Using csd's directions I headed up the wet track. After weeks of freezing weather the track was hard, but only just. It had been churned to mud by a myriad of hooves, and the grooves and muddy ridges had frozen in place like a snapshot. Though the ground crunched underfoot, I sensed that this frozen veneer was fickle; that at any moment it could crack, plunging my feet into the boggy marsh below. Brown muddy water oozed upwards through the ice where my feet landed, but it couldn't penetrate my trusty boots. I imagine it’s a nightmare on a wet summer’s day
Soon I came to the Coillte track and turned right. As I reached it I heard snorting coming from behind the bushes to my right. I saw several plumes of warm breath billowing into the icy air, as no less than 8 horses stepped out into my path. Or more correctly they stepped out into 'their’ path!. We all stood and regarded each other for a moment. Memories of being chased off Tory hill in Wexford in July by a herd of feisty cattle came to mind. Would these horses also like to escort me off their hill? It was 8000 pounds of raw muscle verses my steely determination and two good walking sticks. Everything I knew about judging horse’s intentions - flared nostrils, laid flat ears, rolling eyeballs, snapping mouth and flailing hooves - deserted me as I stood transfixed. There was no horse whisperer moment, but after what seemed like an age they turned and ambled off up the track ahead of me. I followed them.
They led the way and made all the same choices at junctions as I did, as if knowing my intentions. I grew wary when two of them split off from the main group and disappeared into a messy section of deforestation. I now had to watch two fronts. I’m not sure if I've reached the age where a good kick from a horse will break me or splatter me!
The remaining 6 horses led me up and up, until they suddenly stopped dead at the side of the track. Just like a tree line above which trees don't grow, perhaps there is a horse line above which horses don't go in the cold depths of winter? At about 380 metres the trees were frozen white and the trackside grass was disappearing under deeper snow. This was where the horses and I parted company. I circled around them and continued on to a small junction at
G (S05377 78693). A few minutes up this track brought me to a fence, where another tough few minutes through deep snowy heather led to the featureless summit. There were fine views across to Keeper Hill and the Silvermines, and nearby Gortagarry. Far away I espied a white mountain to the NE, which I took to be a snow covered Lugnaquillia in Wicklow. Everywhere around was frozen white and not a creature stirred in the frigid air. Even at 450 metres the cold was intense, and I couldn't stop for long. Retracing my steps I enjoyed the ramble back to the car. The horses had disappeared. A 2 hour walk during which I didn’t discover whether I would break or splatter!
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