I have it in writing that ‘If you don’t climb the Mountain, you can’t see the View’, and on very good authority too. So while all eight of the Scavvy Seven took to the high road, the sub-culture did other things. From Newcastle pier, one gets a different take on the Mournes. The yacht club were out in force, the gulls stuffed full early, happy on the beach, a sure sign all was well abroad the water, and the weather up. The pier end littered with baskets, net and line, and a grey-blue–oyster-shell sea, shimmering light back off the sunken rocks all along the Newcastle road out of town toward Annalong. Winds filling the sails, the small boats skimming briskly along; in contrast, how it must have been, on high seas, pre-tourism, when the men went out to fish for dinner and their keep. Being a landlubber, I can only wonder what the Mournes look like from out across the water, so I go not to the boats but the books. E. Estyn Evans, in his chapter titled, ‘Luggers and Long Lines’, speaks of the fishermen from these areas who were also farmers, who knew these mountains intimately both from land and sea, their mountain views, truly panoramic. The landmarks these high grounds afforded the sea farer, were used to guide them to their fishing grounds and home again. ‘The names read like a poem. There are, for example, the Two Hills, the Blue Hills, the Three Tallies, and the North Mountain Foot; the Small Pike, the Long Land and Marleys-on-the-Ditch; the Horsemen, the Bleachyards, McVeigh’s-in-the-Glen, Rook’s Chimney, Henry’s Lumps, Nicky’s Easens, and the Old Mill Stump. ......The Horsemen, for example, are the tors on Chimney Rock, with the General leading the others, his horse’s back proudly curved against the clouds. Others have a delightful intimacy, based often on nicknames of long-vanished shore-dwellers, Nip-me-hip’s and Kibby’s Easens…..These, and marks such as the Rector’s Bushes and Issac’s-on-the-Hill, were guides to the inshore fishermen who were never far from land and knew its every curve, tree and chimney. One of the best remembered was Donal’s Light, described to me as “always burning behind a red blind in Donal O’Hare’s kitchen on the Lee Stone Brae.”’ Evans’ ‘Mourne Country’ makes for good company, when that has gone to the hills, and O’Hare’s was delightfully lit on return with gifts, recount, the declension of verb, sub-culture, the poets, vanishing acts, and most of whatever you’d be having yourself. Try the eight, and many thanks Cra, jackill, et al for great company on return.