Killarney to Black Valley

Myself and the sister had been watching the weather for weeks in advance of our Kerry Way trip and it didn’t look good. Not good at all. I didn’t think it could actually rain that long and that says a lot when you are Irish. The brother who lives outside Killarney insisted we were mad to be going in the first place. He dropped us in the Gleneagle Hotel carpark and laughed at the dirty black clouds on the hills. He said we would be soaked in ten minutes by the look of it. He wondered why we were going up Torc Waterfall and out the old Kenmare Road.

– What would you want to be going that way for? Would you not just walk straight out to Lord Brandon’s Cottage and save a few hours?

– That’s the way the Kerry Way goes – we told him, waving my official Kerry Way maps at him. He drove off laughing at our foolish non-native ways as we shouldered our rucksacks and walked about a hundred metres into the first petrol station to buy some sweeties for the walk.

The Kerry Way is the longest way marked trail in Ireland. It is the off-road version of the tourist driving route, the Ring of Kerry. The wayposts, footbridges and stiles were built by Fás workers in the 1980s and they circle the Iveragh peninsula for about 214km. It usually takes nine days to complete. We were here for the first three day section, from the lakes of Killarney through the valleys created by the McGillycuddy Reeks and out to the coast in Glenbeigh. It looked like an epic section. I was chasing epic. Tina just wanted to stay alive.

Munching on fruit pastilles we left the road and entered Ireland’s first National Park. We followed the trail as it skirted the bay on Lough Leane. This is the lake where Oisín met Niamh the fairy woman. It was Niamh who persuaded him to spend 300 years in real time over a few months in Tír na Nóg. The trail was busy this morning. Walkers were walking, cyclists were cycling and jarveys passed us in their empty jaunting cars while their strong smelling ponies clip-clopped along the road. On the lake we could see the rocky Osprey Island and Friar’s Island with rowers from Muckross Rowing Club skimming across the water.

muckross rowing club

We passed Muckross Abbey to our left. As we strolled up the long avenue towards the Tudor style Muckross House, the sun made an appearance and caught the colours of the earliest Spring rhododendrons in the distance. There was even a bit of heat and we loosened our garments accordingly as we turned at the mansion. There was a coffee shop here and inside the house was a pair of extinct Irish Elk antlers hanging on the walls. Did I need either? No, they would be for another visit. We carried on down towards Muckross Lake, Ireland’s deepest lake.

Mention must be made here of our personal attire. Tina is a dedicated field walker and she favours a calf-length bushwhacker style Brgn coat to keep her warm and dry. Very stylish with a tweed design, high collars and overhanging shoulder capes for rain runoff. If she had a cowboy hat you’d mistake her for someone from the Wild West and she looks like a gunslinger who has lost their horse and is making their way to the next town where they will no doubt cause trouble.

I’m more traditional so I’m layered up with wicking tops, padded jackets and an outer skin of goretex from Decathlon which means I spend a lot of time stopping to adjust and keep my body temperature the way I like it. This also allows me to note the views and grab a few photos. Both of us have rewaterproofed our outers in advance of the Kerry climate and both of us are highly competitive about staying dry. The fact that neither of us might achieve this was not the point. The only important thing is that we might be happy with our choices.

hiking style kerry way

The wayposts brought us to Torc Waterfall and the landscape threw off its Refined Estate Lakeland style in favour of the Wild Mossy Mountain fashion that fairy-folk like. Torc was our only civilised toilet for the next few hours so we did what we had to do (very clean amenities, top marks for such a busy public spot!) and got ready for the climb ahead. This would be our first main climb of the journey and this would tell us a lot about whether we had taken on too much today.

I have to say, we smashed Torc. What we didn’t know was that our route bypassed the infamous Cardiac Hill section. That route has about 1250 steps, a lot of which are so steep that they have rope railings on the side to hang onto. We turned left after about 20 minutes of stone steps and got our breath back at the car park of the Old Kenmare Road. Is that it? we wondered.

The road rose ahead but it was a gentle ascent, flat and wide as it wound its way through holly and moss covered trees. It was nothing like the steep steps we had just come up. We were so happy with our progress that we decided to treat ourselves to an early lunch at the gateway to the open upland section. The rain clouds had softened to grey fluff and the sky ahead had a blue tint we had not seen in weeks.

old kenmare road

It was a grand spot to sit and rest for a while. Foot traffic was busy with families heading to the summit of Torc before the Easter holidays finished and dogwalkers trying to stop their mutts from stealing my cheese-and-ham rolls. We soaked up the deep green mosses that contrasted with the colourless winter grasses. The sky was full of birdsong. I kept an eye out for Ireland’s only herd of native red deer as we sat on our little foam seat pads. Apparently they are often seen here, but no joy today. I was glad to have the rucksack off my shoulders. I rubbed them. They were sore already. It was a new rucksack and I wondered if I didn’t have it adjusted properly.

Lunch finished, we set off again. The rain clouds were threatening above the Mangerton hills high up to our left. We felt a few drops, tightened our clothing and immediately overheated again as the sun came out. The old Kenmare Road cuts through 16km of isolated uplands here. If you look carefully there are signs of old settlements, but they are hard to pick out as the sea of pale tussocky grass swallows any stone walls. Apart from the road there are no signs of human activity for miles. In the distance you can see the McGillycuddy Reeks. Carrauntohill, Irelands highest mountain is visible on that range if you know what to look out for. We didn’t know one from the other so we just marvelled at the wide vistas as we walked. In the Summer this would all be green and purple heather but for now we are just walking through a bleached landscape. This is pure moorland, as alien to us as the Serengeti. It was my favourite stretch.

The rocky road rolls along here over the grassland until it drops down to a boggy area where it disappeared into watery pools. We crossed boardwalks here and then a steel footbridge over the Crinnagh river which snaked off in the other direction. A trail runner skips by us, clad in shorts and those running waistcoats full of water and whatever. Cores Cascade came gushing over an outcrop to our left but we leave the water behind and follow a stony green trail into Esnamucky Glen. This is a narrow uphill gorge, quite unusual in such an open place, probably the result of fast glacial water meeting stubborn hard rock. There are lots of trees here, most of them clinging onto rocks. The stones soak up the sun and even the air is hot in here. We take a breather, let a walker and his dog pass, then climb the natural steps that lead us up through it with another gushing stream flowing downward to our side.

esnamucky gorge

Once we clear here we are in an a bowl-shaped marshy depression, the sun glaring overhead and the boardwalk climbing up the slopes to some large skip bags full of material for repairing the trail. We have to step gingerly here as the boardwalk turns into stone islands between water pools. It is tough going, concentrating on where to put our feet. I could feel my rucksack on my shoulders again and I pop a few fruit pastilles in my mouth for the ascent.

At the top of the rise we meet another long stretch of boardwalk. We stop further on, this time on a nice wooden bench left outside an old settlement where workers have left more boards for the boardwalks. The landscape has changed again, turned greener as the trail descends towards the Galway River. The pale grasses are replaced by ancient woodland with deep green mosses that cover every rock and climb each gnarled tree. The trail widens. Goats perch on the side of the hill watching us pass. We cross the river on a footbridge and descend to the junction. The Old Kenmare Road turns left here. We are going right, back towards Killarney on an old paved section. We are surrounded by hills again and the air is so hot here that the puddles in the potholes have completely dried out. Families pass us walking out from town and we can see the spire of Derrycunnihy church around the corner.

Derrycunnihy church kerry way

The church was built around 1890. It is disused now, apart from a family of Horseshoe Bats that are protected there. It marks the point where we cross the busy Ring of Kerry Road and follow the trail down into the ancient woods of Derrycunniha. A rain shower eventually arrives but the leafy oak canopy keeps all but a few drops off us for the most part. I take great delight in watching the rain beading on the surface of my freshly waterproofed jacket and just sitting there wondering how to get through the material. Footbridges bring us across damp streams. We can see the Upper Lake in the distance and we meet more walkers as we head downhill.

We arrive at a gravel road known as the Mass Path and turn left towards Lord Brandon’s Cottage. This road trundles up and down through the dense woods. The moss grows high here in this damp air. I stop a few times here to rub my shoulders from the rucksack. I think about adjusting the straps but then I think I’m grand again. I’m stubborn as hell and just want to keep walking. There are plenty more walkers here, all heading back towards Killarney after doing the shortish stroll to the cottage and back.

The road comes out of the woods and rises slightly above the Upper Lake floodplain. It is covered in moor with the odd burst of Yellow Furze. I wouldn’t chance this road in the Winter with the floods. There are one or two bends and then the road darts ahead for a few km in a dead straight line. This is the loveliest straight road I have ever walked. We can see the tiny islands on the lake to our right. McCarthy’s Island, Juniper Island, Duck Island, Robinson Island, Ronayne Island (named after an eccentrc mathematician friend of Isaac Newton) and Eagle Island, named after the White Tailed Eagles that nest in the National Park. Cormorants perch on the rocks on the lake letting the air frill their feathers. Tomies and Purple Mountain are the close uplands. The Reeks stand proud and directly in front of us like a giant wall.

carrauntohill and upper lakes killarney

The end of this section brings us to Lord Brandon’s Cottage where we stop for a well earned espresso and refreshments. Cash comes in handy here as there is no card machine. We cross the Gearhameen river on a lovely 6 arch bridge and join the road up towards the Gap of Dunloe. The good lady in the cafe told us the hostel is only 1km more, but this must be a Kerry measurement. Add two more kilometres to the distance and she would be nearer the mark. This is when I notice the backs of my knees starting to tighten up. It is like they know they are nearly at the end and are giving up trying to be strong. The road is rising all the way. My rucksack definitely hurts me now and I can’t wait to take it off. I can feel Tina grumbling under her breath behind me. We pass an Irish roadsign with way too much information on it and which says nothing about any hostel being close.

black valley roadsign

But finally we arrive at the hostel in the centre of Black Valley. The hostel lady is asleep but we wake her up from her afternoon snooze. We have done 23km and are still dry. It was pretty epic, we didn’t get lost and we were both still alive. More importantly, we had defeated the evil Kerry rain. We showered and celebrated our Easter Monday adventure by cooking some hearty bean soup in the well-equipped kitchen. The only other folk in the hostel are a friendly French Quebec tour guide couple who are scouting hikes for groups of Canadian tourists. We discuss routes up Purple Mountain as I had done it a few months previous. Tina converses about the Irish language and they tell us a little about the First Nations cultures in Canada.

I read a little in the hostel about Lily Van Oost, the Flemish fashion designer who lived in Black Valley up until the 90s. Always keen to scandalise her neighbours when she moved here, they were curious to know what size of bed she would need for her house where she lived on her own and she told them that it needed to be large enough for three. Then, lights out.

Next, Day 2 or as we like to call it – Sodden Tuesday.

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