Sunday, I took myself, non-detoxed grey face and distended Christmas stomach up the Glen River. It was a hummer, still, better than listening to Eamonn McCann and some unfortunate prelates explore God’s (or is he?), role (or are they?) in natural disasters (or is it?). As always, when you think only you could be fool enough to go out in a day like this, you find the whole world is out before you - or at least, strangely, all the beautiful world: not a gap tooth or a bad complexion among them. I believe there’s no snow in Chamonix yet - which explains it. Ma Nature of the North was doing her bit for destruction, by trying to wipe County Down off the planet. Great oaks reduced to kindling, ancient hollies (he ain’t heavy, but he’s jaggy) shaved clean and power-dressed pine, sliced in half. Very wet, very windy and ultimately fairly pointless and very brief - sad wuss who but a decade ago did the whole Carn Mairg Group in an afternoon, minus 15 and complete white-out. Few highlights included the bullet-proof gate at the ice house, ripped from its moorings; the Glen River becoming one; and in parts, a carpet of crimson berries. Incidentally, if you haven’t already got one of these new waterproof hats with the wire brim and ear muffs, get one now: they’re in the same class as widgets! Tiso’s have one at “only £30” - ONLY?! ….. and Millets and Marks’s do stonkers for a lot less. They do turn a handsome track rat into Benny Hill, though. A stroll on to Donard and a brisk trot off ……. into a deranged Springer (what other kind is there?) and its mad outdoorsman owner. “Desperate day,” I said, dully. “Rough ….” said one of them. Linkback: https://mountainviews.ie/summit/19/comment/1413/