If you ever feel your life is in a rut and not going anywhere, it can't be any worse than the 7 years St. Patrick spend as a swine herd on Slemish, Co. Antrim, Northern Ireland. He did manage to get things together later in his career and made a name for himself on both sides of the Atlantic, so there's hope for all of us yet.
I'd intended to head to Slemish yesterday, but it's the worst day of the year (official St. Patrick's Day holiday) to be there as infested with 100s of people often trying to tramp up it in their bare feet and unprepared for the consequences. They look at you in your hiking boots like you are some kind of St Patrick's Day Grinch, ruining it for everyone else. So I'm glad I headed there today and had the whole place to myself. The climb while steep isn't too high and can be done in under an hour if you're fit enough.
I did stop for a break on the way up, but only to admire the view, not because I was exhausted. I spent longer wedging my cameraphone against the rock to take the picture than I spent sitting down.
Slemish has a special place in my heart as my grandparents farm was right at the base of it and my grandfather and another farmer had the exclusive right to graze their sheep on it and to dig peat on it.
The views from the top are spectacular with uninterrupted countryside in all directions. I could see Scotland, England and Belfast from up there today, although it was a little hazy and they didn't come out very well in the photos.
In Ireland in rocky areas like this, the field boundaries are often made from stone. No mortar is used and they are known as dry stone walls. People go round their farms and repair any bits that have fallen, but no one knows when the walls were first built.
I also like the wind twisted trees, that cling onto life in such a hostile environment.
Here's one final panoramic picture from the top
