Big Rock Candy Mountain

After my last post, I felt as though I had forgotten something. And indeed, I had. For some frightening reason I had forgotten to tell you of my first real operatic escapade. I forgot Saturday.

You will recall that Friday was the last day of "Stephanie as a twenty-one year old". By common logic then, Saturday was her birthday. And for her birthday she wanted to go on a hike. So off we went to the lovely town of Newcastle and its Moore Mountains. Let me revise that statement. We rushed madly to the bus station in the hopes of catching the ten o'clock bus to Newcastle, then realized that our mad power walking, however healthy, was not going to get us their on time, slowed to a leisurely walk, then found out that our dear friend Johnathan was already on the ten o'clock bus and was graciously holding it for us, and promptly ran to the bus station like the mad college students that we are.

We rode the TWO STORY bus to Newcastle, under the impression that we knew exactly when to get off the bus - under the supervision of Jonathan. He boasted a previous excursion up the Moore Mountains and was thus appointed as our guide for the duration of the trip. We sat on the second floor of the bus excitedly talking about what the day would bring while sharing digestive cookies and enjoying the Northern Ireland countryside, under the impression that we  were in the good hands of an experienced guide. Little did we know what a mistake that would be. We unknowingly arrived in Newcastle and sat in the bus for an extra five minutes before the bus driver came up the the second floor and told us that this was his last stop and we had better get off unless we wanted to go back to Belfast.

As we left the bus, led by a frazzled but confident Jonathan, we headed in the general direction of the mountains. However, we were quickly distracted by a playground and a picturesque lake.

After exhausting the playground equipment and enjoying the almost beach-like atmosphere (I even got to chase some Irish seagulls), we headed back on the trail to the mountains and ran into some lovely monuments that represent some important historical event.....I am sure they are very important. But it was so much more fun to take pictures of ourselves in them.

We had finally made it to the official trail. And so, up we went. At first all you could see was trees and more trees. But then, through the trees, it looked as though there could be something more. And there was. The hike turned into more of an upward climb, but the views got more and more spectacular. For every fall, spill, crash, tumble, and splat I made, for all the mud that adhered itself to various parts of my body and clothes, the views made it all worth it. And there were sheep! Irish mountain sheep! Who, by the way, made hiking up the HUGE mountain seem much easier than it actually was. I sat there thinking, "Kelsey, a sheep can get up there. You can definitely get up there." I should not have gone there. it was sheep territory. I am not going to say that I was attacked by a sheep, that is not what happened. But I will say that a certain sheep, with very large horns, looked mighty suspicious of my path and seemed very keen on making sure I did not get any closer than I already had. So, after I altered my path and heaved my mud covered body up to the top of the mountain, I was rewarded with a view that quite literally, inspired me sing.

So, that was my wonderful operatic escapade. Operatic because I sang my heart out to the Moore Mountains and an escapade because the next day, I was so sore I did not want to leave my bed.

Kelsey