Into the darkness of winter hills

As we descend back into the dark nights of the last half of 2024, the melancholic evenings reminded me of a winter hike last year.

I sat the other night within the comfort of my home, looking out to the darkness of 9pm, and I was thrown back to the memory of traversing down the Mullaghcarn mountain in the same, but colder, conditions.

Back in January of this year, my friend and I decided, somewhat foolishly, to go for a hike in the brisk freezing depths of mid winter.

Our intentions were good, but due to delays throughout the day, we only arrived to the foot of Mullaghcarn around 3pm, when the sun was at its later stages of day.

Yet, undeterred, we stuck on our hiking boots and hyped ourselves up for a determined walk to reach the summit before dark.

We disembarked from the car and traversed through a short forest walk, before reaching our base camp: The picnic benches beside the Brie Barista cafe.

After scoffing some sandwiches and a flask of tea, we sought directions for our route via the very conveniently-placed map just over a scenic bridge.

There was a foreboding and eerie silence within this forest path, as every step bore an overstimulating crunch, only drowned out by our conversation, yet this would later come to haunt us.

However, the lack of fellow hikers made for an unending freedom of the forest canvas, and I wasted no time in making composures of this desolate winter land.

Despite the time of year, the coniferous trees that surrounded us were layered with leaves, coated, arguably, better than we were.

It was a surreal and primitive experience, as the hike continued we could feel our natural senses, often lost in urban working life, return to us.

Our ears pricked up at the subtle sounds of the forest, and our eyes were privy to the various movements of the concealed wildlife.

We powered through to the beginning of the incline, braced for the challenge before us – the challenge we long anticipated.

As we soldiered up the road, we slowed our pace to discuss the freshly planted trees running parallel to us.

One lone tree stood at least 15 feet high, but the surrounding saplings were dwarfed in comparison, leading us to question how old the surviving tree was, and why the rest were culled.

Although we agreed it was fair play that trees were replanted, we also wondered how much history was lost to the vast land of forestry that was demolished.

We digressed, and shortly after we found a rock seat to rest on and admire out surroundings.

It was at this point, whilst chowing down on more tea and a flavoursome orange, that we realised a heavy fog was rolling in towards us, mimicking the fogged breath we emitted.

The rolling fog was joined by a sudden realisation of the creeping dark chasing away the sun, and we decided to double time speed march our way to beat sundown.

This section of the hill was certainly challenging, as we started to feel the tension in our hamstrings, and, moreso, the chilling air tensing our faces.

The opportunities for photographs were still plentiful, as the further we rose, the more scenery was added in this valley walk.

Every time I looked back, more pieces of the mountain jigsaw emerged behind us.

Yet, we were soon met by a bend, and within the verge foliage emerge one set of eyes, then two, then four.

With the silence from the lack of mountaineers, the deer that inhabited Mullaghcarn reclaimed the paths, and were baffled when two psychopaths like ourselves appeared on this freezing evening.

We were stuck in a stalemate with these cautious creatures for a brief moment, but came to a mutual agreement for them to cross before we proceeded in to their territory.

The night sky was creeping in, but we were determined to push through the hardest, steepest last leg of the mountain, under the hash coldness of the deep winter air.

By this stage there was very little conversation between ourselves, as we dug deep, finding inner strength to muster our will to complete this hike.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached the summit, met with open arms by the Mullaghcarn giant that waited for us at the top.

Throwing all of our camera gear and equipment bags off of us, we laughed out in an exhilarating breath, reflecting on our achievement.

However the celebrations were cut short when we realised the second part of this mountain challenge – walking back in the dark.

Needless to say, no photos were taken, not only due to the rush to escape the looming night sky, but because ultimately nothing could be seen by my camera nor myself. As high-tech as my Canon 80D is, it’s certainly not to the military-grade night vision standard!

We were thankful to have been making the descent during nightfall, yet the treacherous freezing conditions made us fearful of unseen ice leveling us to the floor.

Each step taken was carefully placed, but with speed in mind.

At this stage, we were armed only with the torches of our phones, and, despite the inadequate light produced, it provided a source of comfort that we could at least pretend to see the path in front of us

Yet it was sheer luck that brought us to the returning path, as on numerous occasions we stopped at forks in the trail, picking our brains as to which path we took at the beginning.

Nonetheless, the ambient lights of Brie’s Barista filled us with relief, as our winter hike came to an end, and we knew that home was just a short drive away.