The deadliest, jelliest site ever. Brought to you by Niamh Shaw

Posts tagged ‘snow’

Only 41,851,439 more feet to go

Finally, the photographic evidence:-

090824 By the river

Husband risks life and limb.

090824 Husband and Jed

So I’m not sure what Husband was up to in this shot. He was either winding up for a rousing chorus of ‘I’m Every Woman’, or he might have been stretching.

090824 Jed and tree

Jed gets to grip with a tree.

090824 Wet dog

If there is any body of water in the vicinity, you can be pretty sure Jed will be straight in there.

090824 Still wet

More like a drowned rat.

090824 Contemplation

Jed considers his career prospects. Something outdoors, maybe in the forestry industry.

090824 Dusk

Dusk by the sea.

090824 Mt Ruapehu

I would hazard a guess this is Mount Ruapehu and a tufty rock. I should really write these things down (well, the tufty rock is obvious).

090824 Snow

Husband tries to talk Jed into sledding.

090824 Digdigdig

Background: mountains;
Foreground: Jed’s arse, as he attempts to tunnel to Ireland. He gave up after three feet.

090824 Floppy ear

Puppy strikes a pose.

090824 Husband

Husband works up a smile of sorts.

090824 Evening cloud

Evening closed as we drove north to Turangi, and I looked back to see Mount Ruapehu stalked by great banks of cloud.

090824 Mountains

Another one which doesn’t quite translate to print. We took a quick detour up Kaimanawa Road so that Husband could complain how cold it was at The Pillars of Hercules. This was the view at the T-junction giving back onto SH1.

090824 Sunset

A life of privilege

Mum: Will you ever stop scratching your arse against that heater?

Me: N-n-no. This house is f-f-freezing. It’s bordering on ch-child abuse.

Mum: Will you ever go and put some more feckin jumpers on ya.

Me: I’m w-w-wearing them all. D-don’t have any m-more.

Mum: I could lend you a vest.

Me: <look of slowly dawning horror>

Me: I would rather die of hypothermia.

Mum: For fecks’ sake! Will you ever toughen up! And stop wrecking my head! When I was a girl, we were so cold we were practically crippled with chilblains. We didn’t have ‘radiators’, just baked potatoes. We used to walk four miles to school, barefoot through the snow-

Me: Well, you’re lucky you’re hardy. I, on the other hand, was born into a life of privilege-

Mum: GAH!

Lesson 1: how to slice with a ski pole

Intrepid explorer (don’t be fooled by the beanie)

After days of rain in Kenmare, and snow up country resulting in the daring rescue of a busload of tourists from the Wicklow mountains, this morning was a surprise.

The day was lovely and bright and crispy. Dad and I decided to walk up the Lack Road from the Bridha Valley. Looking north from the Ballaghbeama Gap to the Valley, the Magilicuddy Reeks were framed against a perfect blue sky.

The Magilicuddy Reeks. The mountains frosted with snow are Caher (left) and Cumeenmore (right)

The wind could have scraped the arse off you, but at the pace my father set we warmed up quickly. In short, he walked the arse of me before the wind could get it.

Dad is a menace with a pair of ski poles (although technically, the man doesn’t need a pair of ski poles). I was lucky to escape with both eyeballs. The thrilling accuracy with which he flicked the pole up at the end of a stride cannot be accidental.

At the top of the Lack Road, we had some Nice biscuits and mint crisp. Then we turned east towards Curraghmore Mountain. After slodging through a bog, we scrambled up a jumble of rock towards the cairn marking the summit of Curraghmore.

Morning tea

The route ahead: Curraghmore Mountain is the highest peak in this photo, although admittedly it is more a trick of perspective

Picture by dad; me and Lough Acoose. Dingle Peninsula in the background. Also, my thighs aren’t really that big; it’s the wind, I swear to god, it’s the wind. Husband tell them, please.

Clouds collected and struck poses and looked threatening, but they didn’t venture below peak level. It was like watching a slide show.

Caher seemed but a short uphill sprint to our left, but my father hasn’t been on a walk this technical since his last hip operation and has a keen appreciation of his limits – although, this was not entirely clear as he descended to Curraghmore Lake.

There is no track apart from the odd set of sheep prints, with steep cliffs on either side of the descent. After the recent rain, much of the terrain was boggy and hanging halfheartedly to the underlying rock. Dad has two artificial hips and a fall runs the risk of dislodging one or both. We took it slowly, but every now and then the sound of dad’s ski pole skittering across damp rock made my heart skitter too.

Had he fallen, I was going to tell mum it happened on the Lack Road and dad used his arms to pull himself over to Curraghmore Lake.

Dad features cloud cover

Sunshine threatens Black Valley. Broaghnabinnia’s shadow also features, centre left

Picture by dad: me and Curraghmore Lake

Picture by dad: the reason there are few photos of me

Heather, possibly

Dad kicks rock

Multipurpose bridge/trailer

Dusk in the valley

Time to go home

Tag Cloud