August 8, 2009: Castlegregory to Camp

Canal to the north of Castlegregory

We had breakfast at 8:00, our last morning meal of the trip. Mrs. Lyons had outdone herself in pictorial perfection: my scrambled eggs on toast sat on my plate as a monument to minimalist architecture: triangles, pyramids and circles (represented by the cooked tomatoes). At another table a pair of Italian cyclists discussed their itinerary for the day.

Our plan had originally been to walk back to Ashe’s pub in Camp and there to await our taxi at 2:00. Mrs. Lyons insisted that there was no need to walk up a steep hill to this pub since we would find the Railway Tavern on our left if we remained on Camp’s lower road. So it was arranged that our afternoon taxi would load up our bags here in Castlegregory and then pick us up at the Railway Tavern at 2:00 – and we were ready to undertake the last day of our walk. It was 8:45.

In many ways today’s walk resembled yesterday’s since we began with a session of town photo shooting, then headed east on tarmac, then returned to more beach walking in an easterly direction as well. We plodded along comfortably enough, using inland tracks after the tarmac and passing the Seven Hogs pub (named for seven islands off the tip of the nearby peninsula). I exhausted my penchant for photography with a lot of shots of the streams and canals, though I failed to get a good shot of an otter who was looking at us from his hole with something edible in his mouth.

Just before we used a bridge to cross one of the streams an Irish Setter trotted up behind us and a Jack Russell-sized dog came bounding around a corner as well. The Setter went into the bushes at the roadside and stared out at his little pal (hiding in plain sight, as my dog Fritz used to do to his pal Charlie) – the little dog going crazy with anxiety and barking up a storm at the unmoving red dog. They were still at it as we crossed the bridge and continued toward the east.

Along the beach of Tralee Bay

When we were directed at last to the beach, we entered at the same point where cars were being driven onto the sand. One chap did endless circles in his pickup as the kids aboard shrieked that he was making them dizzy. It was harder to find firm sand on this stretch of the shore and progress was a bit slower. We also had to wade across the outflow of several rivers but eventually we came to one, the Meenascally, that was too deep to do this without submerging our boots and so we had to backtrack a bit in order to find a bridge.

It was clear that the OS map was no longer up to date in this section of the route for we had no inland section in the middle of our beach walk (as it seemed to show) and we remained on the sand for a much longer time. At last, after rounding Carrigagharoe Point we saw the end of a track above us and climbed up to see the steeple of the Kilgobin Church ­– exiting here. Gavan said that this was probably a Protestant church too since there would be no need for a second Catholic church in Camp and we knew where the other one was located. He was right.

We asked some locals walking their dogs about directions to the Railway Tavern and they confirmed a left turn up ahead. Soon we had reached the main highway in lower Camp and made the required turn. In the event we wished we had persevered in our original plan since we now had a distance to cover that was two or three times longer than it would have taken us to reach Ashe’s pub, hill or no. I suspect that Mrs. Lyons’ advice was the kind you often get from someone who only approaches places with a car – but we now set off to discover this distant pub as quickly as we could. Gavan was walking nervously behind me and stepping off the road whenever there was a car heading our way.

At last I began to see signs of life and after crossing the road we pulled up at the advertised hostelry at 12:40. There had been some doubt about whether this was a six or a seven-mile day – but after this additional distance I told Gavan, “I’m giving this a seven.” Our walk was over. We had walked 85 miles, the longest total for me since 1992, when Gavan and I had walked the Two Moors Way – also an eight-day jaunt, the only other one in my walking career. Only once had we walked for nine days – that is on the West Highland Way in 1991.

Gavan at the end of our walk, the Railway Tavern in Camp

We went inside and ordered our drinks, the only customers. The place was full of interesting photos including that of the bearded proprietor but our barman was another youngster – born in the same year that Gavan and I (and Elizabeth Ford) had last walked in Ireland, 1990. The pub served no food (another reason why we should have gone to Ashe’s) and we had not been provided with lunches today so Gavan, on the advice of our barman, went up the road to the next pub and brought back toasted tuna sandwiches. While he was gone I lowered my whistle on a string to attract the attention of a lively black kitten (even younger than the one in the South Pole), and she had a good time batting it around.

I went into the gents and changed out of my walking trousers, emerging with a more respectable pair of cords and an unstained sweatshirt, ready again for air travel. We also dumped all of our water bottles and then went outside at 2:00 to await our taxi. A car soon arrived but, to our surprise, it was driven by Mrs. Lyons herself. There had been a mix-up at the cabbie’s house and she would now drive us to Kerry Airport herself.

In fact she was a very good driver. We passed the showgrounds where the Rose of Tralee contest would soon take place, and she and Gavan discussed the history of this event. There were roadworks just before we got to the airport and a one-way system in place but we arrived in plenty of time for our flight. That is I thought it was plenty of time but Gavan suddenly started to panic that perhaps ours was a 14:40 flight not a 16:40 one. He jumped out of the car in a rush and I was alone to wave goodbye to Mrs. Lyons. At the check-in line I quickly folded my cane and shoved it into my pack and extracted some materials I wanted with me during the flight. We weren’t late after all.

We went though security, though this time we didn’t have to take our boots off. One distraught traveller had all of her beach stones confiscated – since they could be used as weapons. Then we sat in a crowded departure lounge for the better part of an hour while I did a puzzle and Gavan shopped for gifts for the office staff. Our plane was spot on time and it wasn’t even full – there was an empty seat between Gavan and myself as we took to the skies. The flight lasted just an hour and ten minutes or so and when it landed somewhat early Ryan Air blasted a triumphal fanfare as the European airline with the best-on time record!

That’s the good news. When we were ushered through a fast lane at passport control at Stanstead we had to wait for forty minutes just to be given a luggage carrousel to head for. There was no place to sit down and this was a real nuisance. At last number four was flashed for our flight and off we went – I had picked up a trolley in the interim. Our bags were among the first unloaded and we then headed for the train station (where I paid less than half of what Gavan paid because I had brought both my Freedom and Senior Rail cards). We had only a short wait for the 7:00 train but, though it made few stops, it slowed down and was late getting into Liverpool Street.

During this journey Gavan was engaged in a rapid-fire text exchange with his brother Jim. He knew he was supposed to have drinks with Jim’s best friend, Marty Cornelius, this evening, but he had trouble getting hold of Marty or Danielle ­– and Jim was insisting that he was expected for dinner as well. We took a cab home and then the phone calls began. In the end he was expected for dinner and I was invited as well so after brief showers we headed around the corner to the Cornelius flat. (A few doors down my dog would spend a last night with his Auntie Hanna). Though very tired, this was a pleasant way for me to end the adventure, dinner with three former students. I reminded Marty that we were coming up to the 25^th anniversary of the Lake District walk I took him on in 1984.

Gavan downloaded all of his photos into my computer and I spent the next week integrating his with mine and writing up this report. Gavan left the next morning. I was exhausted and a cold and cough soon followed all these exertions but it had certainly been a memorable outing.

Footpath Index:

England: A Chilterns Hundred | The Chiltern Way | The Cleveland Way | The Coast-to-Coast Path | The Coleridge Way | The Cotswold Way | The Cumberland Way | The Cumbria Way | The Dales Way | The Furness Way | The Green London Way | The Greensand Way | The Isle of Wight Coast Path | The London Countryway | The London Outer Orbital Path | The Norfolk Coast Path | The North Downs Way | The Northumberland Coast Path | The Peddars Way | The Pennine Way | The Ridgeway Path | The Roman Way | The Saxon Shore Way | The South Downs Way | The South West Coast Path | The Thames Path | The Two Moors Way | The Vanguard Way | The Wealdway | The Westmorland Way | The White Peak Way | The Yorkshire Wolds Way