Passing on One Man’s Pass

The couple from Belfast stopped me in the parking lot just as I was about to pull out of the campground. “We were worried about you! How did you make out?”

I had been worried about them as well. The last time I saw them, the day before, we had met near the top of the Pilgrim’s Path trail at Sliabh Liag. The wind had picked up, the temperature dropped, and the rain was coming down even more fiercely than before. It was impossible to see much through the mist, though just minutes before there had been stunning views of the valley and coast below us.

No one else was around, as far as we could see.

The 3-4 hour hike was to offer amazing views of the seaside cliffs, three times the height of the more famous Cliffs of Moher, and twice the height of the Eiffel Tower. All we would see was fog.

After chatting for a bit I decided to continue on, despite the weather. When I reach the peak and the path that would take me along the ridge, there was one final warning sign about not getting too close to the edge. I did wonder how I could tell where the edge was in the dense fog with blowing wind and rain.

Over the course of the next hour or so, I stopped and ate my cheese sandwich, waited for the weather to clear up, thought about turning around, and decided not to when I saw hikers coming from the other direction. We reassured each other about what lie ahead, wished each other luck, and continued on our separate ways.

Though they recommended the lower trail for more protection from the fierce weather, I somehow ended up on the upper trail, complete with views of nothing but thick fog below. When I reached the dreaded “One Man’s Pass” I promptly turned around.

The pass is nothing more than narrow point of rocks descending from the summit for about fifty yards, with a steep drop to the ocean and jagged rocks below. I would have had to straddle the rocks and inch my way down, trying not to be blown off the mountain. Although I could not see through the clouds, I knew it wasn’t for me. I read later that only the most experienced hikers should attempt One Man’s Pass.

By the time I retraced my steps and found the lower trail that had been recommended to me, I noticed a tiny bit of clearing in the weather. It took some time to make my way through the field of rocks and boulders, but I eventually made it up to the other side of One Man’s Pass to finally see the ocean below, the beautiful cliffs, and ant-sized people in the distance at the main viewing point, just a short walk from the visitor center.

My route would take me to that viewing point and to more sights before arriving back at my campground five and a half hours after I had left on the three-hour hike.

I was exhausted, but it was well worth it.

That night, I took a five-minute walk to the local pub which happened to have a group of local musicians dropping by for a “session.” These informal musical gatherings are very common across Ireland and as the night went on, more and more musicians stopped by. When a young couple with a banjo and guitar showed up and sat next to me (there were more musicians than spectators in the small room), they played a song that brought the pub to a standstill. Diners and other patrons from other rooms came to listen. It turns out they are from Holland.

Here’s a link to the video I took performing “Cliffs of Dooneen” (impossible to download on this campground wifi!) And here’s a link to their website: Boxin’ The Vox.

In-between the songs, I had conversations with a couple from Derry in Northern Ireland, a place I passed through in 1987 when it was a very different city being at the center of the Troubles. They encouraged me to visit the city on my way back to Dublin which I did a couple of days later.

I walked across the Peace Bridge, a much safer bet than the One Man’s Pass.

And I enjoyed a selfie with the Derry Girls mural. If you don’t know this Netflix series, take a look – it’s one of my favorites.

Here are some more sights from the hike.