Last Saturday I climbed Croagh Patrick Mountain, on our County Mayo excursion in the west of Ireland. This was an experience that I will never forget, because it truly was a cleansing, meditative, spiritual pilgrimage, that I remember every 20 seconds when I either sniffle my nose or cough. Our group woke up in at 8:00 a.m. in the morning in the nearby town of Westport, a beautiful little city that is the defending champion of the “small town contest” held annually in the Republic of Ireland. Croagh Patrick loomed in the immediate landscape as we woke up and ate free bread at the hostel, trying to stuff some sort of energy into our malnourished diet. This isn’t to say that I’ve been starving myself, but rather I was eating while looking at a massive mountain that I couldn’t even see the summit, as half the mountain ascended into the clouds.

Our group arrived at 8:30 and were the only people at the mountain, which was a blessing because this climb was one thing that I wanted to do by myself and make it my own experience. The climb up is once again nothing that one would experience back in the States. The trail is very steep and is made up of a series of loose rocks. For every two steps forward, one can expect to slide at least one foot back by getting caught up in a small avalanche of rocks. Just this week a 70 year old women fell towards to the summit and had to be airlifted to a hospital, and apparently this is not an unusual mishap at all. I guess this is why it is still called a pilgramage and not a hiking trail.

For those that are not familiar with this mountain, it is a famous pilgrimage because St. Patrick “apparently” climbed it multiple times, “supposedly” spending the entire lent season in fast at the summit. I use the words “apparently” and “supposedly” because I just finished reading in my history textbook that if St. Patrick did everything that is recorded, he would have lived to be at least 450 years old. Regardless there is something very spiritual about the mountain, as if each person leaves part of their intentions or prayers with the mountain and this has accumulated over the last 1500 years to make it holy (I still have faith that St. Patrick climbed it also). Friends and family reading this know that I have prayed for all of you so in a sense you all are connected to this mountain.

(Statue of St. Patrick at the start of the climb with Croagh Patrick over his shoulder)

About half way up the mountain, I could see for miles, but only another 100 yards further and I continued the rest of the climb through a cloud. The wind picks up and blows at an incredible speed, plastering the moisture of the cloud to every hiker’s clothes and body, which feels great at the time but not so much the next day. The hike turns very steep at the end and forces one to use hands and feet, especially because each rock is loose and slippery. I reached the top and was blasted by wind. I couldn’t see more than 15 feet off of the mountain so there was no real view, but the sleet blowing at such a speed over the small chapel and rock formations on the summit into a total abyss thousands of feet from the ground is beautiful in its own way. I met some Irish natives on the top, one that was trying to make the climb 100 times before he turned 70 years old. He was about 65 and said he was going to have to make the climb once more again that day, which is incredibly impressive. These Irish said an Our Father with most of our group that had reached the summit. This was a perfect finish to the whole experience, about 25 people holding hands in prayer at the top of this mountain as if this was the one way that we wouldn’t be blown away.

The climb down was scarier than they way up. It was almost as if each rock was a surf board and I just had to find the right one and ride it a couple of feet before jumping to another sliding rock. The way down I ran into hundreds of people of all ages, nationalities, sexes, and thought to myself a helicopter rescue was definitely in order for the day. There was even a family gasping for air just feet from the car park. I think they were fellow Americans.

This experience was something that I was looking forward to coming into this trip, and it surpassed all my expectations and hopes. As for my cold… I guess I’m a tea drinker now.

Love from Ireland,

John Murray