Bleck Cra on Chimney Rock Mountain

There is something about Spence’s river valley not quite right: unsettling, unnerving. Something bigger than a sad story of a lost pilot ploughing into its East Stand – something age-old; a patient audience perhaps of this and a thousand other sad events.
The weight of melancholy in the place is overpowering – or is it just that dark days simply draw a lone spectator on to its drear stage? I fell under the spell of Chimney Rock Mountain the very first time I saw her. Pretty, little, odd: an outrider on the fringes of the pack proper. The alpha girls, Donard, Commedagh, Meel More, wide Lamagan and diva Bearnagh collude and conspire but Chimneyrock stands alone, silent, unassuming. From Chimney Rock Mountain you see everything we have been and everything we are. On a warm, new Sunday in February, a panorama panning North/South picked out Scotland, the Isle of Man, snow on English tops, a pool of canary yellow sunshine that spilled out from Drogheda dawn ‘til dusk and on its glazed horizon, heartbreaking Howth and memories of dolphins and rainbows. On her South Western edge, leaden feet draw you down into the spinning nothingness of Spence’s Valley. There are no tracks or clues and as you descend into this huge, heathery bowl, the emptiness seems to engulf you. A damp clamber up on to Rocky Mountain and return along the wall or Buttress holds the spectre of Spence’s Valley to heel and Donard Bog (currently Donard Bog Archipelago) soon occupies your attention – and a yomp home to Bloody Bridge (Start/Finish). It was in Spence’s, a blazing Spring, some years back. Invisible water gurgled under hidden holly, holy, hollow trees. Suddenly in my mind, the taste of fuel and French perfume, which might explain why he flew, uncontrollably, into Chimney Rock Mountain. Linkback: mountainviews.ie/summit/178/comment/3595/

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janerobbie on Chimney Rock Mountain

Ah, Bleck Cra, like many a man you’ve been taken in by a good looking girl. Look behind that pretty little face and you’ll find a cold hearted woman with a dark and dangerous past. During WW2 an American B-26 decided to take a closer look at this little stunner. She clipped his wings and sent him hurtling in smithereens down her curvaceous sides. If you want to see the result of this woman’s wrath, cross the stile between Rocky and Chimney Rock, turn left towards the Bloody Bridge River and at the first small quarry turn right to cross Spence’s River and head for the summit. Keep the quarry at your back and from the river to the summit, and especially once you cross the quarry track, you’ll find the debris – an engine, lots of leads and aluminum (no, not a spelling mistake – this is an American plane) and other things I didn’t recognise because I’ve never worked in an aircraft factory. There used to be a plaque, on the rock beside the engine, but it’s gone now – a victim of thieves, just like the Northern Bank. Linkback: mountainviews.ie/summit/178/comment/1441/

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Bleck Cra on Chimney Rock Mountain

There are worse things than Christmas cardigans. Christmas raybands. And they’ve started to emerge: small, grey boil-washed men with wraprounds that could melt radar.
“Coul enough”, said one. “Dark enough too,” I imagined as he blundered blindly on. The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow and our monkeys shall all be brass. A relentless howl, abetted by mischievous flurries of soft hail, nudged a rake of raggle taggle tough nuts into a merciless Mournes. Like a child fighting sleep, we are fighting Spring and it’s birth seems oddly painful. Spences Valley, by the Glen River, the Saddle and Donard Bog is strange, desolate and melancholy. On a chill February morning the one shoe and rag doll remains of desperate lives stand weary-stone and forsaken, deep in the hill. Deserted quarries, ragged tracks and the bleached bones of once-bold farm buildings. Today, Spence’s River did not try to drown me. The Mournes are sensationally grippy. Into G1 grantite and A1 Vibram, you can hang by your soles on a near vertical incline: this goes also for the burns and bogs - except for Spence’s and the Annalong. These serpents attract some invisible algae, so a day of lepping crag to crag can end, head down in one of these torrents, with a dislocated hip and a pissed-off face. Chimney Rock Mountain is the most beautiful place on earth. On a bad day, you can see your whole life: the high peaks ahead, the tantalising drop below, the round comfort of the here and now and the line of Dalriada that shapes all Lallan and Ullan Scots: its politics uncomfortable and its geology inescapable. Ayrshire, Galloway, Antrim, Down and the Isle of Man. View the whole heap from Chimney Rock Mountain and be transformed. Access also from Bloody Bridge. Linkback: mountainviews.ie/summit/178/comment/1489/

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gerrym on Chimney Rock Mountain

Climbed 29.3.04 parking at Bloody Bridge (E (J388 269)) and following path along Bloody Bridge River. This makes a welcome change to following the Glen River if you haven't tried it before. A diversion was provided by a group of young people, presumably from the nearby outdoor pursuits centre, taking the plunge into one of the rock pools in the river. When the quarry track becomes visible on the opposite bank (F (J377 268)) cross the river and follow it. Turn off left and climb the slopes of Slievenagarragh (450m) on firm ground. An hour after starting reached summmit cairn with nice views out to sea. Chimney Rock looms ahead to the west and a further half hour reaches the summit ridge. Aim for the rocky tors to the north where can spend a little time exploring with great views across to Binnian and Lamagan and to Donard. Head for the summit cairn to the south east crossing a couple of little rocky mini summits on the way. There is a delightful stone shelter just below the summit cairn. Will need to backtrack north again and will have to decide on which of the many possible options to take to continue - I dropped down to the Mourne Wall and followed it south to climb Rocky Mountain. Returned along the Bloody Bridge Path to the carpark.

Thought this would be a perfect camping spot this year. Heading up from Donard Park by the Glen River on a summer evening. Met a few people coming down off the hills but we were the only ones heading up this late. Clear blue skies bathed Newcastle in sunshine whilst the Glen River valley hid in the shadow of its imposing guardians. The climb up to the wall is followed by a tramp along the Brandy Pad and up to the rocky tors on the summit of Chimney Rock. We set up camp in the shadow of one of the tors, providing some shelter and offering a magnificent view down over the Irish Sea. As darkness descended the lighthouse at St. Johns Points swept a narrow beam of concentrated light out over the water, lights from houses on the Isle of Man were only a stones throw away. We cooked some hot food and settled in to a great nights sleep, on top of the world in our eyes. Next morning it was a case of packing and heading back down, again in good weather. A fantastic experinence of camping high in the Mournes with no other visible souls, looking down from the darkness to civilisation and brightness far below. An easy ans accessible camping option with fantastic views and far from the madding crowds. Linkback: mountainviews.ie/summit/178/comment/900/

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Bleck Cra on Chimney Rock Mountain

Mountains are like women: wild, dramatic; thin and bitter or wide and warm - but all beautiful. (Yes yes … thin and bitter too…). “Pretty” is best - and the prettiest girl in the class is Chimney Rock Mountain: little, curvaceous, undemanding with some delightful nooks and crannies. Sunday I trailed up the entirely Bloody Bridge track. Cloud low; wind aggressive. Hold seawards of the wall to caress Chimney Rock’s ankle. Weave through raised bog into sandy tracks and a stroll to 3 small tops - the last, bearing the strangely melancholy construction that gives her her name. A glimpse of glen and of sea. Magical.
Drop down and up Rocky Mountain. And here he comes. A drip on his nose, face the colour of chewing gum, his hat skewiff and a 1:50 pinned to his chest. “You OK?”. “What?.” “Where you heading ?” “Chimney Rock,” he pointed, in the opposite direction. “Over there”. “No it isn’t”. He dug a shiny compass from the blackness of his sac and walked round it like a dog eyeing a frog “Very magnetic, these hills” he confided. I could feel a drip coming to my own nose. As the mist thickened, it cleared for him - that he was completely Alain Prost. “I came up the Annalong” - yeeees, in a banana boat. “to do some compass work”- yeeees, I’m waiting. “by Carr’s Face” - noooo, because you’re an idiot not a contortionist. Then I hit on it. “I was going to do the Mournes, Mont Blanc and back again but sure I think I’ll just go home.” He took the bait: “Ach, me too.” “You’ll be taking the wall, down there?“ I pronounced flawlesly, pointing like John Travolta, “to the road.” Exactly my plan,” he grinned, backing into his weightless world. Linkback: mountainviews.ie/summit/178/comment/1278/

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