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  • A Day out on Howling Ridge, Carrauntoohil

    (by Allister Gerrard, June 2008)
    The infamous Howling Ridge, a coming together of a great day’s hill walking with rock climbing on a fabulous mountaineering route to Ireland’s summit, Carrauntoohil (1039m).



    Howling Ridge

    Howling Ridge is regarded as one of Ireland’s finest mountaineering routes, mostly a summer route, however originally first climbed by local man, Con Moriarty, in winter conditions, in the days when it got plenty of snow. The climb itself is approximately 430m in height gain of climbing/scrambling from the Heavenly Gates (approx. elevation 610m ) to the summit, apparently with eight pitches – must have missed one or two, or done two in one! Duration for climbing the route can vary from a reported 20 minutes up to 8 hours (The I.M.C. party of Tony Barry, Willie Whelan, Dairín Currey and company previously climbed it very respectably in under 2 hours, in the rain). It took us that and the rest, conditions were good, and we were under no pressure for time, so took it leisurely.

    We were unsure of how long it would take so an early start was required to leave plenty of time ‘just in case’. It was the June bank holiday weekend. We all set off from Lisleibane at 9am, Joe, Jimmy, Sandra, Joanne, Emma (family), Aileen, and myself. It was a warm morning with a gently cool air, a long away from the hustle and bustle of the M50 & city mayhem; what a life. We walked up deep into the Hag’s Glen up almost as far as the two lakes. Our group spilt up here and one party set out for a day’s hill walking headed for Carrauntoohil via the Devil’s Ladder. Aileen and I broke off west of the lakes, destination ‘The Heavenly Gates’.

    The Heavenly Gates, GR 807 844, marks the start of the route of Howling Ridge to Carrauntoohil’s summit. The walk up to Heavenly gates turns right before the two lakes in the Hag’s Glen are reached. Picking up a track that swings around to the west of Loch Gabhrach, the track gradually steepens with a little scrambling. The track then dwindles for a short spell of steep ground, which is easy scrambling until the track is picked up again leading to a plateau below Carrauntoohil’s steep north-east cliff face. Turning southerly at this point, the steep scree must be scrambled up to reach the notch below the ridge itself – the Heavenly Gates. It can be reached from Lisleibane in 1.5 to 2 hours. We took a generous break at Heavenly Gates, racked up and started around the corner, a few metres left of Heavenly Gates (on Collins gully side), an easy start point. On the left side of Howling Ridge it drops off into ‘Collins Gully’ before rising back up to another rocky sharp ridge, ‘Pipets Ridge’ (Easy to hard scrambling, with a section of Severe climbing). On the right side of Howling Ridge it drops off steeply again before rising up to form another ridge, ‘Primroses Ridge’ (rated VS).


    Neighbouring Pipets Ridge


    The first pitch

    The first pitch is mostly a scramble, however we were roped up and moving together, throwing the odd sling around a spike, thread or alike; one short diff climb reaches the first plateau.


    The view down after the first pitch


    The second pitch ahead

    Moving together again, we shortly reached the second pitch which proved the first real challenge, a short but steep bit of V.Diff exposed climbing. The rock is very loose all the way up, so when making moves and placing gear it is advisable to check & re-check the rock. I generally used a selection of gear, lot of slings, larger nuts, friends and the odd hex; we were fairly well protected throughout, taking the slower but safer options in placing gear and pitching. The rock friction is quite good; dry and very slabby, with lots of what can be described as slates of sandstone piled on top of each other, handy for jamming the odd friend in, provided they ain’t loose. The exposure is not to be underestimated; for me, this was the biggest eye-opener, the drop-offs are huge in places and consequences of a fall undoubtedly serious to worst-case scenario; however, gear placements can be found however seemingly sparse at times. The views are magnificant and are thoroughly appreciated when belaying, if you’re lucky enough to have breaks in the cloud, which we had at times on and off. It can be climbed in boots or rock shoes, depending on conditions. I opted for walking boots and found them comfortable. It could be a long day in rock shoes; although others have used rock shoes without complaint, I didn’t really miss them. We used a 60m rope with both of us carrying coils throughout, however a 30m rope would probably be more ideal. I found the 60m rope a bit cumbersome at times and extra weight! The next pitch is longer but interesting; you just have to route-find yourself, and I did a bit of zigzagging on the route or choosing one line, of which you could have tried several at different points.


    View below after the third pitch

    The route generally goes upwards oddly enough, sticking to climbing on the rock and centre of the ridge. I found there was a lot of rope drag, too many turning of corners I reckon, and longish pitches. The route continues on with pitches and slight plateaus and scrambling, eventually coming to one of the last pitches which towers above; nice exposed climbing leading up to what is known as ‘The Finger’ (like a closed hand with a sharp index finger of rock protruding out). At this point the long week at work, sleep deprivation and the drive down the day before (advisable to leave early on a bank holiday Friday and head the Cork road to Killarney) began to take its toll, and a much-needed break while belaying helped to recuperate before tackling the next pitch up to tThe Finger.


    On Howling Ridge, with Pipets Ridge on the left


    The next pitch up to The Finger

    At The Finger the rock generally flattens out, sloping slightly downwards in the direction of ‘Collins Gully’. After walking across, there are options; drop into Collins gully (which I understand can be protected) or traverse to the left leading to Diff climbing on an exposed ridge above Collins Gully, which I understand is easier but loose and badly protected. We decided after walking cross the series of protruding rock after the finger to veer off around to the right of the next rock tower (on the opposite side was Collins Gully on the left side of the rock tower/ridge). We traversed around a few metres and found a grassy gully, which we scrambled up, then a couple of rock steps, generally keeping to the ridge line, which is all scrambling or moving together after the top of Collins Gully. After a short while, the ground widens, exposure vanishes and we stopped and got rid of the rope, which we had been tripping over for the last section and was becoming a nuisance. We packed the gear away and scrambled the last section to the summit. Unfortunately the cloud covered the summit; however, we enjoyed a bit of R&R.


    Nearing the summit – go back!


    Allister on the summit of Carrauntoohil

    The weather had held out well in fairness, as thundery showers were forecast in the afternoon. We got the thunder and even a spot of rain however were lucky not to get showers, which would make the climb a more serious undertaking and less enjoyable; pick your forecast if you can!

    Incidentally, the name apparently derives from when Moriarty’s dog ‘Grimsel’, a Kerry husky, had followed to the foot of the ridge but was unable to go further, and instead was left to ‘howl’ below.

    We returned to Lisleibane via the Heavenly Gates track from Carrauntoohil’s summit and back to Killarney for some well-earned grub and pints! A fitting end to an enjoyable day and we enjoyed the rest of the weekend in good weather.

    References and acknowledgements:
    Denis Lynch’s Munster’s Mountains details most of the best scrambling and climbing routes Munster has to offer. Thanks to Declan Cunningham, Tony Barry, Barry Watts, Gerry Galligan and James Flanagan for previously sharing their own experiences of the ridge.

  • Stay away from that mountain!

    (by Katherine O’Connor, May 1998)
    From New York to Kerry, from fear of heights to a mountain-skills cert – the development of a hillwalker.


    “Stay away from that mountain!” My Aunt’s favourite reply whenever I asked about Mount Brandon. Aunt Mary grew up on the last farmhouse at the foot of Mount Brandon (the highest in Ireland outside of the Reeks). She witnessed World War II plane wrecks and brought mugs of milk to the surviving German pilots. She had mountain search and rescue teams based out of her home and her uncle (my great uncle) was clifted while gathering sheep off the Faha ridge. They tell me his shoes were too big and he slipped and fell to his death. The mountain was a big part of her life but it was not a pastime.

    Almost every fine day climbers knocked at her door wanting to know if they could leave their car in the yard or to ask advice about the weather or the way up. Mary had climbed to the summit many times for the annual mass in June but her motivation was religion not sport like many of today’s climbers. At first my Aunt enjoyed chatting with these people. However, as the mountain and climbing grew more popular and, as she grew older she resented people coming to her door not out of concern for her but out of concern for the mountain.

    In 1975, when her young nieces arrived from New York for their summer holiday we were told that we could wander anywhere we wanted (what freedom compared to a summer in New York City) but “stay away from that mountain” was recited at least once a day. As any good niece would do I listened to my Aunt and stayed away causing the mountain to grow and grow in my mind. I spent the summer exploring the hills and fields of Cloghane, popping in on neighbours, helping my Uncle bring the cows home in the evenings and the milk to the creamery in the morning, all in the shadow of the mountain.

    I had seen photographs of the lakes and had heard about the tobar (spring well), the cliffs, the esk (steep, rocky gully) and the summit where an oratory dedicated to Saint Brendan stood and, of course, the dangerous mist that could drop down and blanket it all without a warning. So when August ended and we returned to New York and school I never stopped thinking and talking about Ireland, Brandon mountain and what it must be like up there.

    When I was in Austria, ten years later, I bought a pair of hiking boots; they were for “my big climb” to Mount Brandon in a few weeks time. Unfortunately, when my brother and I arrived in Ireland I was knocked out with laryngitis and there was no chance of climbing. Each subsequent trip I made to Ireland I swore I would face Mount Brandon and my fear of heights but what if I was out with people I did not know and I panicked and made a fool out of myself and had to turn back. I didn’t want to go up with just anyone and some of my relatives said they would take me but have you ever tried to pin a Kerryman down to a specific day or time! So another ten years went by, every year repeating the same promise….next trip….next time….

    1995 came and I moved to Ireland. No more short holidays as an excuse, I was determined to face my fear of heights and the mountain. Worst case scenario – I would not be able to face the steep esk and would have to turn back – not the end of the world. Then I heard of a pilgrimage to Mount Brandon coinciding with the recently revived Lughnasa festival held on the last Sunday in July. Here was my chance, I figured I could blend in with a large group led by professional guides. I had a friend and local farmer as an escort and he assured me that he had been to the summit on many occasions and would not mind turning back if I had to. Over 100 of us set off in sunshine but two hours later as we approached the peak the mist lowered and we spent the last hour climbing in fog. But as we settled around the oratory for lunch the sun was back and there was plenty of music, poetry and photo opportunities for all involved. After eating we started our descent down and into Cloghane. The village was hopping that evening; everyone was in great form after a successful day out. No easy feat for one hundred people to get to the top and back down again without any incidents. I loved every minute of it and when we reached the summit I was kicking myself for taking twenty years to get there (a very big mountain, indeed!) I had no problem with the climb but now I had a new problem, I could not get enough!

    The next few months I spent longing to climb any or all of the mountains in the area but having no experience I could not invite anyone to join me, being new in the area I didn’t know anyone who enjoyed hiking and as much as I enjoy being on my own, climbing alone is not recommended. So every so often I would pick up the phone, call someone that I didn’t really know, swallow my pride and ask if I could join them in a day out. Very humbling – lots of maybes, lots of we’ll ring you, not many yesses. In November, after calling someone I had only met once (what a pest I must have been) I was invited to climb Corran Tuathail (Ireland’s highest). The day was in aid of Rehab and would be led by professional guides and there would be other beginners involved so without hesitation I said yes!

    The weather was perfect – cold, crisp and clear but the climb was more difficult than Mount Brandon. When we got to the top of the ridge – a few hundred feet from the summit – I panicked! It wasn’t narrow but we were high up and fear of heights is not a rational thing. Well, this time I made a fool out of myself and needed someone in front to coax me along and someone in back to push me along until we meet up with the others at the cross, had a bite to eat and headed down the Devil’s Ladder. I was a bit shaky but I managed and if the group had turned around and headed back up I would have joined right in! The next two months I spent going on long walks and yearning for more but still could not seem to meet up with anyone I could go climbing with.

    1996 – this year would be different. In February, Micheál Ó Coileáin (with the help of Údarás) organised a mountain skills course to be held in Cloghane. I jumped at the opportunity. Here was my chance to meet other people who enjoyed climbing and to learn basic skills like map reading and navigation. But when I received the course prospectus my hands started shaking as I read it. There was talk of ice axes, night navigation, pacing and timing, rope work, dealing with nervous clients and assessment weekends away. I could not do this – not me – afraid of heights – but I stopped and said to myself, “Sign up, take one step at a time and go for it!”

    Fifteen people signed up but only eight people completed it. The course was time consuming and people found it difficult to commit. We met every Thursday evening in O’Connor’s Guesthouse in Cloghane, for years a gathering place for climbers. We went from overheads on first aid to navigation at night and from bandages to rope work. Pints of Guinness and black wavy lines (cliffs) floated in my dreams. We were warned that a lot of information would be thrown at us all at once but that over the next few months everything would fall (wrong word?) into place. The emphasis of the course was on doing not talking. Course motto – only one way to learn.

    The most important skill was to know where you were at all times by being able to read the lie of the land and transfer it to and from the map quickly and accurately. Confidence came with practice, practice and more practice. Numerous books have been written on almost every aspect of hill walking and safety but they all boil down to common sense and experience. Common sense to think things over and not to take on too much and experience – to learn from yours and others mistakes.

    8:00 o’clock every Saturday morning we were packed and on our way to the mountains. The first few weeks were a bit hectic as we tried to settle into our places within the group structure. What should we concentrate on? Everyone was worried about something different – the map, the ground, the compass, pacing, timing, distance, the names of mountains, what we did right, what we did wrong. No wonder I dreamt about the mountains for most of the course and still do! Some of the people caught on very quickly and some people had trouble tying their gaiters and still do (me) but we were all determined to master our maps, get to the top and back down safely and then climb into the nearest pub to talk the day over. It takes time for any group to settle into a rhythm but we settled quickly. Food, water, gear, all up for grabs in the morning. Maps, compasses and suggestions were passed back and forth all day long.

    Exchanging of phone numbers and pairing off into teams came about instinctively over time. Some people were confident, others needed to be coaxed, some worried about the weather, others height, some were fast paced, some slow, some loved the snow, some hated it, some were always in the back, and some were always in the front, some people asked a lot of questions and some people had all the answers. Our clothes (most of us wore the same gear every week) were bog-stained, ripped, worn, torn and tattered. Proof that we were either very clumsy or becoming serious about being in the mountains. By the end of the course we were all confident of ourselves and very impressed with each other’s progress.

    When I started the course I was afraid of heights, no longer a problem. Before I started the course someone once asked me how I was on steep ground and I couldn’t answer him. Two months later, when he asked I said, “No problem!” I literally faced my fear one step at a time and still do. I always hated myself for being afraid of heights. I thought it was from a bad scare as a child. Now I realise that it had more to do with being in (or out of) control. Once I let go and trusted the group and myself then I realised that if others could do it – I could too!

    Now, I have a new fear, I’m afraid of being injured in a car accident because I can’t keep my eyes off the mountains when I’m driving. I’m always comparing the type of terrain to something that I’ve been on or trying to name the peaks or trying to figure out the best route visually or picking out the peaks I’ve been on top of or which ones we will do next weekend or……….

  • Coomahorna

    (by Frank Winder, 1999)
    A crag that deserves to be looked at.


    I’m showing this picture of cliffs on the west wall of Coomahorna (Coom of the Barley) to encourage some serious climbers to take a look at them. The coom is in the Mullaghanattin Range and is north of the highest point on the road from Sneem to Caherdaniel. It is on the eastern side of Coomcallee Mountain, with grid reference about V 634 678. Above it and to the west, is a hanging coom with a lake – Coomcallee itself. The sunlit section of the cliff on the left is south-facing and its upper portion is at a relatively easy angle, so that the shadowed corner on the left provides a descent route. Between it and the steeper face on the right are a couple of ill-defined grooves which join higher up. The leftermost of these starts as a curving, vegetated groove. The line continues to a dark, triangular corner from which escape can be made to the left onto the higher rocks. This was climbed by me and my late son, Dian, in 1988 as Moor-grass Groove. It was my last use of a hawser-laid rope. It is about V. Diff. and much of it is vegetated.

    The east-facing face to the right is steeper and would be a formidable challenge. The Old Red Sandstone is in massively thick beds with little signs of stratification within these, so that it presents little in the way of holds and no signs of protection. But the cliff deserves to be looked at by a serious party. It is about 100 m high. Further right is a vertical to overhanging nose. I cannot see how it could be climbed without bolts and étriers, but perhaps there is someone good enough to tackle it. Further right again, with its start just hinted at the edge of the picture, there is an enormous overhang from which many house-sized blocks have fallen to the scree below.

    Altogether, this coom is an interesting place.

  • Dingle – June Bank Holiday Weekend

    (by Martina Walsh, from IMC Newsletter Summer 1997)
    Climbing in Kerry.



    The Pinnacle, Doonsheane
    Photo: Liam Convery

    Having made the last-minute decision in McDonaghs on a Thursday night to travel to Dingle the following day, I was a little apprehensive about how my first climbing weekend would pan out. My concerns were short-lived however, as the weather was terrific all weekend which meant idyllic long days climbing and the odd sun-burned limb.

    The sea cliffs at Doonsheane merited a full days attention. There is nothing quite like the sensation of reaching the top of a climb and spending a few moments watching the dolphins at play below. Sunday was spent climbing on the Great Blasket Island with the occasional dip in the clear waters to cool off. A visit to a crag in the Gap of Dunloe on the way home was a excellent way to round off the weekend. If this is what climbing is all about, I’m hooked.

  • Alive!

    (by Ben March, from IMC Newsletter Spring 1999)
    Witnessing a rescue from a Kerry mountain storm.



    Front page of The Star newspaper, Wednesday 20 December 1998

    At 7am on the morning of Tuesday, December 29th, 1998, Frank Power, Dermot Sheils, Séamus Crowley and I, all members of the IMC, sat in a rocking car at the foot of Carrauntoohill. As the car was buffeted by wind gusts of up to Storm Force 9, horizontal hail peppered the windows, and beside us, a full-sized galvanised farm gate slapped back and forth, threatening to unhinge itself at any minute and cheesegrate Frank’s nice new car. Undaunted, Frank produced "Travel Connect 4" (what next!) and we settled down to see if dawn would bring any let-up in the ferocious wind.

    Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, on the shore of the tiny corrie lake by the Eagle’s Nest, some 650m above us, a drama was unfolding. Five young Dublin climbers, some of them known to us from the UCD climbing wall, were caught in the very teeth of the storm. Wind howled around the 200-metre high walls of the corrie where they had chosen to camp (situated between Carrauntoohill and Beenkeragh) and slammed into their tents from every direction. As the temperature rose, snow and ice on the slopes above them melted and joined forces with torrential rain and sleet which sluiced down through their camp.

    The five young men, Eoin and Darragh Curran, Conor and Dónal O’Shea and Ben Griffin, are aged between 16 and 18, and all hail from Templeogue in Dublin. They are all experienced mountaineers, although only the Curran brothers were familiar with the Reeks. On the night of Monday, December 28, they had camped in the Gap of Dunloe. After a late start the following morning, they walked though the Black Valley, and started their ascent of Carrauntoohill from the Southeast. They had no radio, and were first made aware of the approaching storm on meeting another party descending from the peak by the shore of Lough Callee. On voicing their intention to camp by the Eagle’s Nest, members of the second party assured the lads that they would probably be able to weather the storm in the shelter of the corrie.

    They summitted Carrauntoohill at about 5pm, just as dusk fell. They then began the difficult descent of Shay’s Gully, thick with snow and ice, in rapidly diminishing light. They reached the tiny lake in the corrie at about 7pm, and, in deference to the impending storm, briefly considered descending further to the mountain hut that lay just a couple of hundred metres below them. However, they didn’t fancy the precarious descent past the waterfalls in the dark. Lulled into a false sense of security by the apparent calmness of the night, they decided to pitch camp on the flat rocky outcrop just above the lake. The lads spent the next couple of hours preparing food, and generally settling in for the night. As they went about these mundane tasks, they became increasingly aware of the rising wind and rain outside. By ten o’clock, the full force of the storm broke over them. The wind rushed in from every direction, delivering sledgehammer blows to the thin material arrogance of the tiny tents. In that cauldron of storm-fury, something had to give. A principal tent-pole in Darragh Curran’s tent bent, then snapped in two. As he rushed outside to investigate, a gust through the open door caught the tent, spinnaker-like, ripping the pegs from the sodden ground, and sending the tent and its remaining occupant skidding towards a sharp drop into the maelstrom of lake water below. Darragh reacted quickly, and collapsed the tent. His companions followed suit, knowing it was only a matter of time before their tent was also flattened by the storm. In a mad flurry of activity, they simultaneously extracted their survival bags from the wreckage whilst piling anything heavy they could find onto the madly flapping fabric. For nine interminable hours, the lads crouched huddled in their survival bags, periodically checking on the well-being of their comrades through the screaming wind.

    When I interviewed Darragh Curran, he was characteristically silent on any fears he must have had for the ultimate safety of the group. One can only imagine the terrible, desolate atmosphere of the place at that time.

    Dawn finally broke, and the party prayed the storm would abate. It stubbornly refused to oblige. One aborted attempt to descend was thwarted by the wind-whipped spray from the waterfalls drenching the descent route. The lads finally mustered the necessary determination to make the nightmare descent to the hut which they all reached at just after 10am. They spent hours there in deplorable conditions, ankle-deep in sheep droppings, sparsely equipped with the few sodden items they had managed to salvage from the destruction of their camp. Meanwhile, my friends and I ambled around Muckross Lake, picked our way through wind-downed branches, and thanked our lucky stars we weren’t above in the invisible mountains which surrounded us in the clouds.

    At midday, Darragh Curran and Conor O’Shea were chosen to go for help. It took them two and a half hours to reach Cronin’s farm in zero visibility. They had crossed two rivers in furious spate. The three remaining climbers were finally reached by their rescuers at around 4pm that afternoon. All were suffering from signs of hypothermia and shock. It took six stalwart members of the Kerry Mountain Rescue to recover their waterlogged gear (Not something they make a habit of, so don’t expect it!).

    That evening, the lads faced a hungry press-corps with enviable aplomb. The next day, several tabloid newspapers, delighted to have a saleable story during the post-Christmas silly season, would make front-page news of this affair, taking the lads to task for risking the lives of the Kerry Mountain Rescue team. Meanwhile, to his credit, Paul Curtis of the KMR was far more magnanimous, praising the lads for their obvious enthusiasm and youthful experience.

    The following morning, Frank led our group, this time with a new member, Déaglán O Dónaill, on the Reeks walk in glorious conditions. (In the meantime, Séamus had succumbed to the ‘flu). From the saddle above the corrie, we could look down on the brightly-coloured remnants of their camp scattered about the lakeshore like so much flotsam and jetsam. There are probably no better words to conclude this tale than those of Paul Curtis himself. I paraphrase: "In a few years time, these lads will have passed us all out. When they return, I’d love to bring them up a route myself. In the circumstances, they behaved remarkably in a remarkably responsible way".

    All the lads wish to acknowledge the bravery and dedication of the KMR, and thank them heartily for all their help. They also assure me that they will be returning to the mountains at the next possible opportunity.

    As for me, well, all I can say is : "Gentlemen, I take my hat off to you. I’ll see you out there sometime!"

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