Smoky coats and chilly toes

Jaysus that was a Saturday to remember.

A mate of mine is getting married in a couple of weeks so he invited me to his stag which took place on Saturday last. So a stag party is where a guy about to get married heads out for a wild night of drunken debauchery with his closest mates and they basically get trashed before ending up crashed out on the floor of someone's house/apartment the following morning. In the US I've heard it referred to as a bachelor party but I prefer the term "stag".. not sure why.

Well anyway this one was different.

Instead of the formulaic trip into the city to down loads of pints before heading on to a club somewhere to essentially down loads more pints before heading on to a fast food restaurant to down loads of greasy food before heading to the kerb to.. well you get the picture.. this involved going the opposite direction.

Instead we all met up in the mountains of Wicklow. Wicklow is a beautiful part of Ireland, often referred to as The Garden of Ireland and when you are up in the mountains you can see why.

So we met up first in Laragh, a picturesque little village up in the mountains, and headed into a local pub for some dinner and to watch the rugby. A few drinks and a few hours later we all piled into a small convoy of cars and headed even deeper into the countryside.

The plan was to stay in a hostel way up in the middle of a valley and the hostel was pretty spartan. I was reading about it yesterday on the internet and it was listed as a 1 star hostel. It was pretty basic but absolutely fantastic nonetheless.

This was a hostel with a difference. It had no electricity, no running water, and no toilet.. at least not a water-flushed toilet. And no mobile phone coverage. But inside the cottage, because it really was a small cottage, on the wall was a framed listing of all the people who had owned the cottage over its history. Not only that but some really famous people from Ireland's history had stayed there. So we were humbled to be staying in this famous little place way up here in the hills.

Did I mention it was dark? Really really dark. Pitch black, can't see your hand in front of your face. That kind of dark. Which of course meant that the view of the stars from deep in the middle of a valley was just breathtaking. That and the freezing air every time you stepped outside the back door.

So well and truly off the beaten path.

In all there were 12 of us staying there for the Saturday night and it was cold enough, around or just below zero Celsius but there were plenty of blankets and such like and we were all comfortable enough, especially after a few beers and a night spent chucking wood and turf onto the stove in the little common room where we were all gathered. Gas Lights, torches, candles and the smell of burning turf. Superb.

On the Sunday morning I woke up at 5 AM slightly dazzled by the bright white light shining in the window. On opening my eyes I realised the whole landscape outside the window was covered in snow. I dropped off again and woke around 8 and dragged myself down off the bunk I was sleeping on and headed outside. It was still snowing and there was a river rushing past right next to the side of the cottage. A really wonderful scene and not the typical stag weekend. I was sorry at that stage that I had not brought a camera.

A big fry-up followed, a mountain of sausages and rashers and a big pot of tea, and we were all starting to look and feel awake again.

By 10 AM the snow had already started to thaw and it was time to hit the road and head home back over the mountains.