High wind and hailstones won the day on Djouce

This week’s Independent News & Media/Mediahuis Irish regional newspapers’ column.

Michael Commane

If I remember correctly, the weather forecast  for Saturday January 14 was ok. There was a small chance of rain and yes the previous days had been quite windy. The winds had died down but there was still some wind blowing.

Myself and two friends decided we’d go walking in the Wicklow Hills. They are far more accomplished walkers than I, which means I always leave it to them to decide where we’ll go. 

They are also significantly younger than I, indeed, I taught one of them in secondary school and then worked with him later, and the other walker and I began working in a newspaper on the same day fadó fadó.

It was decided we’d climb Djouce, which rises to 725 metres. It’s north of Roundwood, south west of Kilcamacanoge. It is situated along the 131- kilometre Wicklow Way. It’s a walk we have often done. We planned to go walking for between three and four hours.

The ground was quite wet, no rain but it was colder than I had expected. Close to an hour’s walking uphill there was a significant increase in the wind, the clouds darkened and it began to hailstone. Within a short period of time it became positively dangerous. I was having difficulty standing and the strength of the hailstones against my face was anything but pleasant. 

With difficulty we stopped to put on rain gear. We continued walking for about 10, 15 minutes. The three of us decided it was time to abort. It was a unanimous decision. We headed down the valley, retracing our steps. 

En route we stopped for a bite to eat and took shelter behind a stone wall. At this stage the rain had cleared, the dark clouds were gone and we could see out over to Dalkey. It was as if a light was shining down on Dublin Bay. It’s very seldom we have had to abandon a walk. It happened I remember once, and that was because I was simply not able to continue. My two companions are far stronger and tougher than I, younger too, as I said.

With my back to the wall, a flask of water in one hand and a sandwich in the other I was struck with the beauty of the place. But there was a word that suddenly began to ring in my head, failure. 

Had we failed? We planned to get to the top of Djouce. We didn’t get there, so yes, we failed. We decided it could have been dangerous to continue and also it would have been torturous.

Since that walk I’ve been thinking of the word failure and what it means to fail. Indeed, it’s a word and an idea that actually haunts me. I’m often reminded of that famous comment from the English politician Enoch Powell, who said that all politics ends in failure. I often whisper to myself that all life ends in failure.

That can’t be, nor is it. Our walk that day was not a failure. It was a lovely day out, good company and a nice mix of weather conditions.

I’m wondering do we put far too much emphasis on failure. It is simply awful to call someone a loser. I hate to hear people use that word.

Maybe that’s what resurrection is all about; success always triumphs over failure. I hope it does.