Wednesday August 8
     Another great B&B breakfast, and Jineen got the recipe for the scones.  We stopped off at the grocery store in Clifden to replenish our Happy Hour supplies but sadly it was too early to buy wine.  We headed back to the Maumturk Mountains, to do the hike that we had abandoned because of rain earlier in the week.  
     We took the main road east past the town of Recess, and then turned north on the small lane through the Inagh Valley.  We parked by the road and headed up the rocky hillside on the Western Way, a hiking trail that traverses Connemara for over a hundred miles.  Before long, as we ascended a steep slope, we found a wire fence across our path, and an iron gate wrought with the word Mamean, topped with a small cross.  As we approached it we could see nothing but sky beyond; it seemed like the gate to Heaven. 

     Beyond the gate we walked steeply uphill as the path climbed up the side of the mountain, passing only the occasional sheep.  It was a beautiful day, the sky filled with fluffy clouds among patches of blue.  As we climbed higher we had a grand vista; we looked back over the green farmland of the Inagh Valley, with mountains in the distance and a glimpse of water beyond. 

     After about an hour we came to a tiny stone chapel near the top of the Maumeen Pass.  St. Patrick himself is said to have blessed Connemara from this beautiful spot.  St. Patrick’s Chapel is nestled on the shoulder of the mountain known as Binn Chaonaigh.  Beside the chapel is an outdoor altar, sheltered by a cave-like alcove of stone.  A statue of St. Patrick stands in front, looking down over the Inagh Valley, a sheep at his heels.  A path meanders in a loop around the chapel, with Celtic crosses amid the rocks and heather, marking the fourteen Stations of the Cross.

      When we first got to the chapel, a small group of hikers was there with a guide.  Everyone gathered round as he told them about the history of this amazing place, and we were able to listen and learn:
     Mám Éan (Maumeen in English) means ‘Pass of the Birds.’  A place of worship on this site was founded by St. Patrick in the year 432.  We learned that St. Patrick (or Phádraig, in Irish) was born in Wales.  When he was a child he was kidnapped by pirates and brought to Ireland to work as a slave.  He managed to escape after six years in captivity and return to Wales, where he joined the church and became a bishop.  In 432 he returned to Ireland to bring Christianity to the Emerald Isle.  He founded numerous churches around Ireland, including this one at the pass of Mám Éan.  
     In the 1600s, as the guide told it, the King of England decided he wanted the tithe that the people paid to the Catholic Church to come to him instead, so he abolished the Catholic religion, and sent Oliver Cromwell to Ireland to enforce his new law.  What followed was a bloody massacre, and the Irish people still consider Cromwell a pirate and a villain.  Faced with the penalty of death if they were caught practicing Catholicism, the local people met in secret at the Maumeen chapel to worship.  It was located high on the pass between the Inagh and Maam valleys so that people from both areas could attend.  From that high vantage point they could see enemies approaching in time for the congregation to disperse and hide.
     To this day, services are held at the chapel three times a year, and they are sometimes attended by upwards of a thousand people.  Pretty impressive, considering what a trek it is from the valley up to Mám Éan pass. 

     Soon the hiking group left and we had the place to ourselves, except for a few sheep.  The chapel itself was locked so we could not enter.  It is constructed of stone, and has a heavy wooden door and stained glass windows.  There is a small circular window above the door, recessed in the thick stone walls, its stained glass depicting a bright chalice against the rays of a rising sun.  Beneath it is a stone plaque, inscribed with the name of the chapel, Cillín Phádraig.  Patrick’s chapel.  Beside it, in a stone recess, is the altar, made from green Connemara marble.  People had left mementoes in the crevices of the stone wall behind the altar; photos, candles, figurines, coins, and jewelry in memory of loved ones.  A poster memorializing a local man who had died as a firefighter in 9-11 hung on the wall.  We left some coins of our own, solemnly, silently projecting our own good wishes.
     We stood behind the marble altar, looking out from the cave at the pass before us and the panoramic view of the valley below.  It was an incredible feeling to stand there in this place of worship, founded by Saint Patrick in the year 432.  I am not a churchgoer, but it seemed to me that one could feel close to God here.

     I have to admit that until this experience I had not fully realized that Saint Patrick was a real person; I guess I had vaguely assumed him to be a myth.  Standing in this high place, it was gratifying to learn that Phádraig was real, and to know that we were standing where he had once stood, looking out over the same valley he had gazed upon, and that it probably hadn't changed all that much.
     A bit further down the hillside we came to an ancient horseshoe-shaped stone wall enclosing a small spring.  It is marked with a stone engraved Tobar Phádraig , meaning St. Patrick's Well.  Supposedly the water from this well had restorative powers; we dipped our hands in it, but it looked a bit stagnant so we were afraid to drink it.
     We followed the path that wanders among the Celtic crosses that depict the fourteen Stations of the Cross.  Each stands on a stone pedestal, with a slate engraved with graphic sketches, the Roman numeral, and a title in Irish Gaelic.  Up the hill behind the chapel, we found what appeared to be another well or spring, down inside a cave-like stone springhouse.

     From the chapel, it was just a few hundred yards to the top of Mám Éan pass.  We stood on a rock outcropping and looked down over the Maam Valley.  We could see the well-worn path of the Western Way winding down the green valley before us - it looked inviting, but our route headed upward - we were planning to climb the mountain above the chapel, Binn Chaonaigh.
     We had gotten directions to the summit from our Lonely Planet Hiking Ireland book.  It also gave us dire warnings:  Any walk in the Maumturk Mountains is a serious undertaking.  The terrain is more rugged than it looks from below, and accurate route-finding is a challenge.  Unless you are confident of your navigation skills, it is best to tackle the Maumturks only in good weather – clouds can roll in quickly, obscuring visibility and making route-finding particularly.  We weren’t worried; the weather was fine and visibility was good.  And anyway, we could see the top of the mountain from here, so how hard could finding our way be?

     We left the Western Way and climbed steeply up the mountainside, following the rather sketchy directions from our Lonely Planet book:  Set a northeasterly course toward a grassy spur at the foot of low bluffs.  Cross a fence and climb steeply northwest towards the crest of the spur.  
     Too bad we didn’t have a compass.
     Our directions continued:  Climb northwest to a bumpy plateau strewn with rock slabs and masses of shattered white quartzite.  The summit, Binn Chaonaigh, is set about 100 meters northwest of a tiny lough.  There are occasional traces of a stony path underfoot, although it isn't continuous enough to provide reliable guidance.  
     How hard could it be?  Apparently, harder than we thought.  It soon became clear that once we climbed that first grassy spur, there was no path to follow.  We scrambled up the impossibly steep mountainside, picking our way across rock outcroppings and skirting small pools and tarns.  Soon our legs were burning, and we were quickly gasping for breath.  The terrain varied, with grassy slopes, wet bogs, and rocky cliffs, but it was all relentlessly steep, and we were never quite sure if we were going the right way.  We would struggle uphill for as long as we could, then stop to rest and regain our breath before clambering upwards again.  We realized that what had appeared to be the top of the mountain when we gazed up from the chapel was just a knoll, and that Binn Chaonaigh was much higher than we had thought.

      The higher we climbed the more spectacular the views became.  From such lofty vantage points we could glimpse the coast beyond the Maam Valley, and spectacular mountains rose in all directions.  We stopped on a steep high slope and sat on the rocks, resting a bit and admiring the view.  We ate a bit of trail mix for energy.
     We picked our way up the top part of the mountainside, following untrodden ways.  We were looking for the path of least resistance, or indeed, for any path at all.  We passed many pools, each time thinking that this one must be the tiny lough near the summit that our woefully inadequate directions referred to, but each time finding that the mountain continued unrelentingly upwards.  We often found our way blocked by bogs or cliffs, and would have to backtrack to find another route.  We tried to mentally keep track of our turnings for the return trip, but it was impossible.  

     As we neared the summit, the grassy areas were replaced with stone, and soon we were clambering over solid rock.  We were exhausted; if we had known how hard it would be to climb this mountain we would never have started in the first place - but having come this far, we were determined to go all the way.  We made a final push for the top, struggling rubber-legged and gasping for air to the huge rock cairn at the summit.  We stood atop Binn Chaonaigh, 633 meters high, feeling an intense sense of accomplishment.   

     The top of the mountain was a world of barren rock, very different from the verdant valleys we had left below us.  We looked around us at the breathtaking view in all directions.  The whole of the Inagh Valley was stretched out below us to the west, and to the southeast we could see over the Maam Valley all the way to the coast.  To the north was a sheer-sided mountain, partially obscured by an impressive cloudbank that was moving toward us.  
     Uh-oh, wait a minute.  
     Remembering the guide book’s warnings, we realized that we could be in trouble.  The weather was closing in on us, the gathering clouds hiding the sun.  A dense wall of white mist rolled toward us, gradually obscuring the mountaintop.  If that thick cloud overtook us we would have no visibility at all.  We would have liked to stay at the top for a while, but we dared not linger.  We each pocketed a small stone for a souvenir, and then started back down the mountain immediately.  Fortunately once we got a bit lower we were below the clouds, and the visibility improved.  We made our way down the treacherous slope on weary legs, avoiding precipices and impassable bogs, doing our best to retrace our steps.  Eventually we got back down to St. Patrick’s Chapel, and then finally down to our car, seven hours after we had left it.  

       We drove back down through the Inagh Valley looking for our donkey friend, but he was nowhere to be seen.  Heading back toward Clifden, we stopped off at Ballynahinch Lough, a huge lake surrounded by evergreen forest.  This was one of the few areas we had seen in Connemara with many trees.  Out in the middle of the lough sits a tiny island with the ruin of a small castle on it, half covered in ivy.  This fortress was built in the 1500s, and was inhabited by the famous pirate queen, Grace O’Malley.  It later served as a prison for those who had ill-treated animals.  It figures that Ireland would have a special jail for those who are mean to animals; how great is that?

     We returned to Cleggan and checked into the Hazelbrook B&B for the night.  We enjoyed dinner and live music at the seafood restaurant near the Inishbofin ferry.