Croagh Patrick was visible with its dome shaped peak from my hostel bedroom the previous evening in Westport. First thing in the morning on the day of my climb there was an ominous cap of cloud on top of it, but it soon cleared. (Though, having grown up in Taranaki, on the land around Mt Egmont, I really did know that such a cloud did not bode well weather-wise!)

I had breakfast at the hostel then headed into town, bought a sandwich for lunch and walked to the edge of town to start hitching to the village of Murrisk, at the foot of the mountain. (It was 8km to walk to this village and I don't usually do this but the first bus that day did not run until lunchtime which was too late.) It took about half an hour before I got a lift, but it was a lovely old man who picked me up, saintly in a gentle Irish way. He guessed I was headed for the "sacred mountain" and assumed I was holy to be doing it. I didn't feel able to ruin his day with the truth..... He told me all about the climb, and that the top bit was toughest, especially coming down as it was easy to slip on the stones. He showed me where the best pub was for a cup of tea at the end, and where to get hold of a stick for the climb.

About half past ten I set foot on the mountain, stickless. There were stalls selling cheap wooden staffs, but I am not used to carrying one at home. I was later to learn why you really did need one on this terrain!

The first section of the climb was not too tricky, but as the climb starts pretty much from sea-level, there is quite a bit of climbing and it goes uphill nearly all the way, quite steeply in places. The track in the first section was fairly rough underfoot but not too bad. The route overall is very stony, and the stones are quite loose on the path in places, so footwork is tricky.

At this stage the view to the top was still clear and as I climbed I got some great views over the bay with its many islands, and then up by the stone cairn, over to other mountains/hills and valleys. The views were superb even though it was a bit cloudy. I was glad I took some photos going up, as visibility was soon to deteriorate markedly. The views on a fine day must be simply breath-taking.

The top part of the walk was on the dome-like part of the mountain and it was very steep all the way. The rocks were also very unstable so it was hard work climbing. I had not gone far on this steep bit when a father of a descending Irish family gave me his stick and said I would need it. He was right! I was glad to have it, especially for the descent on this section. (I actually met children from this same family in Knock the next day and they remembered me as "the lady our Dad gave his stick to". Wherever you are Dad, I really appreciated your gift!)

I was soon walking in mist. The view of the top had disappeared and the mist got thicker as I climbed, so there was really little idea of what lay ahead. I knew I would make it if I just kept on keeping on, and suddenly, about one hour and fifty minutes after I started, I arrived at the oratory at the top. At least the other people there told me it really was the top: you couldn't actually see far! (I chose to believe them anyhow!)

There was quite a celebratory feel at the top, and a real feeling of camaraderie amongst those sheltering by the wall of the oratory. It is not a 'long' climb, but the last section is very steep, and the rocky surface is difficult to maintain your footing on. You cannot see the top and have no idea how much further you have to climb, until suddenly, you are on the summit. I think we all felt that the hardest work was done! (We were all sooooo wrong!)

The wall of the oratory was providing some shelter and even in the brief time I was at the top, the weather got worse. The moist feeling in the air started to turn into definite drizzle, then it began to rain. Time to don a raincoat. Ten minutes later when I stepped around the side of the oratory to go inside the chapel, it was a battle to walk against the strong, cold wind. It was certainly no longer suitable weather for a leisurely lunch, so I started to descend.

The whole descent turned out to be slow going and took a lot longer than I had expected. I had the stick for the steepest bit. Then I gave it to someone else without a stick who was about to start on the steepest section. She gladly took it. However, the next section down also proved very slippery as the stones had become wet. I am probably lucky to have escaped without injury. By this stage the wind had suddenly become incredibly strong and it was actually difficult to stand up and not be blown downhill. Once when I slipped over, the wind then blew me along while I was on the ground, which was quite scary. Someone else called out to me from slightly higher up that he 'was coming'. I was relieved to stand up unharmed before he got to me, and I imagine he was also glad his first aid skills were not needed. I felt a bit shaky after the fall, but conditions on the mountain were not conducive to feeling wobbly and staying there, so I had a few pieces of magic chocolate, took a swig out of my water bottle, and carried on down. I had thought I would be eating lunch in some pleasant spot lower down, but the weather was not going to allow that either!

Eventually I reached the bottom, cold and wet but really glad to have achieved the climb and descent. Others who were descending at the same time were also breathing sighs of satisfied relief. We had made it and it had turned out to be quite an achievement.

At this stage, I really wanted to get back to Westport for a shower and change of clothes. I thought I might have trouble hitching in my obviously wet and messy state, but I had hardly started waiting before a local man picked me up. Turned out he lived in the village but worked in town right close to my hostel, and he didn't find it hard to guess I had just climbed the mountain.

It was a special climb and a day to remember.