Kili or bust (Sean P O'Rourke)

Geocaching--Happy to be an Anorak!

Geocaching – Happy to be an “Anorak!”

For outdoorsy types of all ages and interests. Treasure hunts, travel bugs, special coins and much, much more. Plenty of fun for all the family!

Newspaper articles about geocaching usually follow the same old tired journalistic angle about getting to the outdoors and finding boxes etc. I don’t believe that they get to grips with the plusses of the game/hobby or indeed with the obsessive kind of madness or social interaction that is involved. Much of the detail and excitement of geocaching can be lost when someone not directly involved tries to convey his interpretation to the reader. I decided that it was time for the detail and its workings to be explained specifically from the geocacher’s point of view. So, my name is Sean, and I am a geocacher.

I live in Dublin, I am married with four adult sons and a granddaughter. I have enjoyed hillwalking for many years and during one of those pleasant Wicklow walks in 2003 a friend told me that some hillwalkers spend their time in the open spaces looking for items, hidden by others, with the use of a handheld GPS receiver.

ABOVE (CLICK TO ENLARGE): CACHING IN DONEGAL’S GLENGESH, LA CONCHA ABOVE MARBELLA IN SPAIN AND ON A MOUNTAINSIDE IN KERRY

Apparently Bill Clinton decided back in 2000 that those billion dollar satellites bumping around the universe could be put to more globally “useful” means other than just sending us all to kingdom come. A quick witted US citizen decided to hide something in the woods so that a friend of his could go searching for it using the Global Positioning System (GPS). He did, and there and then Geocaching was born.
Another enterprising young American computer geek took the idea and developed an internet site so that anyone could enter and find a hidden “treasure.” That site developed and grew into a massive worldwide engine that is visited by about a hundred thousand geocachers 24/7.

ABOVE: MT VERONICA IN PERU, BESIDE A CACHE IN VIETNAM AND TREKKING TO A CACHE ON CLEAR ISLAND CO CORK

Of course, all the Sat/Nav technology available to the modern motorist was another byproduct of Clinton’s decision and marine and air traffic has gained enormously too.

Some have likened geocaching to treasure hunting and pastimes like orienteering. There are similarities in the genesis of geocaching with these but comparing them to geocaching is like comparing a 1960s mainframe IBM clunker to a modern state of the art computer, and then some. That is only the technological comparison. Geocaching has moved several other goalposts in different directions, from the point of view of the outdoor enthusiast. Now, family members of all ages, abilities and disabilities are involved in an outdoor pursuit which has taken off in Ireland as enthusiastically as anywhere else in the world.

COPPERCOAST CO WATERFORD,CROAGH PATRICK WITH SISTERS,GREAT BLASKET WITH 3 SONS AND JUST OUTSIDE KILLARNEY

The basics are as follows:
A GPSr can be purchased for as little as 40 or 50 euro or as much as 500 plus. The array of gadgetry that includes GPS technology and PDA capability together with cell phones that is available to the modern geocacher is simply mind boggling. By using the internet, the wordwide geocaching site may be accessed, so anywhere you travel on the planet you can check out in advance what caches are available to be found. All one has to do is register. Most people use a “handle” rather than their personal details, after all it is still the internet. A profile is created for that user and that’s about it.
Usually geocaches are placed by people living near the cache location and the page on the site devoted to a cache explains the reason for its existence. It could be on a mountain top, a public park, a forest walk, or it could be a site of historical, archeological or simply unusual interest.

KNOCKNAPEAST CO KERRY, MONEA CASTLE CO FERMANAGH, MOUNTAINS OF MALAGA WITH RODRIGO AND MOURNE MOUNTAIN GULLY WITH HEZEKIAH AND WINDSOCKERS

Obviously, permission is sought from the landowner or local authority before a cache is placed. The job of the visiting geocacher is to find it and log the find in the log book provided within the cache and to mirror that log on the internet cache site later. Usually there are small inexpensive trinkets and a wide variety of other items in the cache. The general rule of thumb is that an item may be taken by the visitor as long as something of similar value is put in its place.
The most common log that I have seen, from foreign visitors to Ireland in particular, but not exclusively, is along the lines of,
“thanks a million for bringing me to this beautiful/unusual/quirky place, I never would have seen it on any tourist map!”
Or, “the views from here are stunning, why is it not in the tour brochure?”

ABOVE: NIRE VALLEY, SALTEE ISLAND AND SANTORINI GREECE

So what exactly is a geocache?
The most commonly used container is a plastic tabloc or tupperware box but the vessel size can range from a nano cache, about half the size of a fingernail with room only for the tiniest logging paper, to a box the size of a treasure chest (I came across one such chest lying in the long grass in the mountains of Malaga in southern Spain). Camouflage material is often used to hide the cache from the prying eyes of muggles (the term used in the game for the general unknowing public).The cache box contains a log book to record the visit and anything else that the owner or passing geocacher can appropriately fit in it. There are common sense rules which apply of course, but obviously no food or significant amounts of currency should be involved and no digging or burying is permitted. Nano caches are generally reserved for areas of high population density like the local High St. Obviously, the more remote areas can accommodate larger containers. For the best waterproofing qualities (a must in Ireland) ammo boxes and decontamination containers are the preferred choices. Contrary to occasional opinion, we are an eco friendly lot so great care is taken, and is seen to be taken, with the environment. Geocaching in Ireland is also in negotiation with Leave No Trace Ireland to establish a set of best practice guidelines for responsible geocaching, specific to Ireland.

ABOVE: SEARCHING FOR MAGNETIC NANO, UNUSUAL CACHE SITE, SUMMIT OF KNOCKNAPEASTA CO KERRY AND THE BURREN CO CLARE

Geocaching appeals to parents with young families who all go caching together. I have met geocachers aged from 2 to 90 and I have encountered some with severe disabilities. Some have found just one or two caches and some have found thousands. Some enjoy only low level or city ones and some enjoy a little more of a physical challenge. The geocaching system divides caches into series of difficulty ranging from 1 to 5 in terms of the terrain involved and the “trickery” of the individual owner of the cache. A 1/1 for difficulty and terrain means easy to find and at a location which is accessible quickly. A 5/5 indicates that it will be hard to locate and the terrain is such that it might be tough or precipitous to negotiate, e.g. a high mountain or an offshore island. Obviously there is a huge range of possibles and variables in between. Multicaches, virtuals take longer to find as the cache owner may bring the geocacher on a local tour to find information which leads to the coordinates, while providing excellent local information to the visitor. Quiz caches of spellbinding variety including ciphers, sudokus and mathematical equations have also become popular.

ABOVE: TORY ISLAND AND A QUIRKY CACHE SITE IN THE WEST

So far I have dwelled on the search and find aspect of the “game.” The whole social side has yet to be explored and it is just as fascinating to the enthusiast. Every partaking region has its own discussion forum for geocaching, and Ireland is no exception. We have quite an active group of geocachers in Ireland and geocachingireland.com, the local site, is used widely by local and visiting cachers daily. The wealth of information, discussion and assistance available on the site both technically and socially is second to none. You simply won’t find a friendlier bunch of people anywhere, anoraks or not!

Travel Bugs and Geocoins
Many geocachers collect and move these items from cache to cache. A travel bug (TB) is a dog tag, with an engraved identification number, of the type worn by the military. They feature on the geocaching site as individual entities. They usually have something attached with a novelty value (that is limited only by the imagination of the owner, and by its size). They gain mileage on the system and the world is literally their oyster. They can also add icons to one’s profile on the system and this, for many, is quite a big thing.

ABOVE: GEOCACHING IN NORTHERN THAILAND, IGUAZU IN BRAZIL AND PATAGONIA IN ARGENTINA

I moved one of these on one time from Ireland to the south of Spain and after logging the move on the geocaching system I received a nice email from the owner, a lady in New Zealand. She had been left paralysed after a car crash and as a result she was unable to move about. For her, the travel bugs she owned were her way of travelling the world and she followed them with great interest.

ABOVE: IRISH GEOCOIN

Geocoins work in the same way as TBs in that they can move about all over the planet. Many of these are collector’s items and they can be created for all sorts of reasons. Most geocaching geographical regions/countries have their own geocoins and there is healthy competition in the design and presentation of these. Our current Ireland one is quite outstanding and in great demand among the geocaching community. Coins add greatly to the colour and volume of the geocaching profile of the collectors. In more recent years “personalised” geocoins have appeared, which adds that bit more.

Geocaching Events
An event is another way to add icons to a geocaching profile but more importantly it is an opportunity to meet and greet with the wide and versatile group of personalities that make up “the game.” In Ireland these events are quickly gaining in popularity. The most recent ones were held in Waterford and Newcastle, Co Down, and these were attended by large numbers of Irish cachers and visitors from Sweden, the US, Canada, Greece, Germany and others.

ABOVE: GEOCACHING EVENT IN DUBLIN

The format usually starts with greetings and maybe a walk to a few nearby caches. This is followed by a drink and perhaps an organised dinner and a stop over at whatever facilities are available, campsites, B&Bs and hotels.
At these events there is some great fun to be had putting proper names to such colourful internet names as, Brakkyboggers, Jonny Cache, Yotter, Hezekiah, Bootle, Moonshiner Extraordinaire among many others. Incidentally, if anyone from around the Leixlip/Maynooth area becomes involved I could suggest “Cacher on the Rye!”

IRELAND’S FOREMOST GEOCACHER, WINDSOCKERS, CACHING IN THE COOLEY MOUNTAINS CO LOUTH

Earlier this year one of Ireland’s foremost geocachers, Windsockers from north Co Dublin, organised a CITO (Cache In Trash Out) event at Rush beach. This proved to be a huge success and the sight of 30/40 cachers from all over Ireland and some from abroad, spending a cold and windy winter morning gathering all sorts of litter from the beach was something indeed to behold. A wonderful social occasion followed.

Geocaching for all Interests
The sport/hobby of geocaching is probably still an enjoyable work in progress. Lots of very different people enjoy the many facets of it for varying reasons. For some it is simply locating large numbers, for others it is a quality trek just for one cache. Some love the icons and the gadgetry and others perhaps a small bit of each of the above. There is a healthy social aspect which becomes more enjoyable as more new geocachers emerge and people of very different backgrounds and physical abilites come together to discuss “the little boxes,” as my granddaughter likes to call them.

ABOVE: WENDY AND KAREN WITH EVER FAITHFUL CAESAR

Wendy is an English lady who was a British Olympic athlete. She suffered a seriously debilitating accident during training which left her confined to a wheelchair some years ago. Rather than let all that competitive instinct go to waste she later became interested in geocaching. We had the privilege of welcoming this lady to an event in Dublin a couple of years ago, along with her carer and her guiding canine companion, Caesar. That was a superb event and simply watching her go about the business of geocaching in her “chariot” was a great experience. She has been to many parts of the world enjoying her new sport and she, and Caesar, even recently carried the Olympic flame for a while.

Some say we are “anoraks” and some say we are just plain nuts. Others can’t get their heads around why we do this at all. Those of us who like to get out on the hills see it as a natural extension, or focus, to a walk and others of us simply like the tiny achievement involved when the cache is discovered. All I know is that the hobby is enjoyed by many thousands of people all over the world and interest in it is growing rapidly. Even during the last two wet Irish summers, geocaching has become more popular than ever. Can’t say much better than that!

ABOVE: LEARNING TO TANGO WHILE CACHING IN BUENOS AIRES, PROUD MOMENT CACHING FOR IRELAND ON TOP OF KILIMANJARO, GANNET ON RATLIN ISLAND, SPECIALIST EQUIPMENT REQUIRED AND GETTING LOST IN THE FLORA OF BEGINISH ISLAND CO KERRY

Patagonia Nov 2008

Click to enlarge

For my fourth Dublin Simon Community charity trek I headed off with 25 other intrepid trekkers, including my son Sean, to take on the wonders of Patagonia on November 9th. Most of us are now used to the customary 30 hour journey from Dublin, this time via Madrid, Buenos Aires and Calafate in southernmost Patagonia, which strangely enough has only a 3 hour time difference with Ireland. The final three and a half hour plane journey crossed endless moonscapes of desert scrub and low rounded hills till finally we came in to land without a sign of an airport. I was getting worried for a bit till suddenly a tiny strip appeared and we touched down at a one horse airport of Biggles proportions.

Some hills rising to the West reminded us that we would soon be approaching the snow clad Andes.
A bumpy 3 hour ride on a fairly luxurious bus took us skirting the hills for a closer look at the dry barren landscape which was occasionally dotted with “High Chaparral” type ranches. We stopped at a halfway hacienda, the inner walls of which were festooned with memorabilia about the real Butch Cassidy and Sundance during their short escape from the law in the States. The surrounding hills seemed perfect for them. After coffee and a mountainous lemon meringue pie, we left and eventually reached the centre of trekking for the entire area, a wonderful little frontier town called “El Chalten.”

HALFWAY HACIENDA

This collection of charming wooden structures was set up by Argentina as recently as the mid eighties in order to lay down land claims during some border discussions with Chile. Though it was dark when we reached the new town, the taste and thought that were applied in equal measure to the timber constructed hostels and Inns was amazing. A real backpacker’s paradise!
Being that close to the Antarctic it was not surprising that we almost withered in the cold breeze while taking our gear into the small and thankfully well heated hotel. After a meal and a lengthy briefing we slept soundly till 10.00 am so we could start the trek refreshed.

Damp Start

We had no idea of the mountain views that surrounded us till we woke on a bright but threatening morning. The entire 360 degree view consisted of nothing but snow covered pointed peaks stacked, as one trekker put it, like one Alpen packet after another!
We were trekking into the Los Glaciares National Park where no pack animals are allowed on many sections and we were without porters also so each trekker had to carry everything he brought himself.
The Park covers more than 6,000 square kilometres and offers a remarkable combination of breathtaking glaciers, huge mountain ranges, vast emerald green lakes and rare plants and animals. One of the major attractions is the Fitzroy mountain range (named after the captain of Darwin’s ship, The Beagle) with its dramatic peaks of grey and red granite. The site of these peaks lit up by a low rising or setting sun really has to be witnessed.

With a change of clothes, wet gear, food, water and sleeping bag etc. most people were carrying in excess of 10 Kilos. Some decisions still had to be made about high sections of the trek as there had been more snow than usual but we headed out of town and into the surrounding hills in a light drizzle. For the first couple of hours we walked on tracks quite similar to the Wicklow Way with high snow peaks visible on both sides. Unfortunately the weather was of the Wicklow variety also as the drizzle turned to more persistent rain. Not a great scenario when you are heading for a cold night in a tent!
We passed within a kilometre of the nearest geocache to El Chalten but that was as near as our trekking route ever came to one. As we entered a long river valley we meandered along the bank for some time while the rain deprived us of further views of the dramatic peaks of the Fitzroy range.
At last, our sodden group reached the first campsite at Cerro Torre where thousands of euros worth of so called waterproof Gore-Tex had let in quite a bit of rain. I was forced to spend the first couple of hours trying my best to dry out in the tent while most of the remaining group strolled further down to the lakeside to view the drama of our first glacier which was dropping mini icebergs into the lake.

LAGOON BERGS MESS TENT

The other “drop” that had to be negotiated was the now almost comical visit to the “long” version that most seasoned trekkers have come to know and hate! Enough said about that!

Spirits were still amazingly high after such a start and the usual fun was had in the mess tent over “dinner” of pumpkin soup (I think) and lentil stew, a bit meagre in my view, with trekking in mind but there you go! Off to bed at 10 pm and I was really glad that I had sacrificed the weight of my camera for an inner lining for the sleeping bag. The first day in a tent after some time usually does not go well as the body takes a little time to adjust. The rain was still pelting and some violent gusts of wind rose that would scare a banshee. I have no idea how the surrounding old “Lord of the Rings “gnarly trees didn’t come crashing down on us. After a short while I slept well.

IDEAL TREKKING COUNTRY

Next morning the sun was shining and gear was dried off in no time (the positive side of all that expensive rain gear) and all was well with our Patagonian world again. This time we set off on a more serious 17K hike with packed lunches and spirits renewed. I would love to be able to do descriptive justice to the vistas to which we were treated throughout that day. The stars of the show were the uniquely shaped pointed peaks that seemed to go on forever. Our guides were describing ice fields among the peaks that stretched for 140K and that were 80 K wide. Every hill or moraine that we crossed presented us with panorama after panorama of jagged snow capped sierras that seemed within touching distance and now and again there were huge blue towering glaciers suspended magically in gaps created by packed snow moving slowly down over thousands of years.

INTO THE TREES LEON OUR ESTEEMED LEADER

The trek route we took seemed to be specifically created with the best views in mind and at the greatest physical ease. Other than the weight we carried, the hiking was relatively easy. We turned into yet another glacial valley which revealed the gouged out base of grey and red granite. It was joined by another with a lagoon at its base and our guides described how displaced cool air over the lagoon had to escape which created violent gusts in short blasts that were capable of lifting a person off his feet. It was not long before we experienced these at first hand and boy was he right! The only solution was to crouch down for 30 seconds or so and wait. A few people left their hats on during one of these blasts and some were taken to infinity, never to be seen again. One could see these winds starting out on the lagoon and water would be whipped up and come charging the length of it and then hit like a hammer with an accompanying roar like a train at full speed. Quite exhilarating and scary all at once!
Several weeks training in Wicklow prepared us somewhat for the heavier bags but nothing could prepare one for these conditions. It was funny at times to see people with heavy bags being swayed like juggernauts ahead of you and, just like you, unable to do much about it.
We stopped for shelter in an old forest where one or two intrepids tasted the “bread of the Indians” which was a fungal growth of the mushroom variety that attached itself to trees and looked rather like a bunch of yellow golf balls. Continuing on our way, we reached the second campsite at Laguna Capri just at the right time as some heavy rain arrived. This campsite was privately run with a lady looking after matters and the tents were in pristine condition. We were able to use the lake itself for our water supplies but it needed a great deal of dexterity to fill bottles etc. as the temperature of the water was as cold as anything I have ever experienced.
Thankfully we were able to laugh at the rain while sipping “mate,” the Argentinian herbal tea, before dinner in the mess tent.

GOLF MUSHROOMS

Our briefing that night included a talk by Luis, one of our Argentine guides, who proclaimed with great certainty that there would be no more rain after this. “Tomorrow the rrain will estop!” We all laughed then of course but he turned out to be absolutely correct. There was no more rain for the remainder of the trip and grown (well nearly) adults were bowing down to our new found weather God after that.

Next morning we walked along yet another long glacial bed with huge moraines left by the receding glacial monster. There were more miles of stunning vistas and towering granite spikes on either side. Luis, our leader on the day, described how the forests are so jealously guarded by the authorities. There were only two types of trees as these forests were relatively new, after eons of ice had covered the area.

LOG CROSSING

We lunched just below the imposing blue towers of the receding glacier itself, ironically named “White Rocks.” The entire area was a feast of photo opportunities and the group spent quite a snap happy while there during which I struggled manfully with the lunch of cabbage pie which added strangely to the surreal experience!

We continued along the base of the glacial bed for a time clambering over rocky outcrops and crossing endless log bridges and then swiftly turned up into privately owned forest land. Here we climbed up and up where we spotted hawks and owls that spied us suspiciously and Luis pointed out puma and fox droppings. According to him, even the guides rarely caught glimpses of the shy puma. Other than those mentioned there was a strange lack of insect and small bird life which Luis explained was due to the relatively new forests. The covering of earth below our feet was only about 20 cm deep which went some way toward explaining the large numbers of dead and dying trees we came upon. We must have trekked for 8 hours or so that day till eventually we arrived at our next campsite which proved to be yet another notch up the quality ladder. There were showers and a wooden structure for our mess hall with a bar included. We had two nights to look forward to in this luxury which also meant that we could leave lots of gear for lighter trekking the next day.

GLACIER LUNCH THE TREES HAVE EYES

Firstly though, we had our indoor meal and even though we were captive customers and the bar prices were unashamedly expensive, we took appropriate advantage, as only the Irish can, and a full scale hooley ensued in celebration of our endeavours so far. Being late spring in the southern hemisphere it was light up till 9.00 pm and we had our first clear views of the Mount Fitzroy massif towering magnificently above us. One can only guess at Darwin and Fitzroy’s first thoughts when they saw this spellbinding mountain for the first time.
We found out pretty quickly that we Irish don’t have a monopoly on fun loving nights out. Our Argentine guides got into the swing quickly and very soon they were out singing us. A great night was had and I have a feeling that all slept quite well that night, if only for a short while!

The next morning we trekked in the direction of Marconi pass and the light packs made us feel like we were walking on clouds. We passed over several moraines before heading up to a high lagoon below yet another monstrous glacier. Our original plan had been to trek up to the ice fields themselves but our organisers felt that snow levels had been too high to take the risk. We stopped for lunch at the side of the lagoon and we were treated to some magnificent views up close and personal with the glacier. Its size and power was so evident in the path it created while advancing or receding.

Click to enlarge FITZROY GANG GUIDE TEAM

On our way back to camp a large group of trekkers decided to become a little more adventurous and we headed up a mountain side in the direction of Fitzroy. We spent a couple of hours climbing a very steep section in an attempt to reach the snow line. We were able to get clear views of Marconi Pass and the ice fields beyond from our high vantage point before time ran out and we spent quite a lengthy time picking our way gingerly back down.
We arrived back at camp to the smell of spread-eagled lamb being roasted over a fire and it was not long before we were tucking into it in our luxurious mess hut.

Our final hiking day was short due to the change of plan by the organisers. As we approached the road and our minibuses back to civilisation we were treated to the fabulous spectacle of several condors gliding low above us. My son and I, who are avid raptor watchers, were enthralled by the sight of these majestic creatures sailing in a beautiful blue sky amid snow-clad rocky peaks. For my son and me, their appearance was something of a consolation for the slightly cheated feeling we had that the snow levels had shortened out trek and kept us at lower altitudes than we expected. No matter how hard or how high the trek was though, we were treated to some sights that many people will simply never get to see.

After picking up our bags at El Chalten we headed back across the dry scrub, including the customary stop at the “Butch Cassidy” hacienda, to the town of El Calafate where we had two nights in a modest but warm hotel to stay and enjoy the sights. It turned out to be quite a modern town with plenty of souvenir shops for the trekkers and we dined in the hotel that night. Some elderly European guests were not best pleased when our bunch of chatty Irish trekkers arrived at the hotel bar but such is life!! Nothing like a few days trekking to release the bit of craic.

MORENO GANG THAT INCREDIBLE GLACIER GLACIER BOAT

Next morning we did the touristy thing and took a bus to the Perito Moreno glacier and the first of three Unesco site visits my son and I planned for the trip. Nothing we had seen at the other glaciers had prepared us for the sheer scale and power of this mighty monster. They have parapets that bring you as close as you would care to get to this still advancing goliath that is about 2K wide and rising 60 metres out of the water and anything up to 700 metres below it. Small pieces the size of cars drop from it regularly and crash down to the icy depths with frightening noise. I can’t imagine what it must be like when large chunks slide down.
We took the tour boat ride out to gaze up at it from the lagoon on the north side which just added to the staggering view. I couldn’t help think of school children back in Ireland learning about glaciers in geography class and how they shape the landscape in our wooded glens and valleys. Five minutes in front of this thing and the message would be received loudly and clearly. The sight of something this big snaking down in several directions from the mountain ice fields above and advancing inexorably with tower after tower of rocklike compacted blue ice toward the lagoon below, without anything with enough power to impede its progress, is awesome indeed. Deep rumblings would occasionally emanate from within its massive bulk indicating large chunks descending with fearsome regularity. Watching the face of the glacier crumble was like watching geological time itself. Blue compacted snow that fell hundreds or even thousands of years ago was dropping into the lagoon in front of us.

Along with hundreds of other tourists we stood for ages watching the glacier before heading back by bus to Calafate. We took the scenic route back and travelled through greener goucho country during which we spotted many of Patagonia’s indigenous flora and fauna. We saw more condors and eagles and rheas (a smaller version of an ostrich), flamingos and many more. We stopped at a goucho ranch in the middle of an endless plain and we could see the peak of Torre del Paine in Chile off in the distance. At the ranch we saw pictures of local pumas and the damage they do to local sheep populations when they are teaching their young how to hunt.

Back to Calafate and our “Gala” night out. Everywhere we went in both Patagonia and later in Buenos Aires there seemed to be a fascination with 80s popular music. We enjoyed some magnificent Argentinian steaks, the size of which are mind boggling, and then we danced away the night in a local disco. Some of the trekking ladies even put on an impromptu disco show on the tango stage for the locals.

GALA DISCO DISCO VISITOR BA JACARANDAS

Next morning we had to leave and that sadness that grips when leaving somewhere really special hit home as the plane taxied out to the tiny airstrip and we took off across the Patagonian vastness. In a world becoming smaller and more crowded here is an oasis of time, space, beauty and natural remoteness that I believe everyone should get to see at least once in a lifetime They seem to be keeping it that way and long may it continue.

There was a free day in Buenos Aires before the bulk of the group took the long flight back to Europe. Six of the group, including my son Sean and I stayed on, and took a short flight to Iguazu Falls where we stayed for 2 days on the Brazilian side of the Falls. This was the second Unesco site of our trip and again I’m afraid I fall short of the descriptive powers to do justice to it.
900 different varieties of butterflies (just about all of which were maturing in the late Spring of our arrival), every conceivable species of bird of prey clearly and consistently visible, plant life of every colourful variety and birds of paradise, parrots and macaws of staggering beauty were just some of the sights to be seen. The Falls themselves are just as amazing as the Moreno glacier.

IGUAZU FALLS

They claim to be the biggest in the world (meaning widest and most amount of individual falls) and strolling around with large lizards and cuddly racoons in 35 degree heat on parapets of incredible audacity perched over, under and almost literally in the Falls was a fabulous experience. Swallows nest consistently behind the Falls and it was wonderful to see them flitting in and out of the huge falls of water. We did the tour of the Argentine side and the Brazilian side and then we took a white water rib trip up right under them. We were drowned at all three but it was super fun though Alan Markey continually complained that he never saw a monkey!

SPECIES NO 823 NO 88 NO 667

During the Brazilian side of the tour my son and I were unable to locate a damaged geocache and we replaced it with a new container and cover so hopefully it will survive better than its predecessor.
Beside our hotel was a bird park which we toured for several hours while butterflies as big as birds fluttered around and every conceivable species of coloured parrot squawked and humming birds as small as insects buzzed past.

RAPTORS IGUAZU CREW

On our final night there we dined out in the city of Foz at a place recommended for Brazilian cuisine by our tour guide. The best service I have seen in years and skewers of delicious meats towering over a metre above the table, langoustines as big as small lobsters, together with exceptional wine, made for a sumptuous feast. If memory serves correctly it all came to the equivalent of about 25 euro a head! I imagine a small mortgage may have been required for a similar meal at home.

EBONY AND IVORY PRETTY POLLY BRAZIL ARGENTINA BORDER

We flew back to Buenos Aires and had a further 6 days to enjoy a huge (around 13 million people), wonderful and very varied city with strong Spanish and Italian influences. We had organised two apartments for our small group at very reasonable rents for the 6 days. I guess you would need a few weeks to visit many of its historic and artistic sites but we did our best in the allotted time. Just about every block of this thriving metropolis has shopping and food choices to suit every pocket.
Five of us took in a local premiership match at the River Plate stadium where the ‘78 World Cup final was held and the carnival atmosphere created by the home fans (even though they lost the match) was great. Most of them just sang, danced and drummed all the way through the game.

RIVER PLATE APARTMENT VIEW VIRTUAL CACHE PINK PALACE WHERE EVA MADE SPEECH

My son and I picked up a virtual and then a magnetic geocache in Buenos Aires during one of our many walks around the city. We then did a day trip to a small quiet town across the River Plate in Uruguay called Colonia, the ancient historic centre of which was our third Unesco site. Sean Og and I hired a moped and we set off to a local vineyard to find the first of two caches. The owners of the vineyard are the guardians of the cache and we were staggered firstly by the change of temperature just a few K inland from the town and secondly by the beauty of the vineyard and its surrounds. The temperature easily passed 40 degrees and it was difficult just to breathe in the area of the vineyard. The actual cache site was surrounded by some young bulls so I was not about to continue my now infamous exploits with the species so we gingered around for quite a bit in the searing heat, hopping over and under electric fences and managed to retrieve the cache without difficulty. Unfortunately the owners of the vineyard were not present so we missed the wine tour but we carried on down to the “beach” and an old castle where the second cache was located quickly. My son took a welcome dip in the river while I propped up the one seat bar at a mobile cantina. Our final day back in BA saw us strolling around the slightly less affluent but very colourful La Boca area where we dined for next to nothing. There were more tango dancers performing for us and Maradona impersonators and lots of souvenir shops to enjoy.

VINEYARD CACHE MARADONA

We checked out of the apartments and then negotiated the taxi guy down to the bare minimum amount of Pesos to the airport with the few that we had left.

Another trip of a lifetime in a lifetime of trips! It was a unique and wonderful experience made extra special for me because I had my son with me to enjoy and experience every step. The group dynamic is exceptional, in particular when there are plenty of old trekking friends, yet every trip, in my opinion, needs new blood. This one was blessed with some great new and interesting characters who added hugely to the enjoyment of it.
On a personal health note, I was fighting a flu bug just before the start which I never managed to fully shake off and which took over again as soon as I returned to Dublin. There were one or two others who suffered to a greater and lesser extent with bugs when we were there and it was probably a blessing in some respects that this turned out to be by far the easiest physical test of our trekking abilities.

All in all SUPER!!! Bring on the next challenge!!!!

Garden Drama May '08

Now here is something that you don’t see every day in a city garden. I was chatting with a neighbour in our kitchen when a sparrowhawk took down a collared dove in the garden at the rear of our house.
Apparently these hawks usually take much smaller prey but at this time of year they are feeding young ones sometimes bigger than themselves so they have to go after larger prey.
The dove was dispatched immediately and the following took place a short while thereafter. Please forgive the quality of the pictures as the first of these was taken with a zoom lens from inside the kitchen window. Others were taken much nearer to the hawk but the shaky hand is due to my excitement at having such a photo opportunity on my doorstep.

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A second after the kill.

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Safety check.

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Only a matter of seconds later.

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What are you looking at?

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No interviews during dinner, thank you!

Kerry Climb June Weekend 08

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The Ridge walk below Knocknapeasta in the Reeks in Fabulous June weekend sunshine.

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Boys stop for a swim in cool mountain lake (Lough Googh)

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A very clear Corrauntohill.

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The Big Gun

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The other side

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Sean Jnr gets bored with Dad’s route.

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Using up energy.

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Over Lough Googh.

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Giants Grave on the way to Kerry.

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Curragh Chase on way to Kerry

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Caching in Antrim.

Caching Trip to Croagh Patrick May 08

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“Did you ever climb Croagh Patrick,” asks my sister Fran?
Two of my sisters are going to try it on the 17th May. So, It strikes me that I had never climbed it and there are a number of nice caches that I want to investigate in the Mayo area so a caching plan is hatched.
If Joanie and I leave early enough the day before (Friday) we can do some other caches in north Mayo and meet my sisters the next morning to do “The Reek”.
The usual negotiations take place between Joanie and I about what time to get up.
“None of your 6 am business! We can get up at 9 and gone by 10,” she says.
Thats Joanie language for leaving the house around 10.30.
So, next morning I have everything packed in the jeep hoping to squeeze her out about 10 with luck. The rucksack is in, along with the boots and all the caching tools, torches, pens, cache listings (still waiting on the Colorado!) and the GPS…...... where’s the GPS?
“Dorling, have you seen my 76”
“Whats a 76”
“My GPS! “
“Then why don’t you call it a GPS?”
“No time for that now, have you seen it?”
“Now what would I be doing with that thing, I wouldn’t know the back from the front. Where did you have it last?”
“I could have sworn it was in the glove compartment.”
“Did you look in the glove compartment?”
“OF COURSE I did!”
“No, did you LOOK properly in it? Did you take things out and look behind them?”
“I did all that.”
“Then you left it somewhere. Where did you use it last?”
“Last place I used it was Moone Co Kildare….oh Sshh…! Alan rang me at the cache and I left it on a wall to take the call. I don’t remember taking it back.”

(Mistake no 1, never give her that much mud to sling at you!).

“Oh flip dorling, you silly, silly man,” she says, or words a long, long way from those!
I utter a few focals meself that colour Castleknock’s pristine environment.

So, 10.30 we head for Mayo, via Moone Co Kildare. Quite a detour! Panicking on the way I ring everyone I know and some high powered pals in the Office of Public Works to see if it had been handed in (the cache site at Moone High Cross comes under their remit).
There are some heated discussions between herself and meself all the way down but all subsides when lo and behold the blessed article is still sitting on the “damned” ivy covered wall!
Relief all round!

“What do you think is the quickest way from here to the M4 Wesht dorling?”
“I reckon small roads to Kinnegad and on from there,” she says.
“Not at all, straight back up to Naas, through Sallins toward Maynooth and hit the M4, its much quicker,” says I with authority.

(Mistake no. 2, always take wife’s suggestion about directions even if they sound off the wall).

The road back into Naas is clogged with traffic and the reason is very clear when we eventually get through it and on to the Sallins road. It is completely closed for resurfacing so another 45 minutes back through Naas following the diversion signs which bring us in a lovely wide arc around the town and back to exactly the same spot with the diversion sign, in other words, nowhere!
Steam is rising in the jeep now and marriages are on very shaky ground! Hoping to start caching at lunchtime in Mayo and it is now 2.00 pm in a very frustrating Naas.

We find the motorway back towards Dublin and take that because I KNOW we could get on our way through Straffan from the Naas Road. We find the turn ok but so does every other motor vehicle registered in the Republic and various parts of Europe in the last five years, all cleverly avoiding Naas

(Mistake no. 3, when she is smiling wryly out the window beside you, just watch your ass, watch your ass!).

Another very frustrating hour later and we are just about to reach the M4. I have me size eight boot poised above the accelerator to give it wellie and Joanie says,
“I’m hungry, can we stop for something to eat?”
“There’s a roadside diner dorling, lets stop there,” says I patiently.

20 minutes sitting watching 3 young ladies racing around doing wonderful impressions of tri-location and studiously ignoring every attempt by us to gain attention later, we leave frustrated and starving.

(Mistake no. 4, never bring a starving woman to a frustrating service situation (especially when you are hungry yourself!! Lends itself to the occasional “cross” word).

Down the road is an “On The Run” service station so we pull in and consider ourselves very fortunate when we just pip a bus full of school kids on tour to the deli counter. Now Magda from Poland at the counter is not exactly in love with her job, or maybe she is just getting to grips with the Irish income tax system, or maybe she has an opinion on Brian Cowen as a frontman for her least favourite political party, but whatever it is she is seriously inconvenienced by our decision to interfere with her reverie this particular afternoon. And all we want is to pay for 2 coffees and 2 preprepared chicken wraps. She goes several whiter shades of Polish pale when she sees the kids coming in so we are very lucky to get our order sorted at all.

At 3.30 we wave “do widzenia” to a barely recovering Magda and eventually hit the road. The weather is fantastic and around 5.30 we arrive at “Lough Tailt” in a spectacularly beautiful part of North Mayo. We have the whole place to ourselves and the climb to the cache is a very welcome respite from sitting all day in the jeep. We take loads of pictures and Joanie rests halfway up the mountain while I go and get the cache.
Wonderful!

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On to “Lough Easkey” which is also very beautiful and then “Atlantic Wave” and after that we take in the Earth Cache at Downpatrick Head. This we find to be a fabulous educational exercise in a quite stunning scenic spot.

While heading on to “Rossport” it begins to dawn on us quite how big this County is. Small roads seem to go on forever, but we are on a roll now so we pick that one up and carry on down to “Great Time” just before darkness arrives. A Strange cache along a really beautiful seascape but we get it and head for Wesport where Joan has booked us into a B&B for the night. On the way my sisters ring to meet them for a pint in Westport to plan the trek on “The Reek”.

(Mistake no. 5, never let your spouse book a B&B on a different side of town from the mountain, never one without a “Shamrock” designation, and never one without internet access!)

While showing us to the “room” (straight out of Noah’s Ark!) the Bean on Ti wants to know, are we married, have we kids, what are they, where were we today, where are we going tomorrow, what are we doing, why are we climbing the mountain…... internet? sure I know nottin about that!
She enters the room with us and I (like an eejit) think she is going to give us the key and put me hand out to take it. She holds it with a grip of steel and positions her rather large frame in the centre of the room (more like a Hosta than a host) and makes it abundantly clear that she is only getting started on “the chat.”
“My mother is 90 you know, a whippet of a woman and smokes like a chimleeah!”
You know the sort of rivetting stuff any respectable geocacher wants to hear. We are both patiently waiting to use the facilities and get washed up to go out. To me at this point she is just a droning distant mightmare that is interrupting the beckoning wink of Arthur’s finest which at this point has me thirst buds bursting.

“I suppose yee’ll be off to Matt Molloys now for a drink and the diddly idly music?”

Mercifully, Joanie eventually ushers her babbling toward the dining room and extricates the key.

I tell her that I may be gone early (with caches in mind) but I will be back for brekky.

(Mistake no 6, never try to explain Geocaching to any Bean on Ti, and particularly this one, at 11.00pm when you are dying for a pint!)

Remarkably Joanie and I complete the day just about on schedule in respect of the caches we intended to do so we enjoy a few pints in the town and on the way home I get the bright idea to check out stage 1 of the Croagh Patrick cache in order to have the final coordinates in the bag early the next day. That way we just have to meet my sisters in the morning and head off up the mountain.

(Mistake no.7, never get a taxi to a graveyard after midnight, after a few pints, in your good clothes (especially with your wife in her good clothes) and expect to scramble around headstones, old churches and scary hidey holes, in order to eek out a simple piece of info that can be got in seconds, and is got, the next morning!)

Blissful sleep! Or maybe she just hit me over the head!

6.30 day two, and I am barrelling off to Achill island, the scene of a wonderful youthful holiday with herself many moons previously. Joanie stays put in the leaba, dreaming of insurance policies and bottomless credit cards and whatever other wonderful things that dutiful spouses dream about.

Around 7.30 I am scrambling around a gaggle of sewerage containers at beautiful Dugort Bay signing the log (we won’t go into the obvious pun ok?) and then sitting on a rock under said sewerage containers, admiring the lovely countryside, I muse on the meaning of life and caching as we know it.

Back toward Westport, incidentally on a dreadful road surface, I pull into Burishoole Abbey to pick up a nice handy quick cache. “Hosta” referred to it as “Brushoooleh.”
“Oh, aren’t they gone awful grand with themselves now with their Burishoole. You wouldn’t hear anybody around here calling it that now!”

I get back to Wesport in time to do the little multi cache “Quay Points”. I arrive at the car park and a man is there already with 2 dogs. He sits in the car reading the paper while they defecate for Ireland all around them. I get out of the jeep and I am instantly set upon by the two dogs. Both are menacingly bearing their considerable teeth and my dog repellent large stick is in the back of the jeep.

(Mistake no 8, never think just because you are caching that you are safe from menacing dogs. Always carry the Bata Mor!)

Then the classic!

“Ah he wont bother you at all, he only barks,”
shouts “Newspaper”.
“And what about the other one?” says I.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about him, the golden one is mine.”

The black one is an uncomfortable distance from everything we hold dear growling fiercely and protecting his new best friend so I manage to sidle to the back of the jeep and I get out me hiking pole and wave it around. I reckon both dogs must have a previous history with a similar implement because suddenly they become very friendly and all is well.
I traipse off to do the cache and “Goldie” goes back to spreading silage while “Black Fang” decides he loves me and starts after me.
A few minutes later I am on high ground looking back at the scene. “Newspaper” is circling the car park in his VW Golf still reading the paper and barking commands at his canine companion at the top of his voice. “Goldie” completely ignores him and continues to do his bit for Mother Earth (what are they feeding him?). “Newspaper” has one arm resting on the open car window swilling a mug of something. Think about it, this is not easy to do! And people think I’M crazy!!

(Mistake no. 9, never take your eyes of a large black amorous, schitzophrenic animal for a second!)

While I am watching the proceedings below “Black Fang” decides he wants to become biblically acquainted with my leg. Now, far be it from me to be a party pooper (pardon the pun!) but what does he think I am?? I mean, we only just met!
The next matter on the agenda is how do you very quickly but delicately and in what tone, or language for God’s sake, let Hitler’s Hell Hound with the very large teeth know that NOW is the time for cannineus interruptus?

Anyone who knows the Westport Quays cache will be aware that a small wall has to be negotiated. I manage to scramble over this and “Black Fang” reckons that this isn’t the kind of exercise he envisages and slinks away with a downcast growl, thank God!
Mind you I could have empathised about 40 years ago but that’s quite another story, he still wasn’t getting the least bit of sympathy out of me!!

I then enjoy the little multi cache and get out of there quickly to pick up the coordinates for Croagh Patrick.

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I meet Joanie and my sisters and we start up The Reek. The climb is tough but exhilarating. The superb weather makes the mountain climb that bit easier and the views and pictures are great. Unusually we are able to see every bit of the mountain from every angle in glorious sunshine.

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We even had some craic with a local priest at the summit who tried to convince us that he goes up there every day to say Mass for the visitors. Then he breaks into howls of laughter at our disbelieving faces and tells us the truth. “More like once a year!!”

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The cache is secured and we start down. You might imagine that this is easier but anyone who knows anything about hillwalking will know that “down” is where all the mistakes or accidents happen. This particular mountain, in very dry conditions can be treacherous during the descent. There are sections of very steep rubble which just gives under you. A few bruised bums later and we are sitting in “The Sheebeen” waiting on the requisite seafood chowder and beautiful well deserved black pints.

Everything is well with the world until one of my sisters suggests that Joan and I should try to find the “Bawnduff” cache before heading back to Dublin.

(Mistake no 10, never listen to pints talking, especially second pint syndrome, especially when it includes something strenuous, and particularly especially when the person suggesting it is not going to take part!!)

Joan decides that we should go for it as this is the only cache left in the vicinity that we have not found and since she is driving she isn’t drinking. Not one to let the side down, I agree.
So, we bid farwell to my sisters and take that miserable road back to Newport and out into the mountain wilderness in the mid afternoon. We get to the start and the GPS says we have 4K to the cache so we start hiking. Just after that, for the first time this year, we hear the beautiful love call of a cuckoo echoing across the nearby forest. After 30 minutes we come to a bothy where a nice new Dublin registered car is parked on a forest road. Ignoring that, we head off toward the cache in the opposite direction to the forest road.

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It winds through a small gorge and then out into open mountain tracks. The walk is lovely but after an hour the cache is still showing at two and a half kilometres to go. We meet the two Dublin couples walking back toward their car. One of them decides to be real chatty with us about their day’s experience. He offers us advice!

(Mistake no 11, never , never listen to “fish out of water” knowledgeable Dubs who give directional advice with great authority about places that they have probably only seen for the first time in their lives!!)

He asks which way we are going and points out the forest road in the distance and suggests that after we reach the top we should head for that and it will bring us directly back to the bothy without all the windy tracks and the gorge.
We wish them well and head off to get the cache which is found without difficulty. We remark about the echo of the cuckoo which continues to follow us.
“Either he wasn’t having much luck with his mating call where we heard him first or there are loads of them around here,” I said.

After a nice but tiring walk we decide to take the “advice” and head for the road as soon as we get within striking distance of it. The trek across to it is a nightmare. Joanie, who I only now realise decided to do this trek in her sandals, picks the wrong rock in one of the three rivers we have to cross and falls in. I am wearing shorts and we are trying to cross newly cut forests so you can play board games on my legs by the time we reach the road.
At least we have an easy road back…....you would think!

Joan and a “drained” KOB

5K later we are still walking and not in the direction we want, and we have no water. The cuckoo is beginning to grate and the forest road goes off into Coillte wilderness and we go with it hoping all the while to reach a right turn that will bring us back. I am having this recurring “hate” dream that when we get back to the jeep, it is on this very road. Needless to say it eventually IS and we could have driven the whole blessed thing in the jeep to within 400 metres of the cache. I reckon we totalled about 15k during that “stroll” and by the time I drag me weary legs to the jeep I could cheerfully brain that damned hen foresaken lovesick cuckoo with me walking pole.

Joanie takes control of the old caching cruiser and gets us smartly on to the N4 and back to the Smoke.

We arrive in Dublin around midnight after “just another couple of caching days” and we sleep the sleep of the just, the sometimes silly and the exhilarated.