a babbling brook bordered by purple bluebells. I cross the stream and follow it back to Knockaree on the other side. A school class walks towards me, carrying loud music which makes experiencing the landscape impossible. It looks like a wonderful place to camp, but unfortunately that is strictly prohibited. When the route leaves the water there is another steep climb to a path which ends up on the road. Here I leave the Wicklow Way briefly to tap water at the youth hostel. And to be fair, they also have M & Ms. Back then and immediately there is another climb. Stones form a staircase and I slowly lift myself up. One hill turns into another, it seems, all equally hard. Then I recognize a hill in the distance with a kind of tower on it and I know that Dublin is getting closer. You should be able to get a drink in Glencullen, but I hardly recognize the collection of houses and farms as a village, let alone detect a pub. According to the map, the actual village is exactly in the opposite direction and I follow the road to the next, last hill. This one doesn't seem to end either, but that will be my fatigue talking. I am starting to feel my feet quite a bit. It’s great the route remains so green, even now in these last kilometers. The city remains hidden behind the trees when the gravel road gets lower. Even the section parallel road with posters for and against abortion related to the referendum on the lampposts cannot not spoil the fun. The wall along which I hike encloses Marlay Park. I enter the park on my way to the finish. And blimey, there’s no coincidence. On that last kilometer I meet a Dutchman who is just starting the Wicklow Way, Niels from Steenwijk. I give him some tips and when it turns out that he has maps with him, but no guide book, I lend him mine. I'm done with it anyway and as hikers you help each other, shouldn’t you? This just was meant to be. I cover the last meters with satisfaction. Another adventure completed.

View my pictures of this hike here.