‘You’s not be getting a taxi here at that time’, said the receptionist at Errigal hostel shaking her head, ‘there’s no one who’ll take a fare that time of the morning’. A taxi in Dunlewey at 9.00 am? No chance. But 4.00 am? No problem. Changing our plans, we opted for a round of the Aghlas. The day was cloudy and didn’t hold much promise as we set off up a stony boreen by the R256. Off the track, the terrain of stunted heather and bilberry entangled in spongy sphagnum with shin high tussocks was brutal and I had foolishly forgotten to insert my orthopaedic insoles into my new boots.
Past Lough Moilt we began the viciously steep climb up the scree covered NW ridge of Aghla Beg. The salt laden wind was blowing straight from the Atlantic slowing progress. We paused momentarily to catch our breath and watched as a thin curtain of rain briefly pulsated across the vast expanse of desolate bog below, petering out before it reached us. The endless grey sea merging into dreary russet bog bearing the ancient scars of the slane, and dark clouds galloping across the sky, seemed to herald the coming of winter.
Barely managing to stand upright in the wind, we arrived at the large quartzite summit cairn. Ahead lay the next 3 of our quartet of peaks: Aghla Beg South Top, which is the highest, not Aghla Mor (confused? So was I!) and playing piggy in the middle, the runt of the litter, Ardloughnabrackbaddy, by the lough of the same name. As we descended Aghla Beg South the cloud started to lift, blue sky flashed between the scurrying clouds and the sun broke through illuminating streaks of quartz in the Derryveagh Mountains and whitewashed farmhouses tucked into the folds of the hills, bathing all in a translucence unique to Donegal.
On Aghla Mor’s narrow ridge it was almost impossible to remain upright in the wind roaring like a jet engine up the mountain from Atlan Lough. Believing we’d get some shelter on the leeward side of the hill, we beat a hasty descent over ankle twisting terrain. My feet were by now protesting wildly: agony in the Aghlas! As I paused to rest, a tremendous roar swept up behind me, a force buffeted my left shoulder sending me off balance, and completely upended mcrtchly in front. Invisible until it hit Lough Ardloughnabrackbaddy, the whirlwind began its maniacal dervish dance across the lake, ripping the water into a foaming snarling maelstrom, before dumping it with a strident hiss. I watched spellbound as the surface of the indigo lake was agitated by the wind causing a million malevolent looking inky tentacles to spread beneath is surface. The gusts were so powerful they blew the water off the lake in huge shimmering veils and we had to run the gauntlet to cross the shore without getting drenched.
Ardloughnabrackbaddy bagged, I hobbled back to the car via a traverse round Aghla Beg. The pain in my feet is now forgotten, but the whirlwinds on Lough Ardloughnabrackbaddy are indelibly etched in my memory.
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