29/08/2026
The Hallions Papers
The Mourne Way Affair
As faithfully observed and scandalously reported by Lady Altitoots
Dearest Gentle Readers,
It has come to the attention of Lady Altitoots that a particularly ambitious gathering of the Mid Ulster Mountaineers assembled this morning with a somewhat questionable objective: to walk the Mourne Way from Newcastle to Rostrevor. Having deposited their transport at the latter destination, the party assembled in Donard Park at the positively indecent hour of 6.15 am.
The company was a particularly cheerful one today, consisting of Alan, Yvonne, Johnston, Gareth, Andrew, Simon and Marie. There were smiles all round, discussions of successful examination results amongst various offspring, preparations for the new school year, home improvements and garden projects. There was also, it must be reported, a quite extraordinary display of very tanned legs. Shapely, too, according to certain highly unreliable sources. Lady Altitoots shall refrain from naming the culprits, although photographic evidence may exist.
The first twelve kilometres passed most agreeably, taking the group through the enchanting Tollymore Forest, where Alan, in his customary role as resident historian, pointed out the ancient twisted tree known as the Grandfather of Tollymore. The party then proceeded towards the Trassey Track, where Simon made the bold decision to leave the group and take a shorter route through the High Mournes. Shorter, certainly. Easier? Absolutely not. More elevation? Most definitely.
At approximately kilometre thirteen, the heavens opened.
And they did not merely open.
They opened with enthusiasm.
For the next fourteen kilometres, the party was subjected to a most persistent and thoroughly indiscriminate assault by rain. Past Meelbeg, Meelmore and around Fofanny Reservoir they trudged.
Then came Slievenamuck.
Under normal circumstances its elevation might not cause undue concern. But mountains have a cruel sense of humour. After considerable mileage, saturated clothing and increasingly soggy feet, Slievenamuck suddenly appeared to possess considerably more personality than its modest height would suggest.
Alan led the charge, guiding the weary party across increasingly boggy ground and down a particularly steep and challenging descent towards the Kilkeel road, where lunch was taken in conditions that can only generously be described as damp.
It was during this interlude that a most curious discovery was made.
A half-full bottle of vintage Buckfast.
For one brief and dangerous moment, the party considered the possibilities. Was this providence? A restorative tonic? A medicinal intervention? A message from a previous generation of hikers?
After careful consideration, the group wisely decided against a quick swig.
Lady Altitoots applauds this remarkable demonstration of restraint.
By now, waterproof jackets were proving somewhat optimistic in their claims. Wet T-shirts. Wet socks. Wet everything. The rain eventually eased, but the damage had been done. The party continued around Hen Mountain and towards the col at Rocky, where another chapter in Hallions history was waiting to be revisited.
For it was here that the infamous Boggy Hole made its appearance.
Five years ago, Marie had attempted to leap over this seemingly innocent obstacle. The result was not, as one might say, elegant. What followed was a spectacular fall, accompanied by mud, mess and a smell sufficiently memorable to have entered Hallions folklore.
Some wounds heal with time.
Some bogs do not.
Alan, ever helpful, offered an alternative route.
But Marie had other ideas.
Five years after her original defeat, she stood once again before the notorious Boggy Hole. There was unfinished business.
She jumped.
And this time…
Success.
No fall. No mud bath. No dramatic collapse. No unpleasant odour.
The demon had been conquered.
Lady Altitoots considers this a significant moment in the history of Hallions mountaineering and recommends that Marie now be officially recognised as the First Lady of Bog Clearance.
The final kilometres proved increasingly challenging. The occasional plaintive cry of “Are we nearly there yet?” began to echo through the group as tired legs and soggy footwear took their toll. Feet were sore. Socks were wetter than any sock has a right to be. Yet onwards they went, through paths bordered by tall ferns and long grass dripping with moisture.
Eventually, after what seemed like an entire geological era, the group entered Rostrevor Forest.
The end was finally in sight.
Or at least, it was somewhere beyond the trees.
And then, at last, the finish.
Thirty-seven kilometres of the Mourne Way, completed in predominantly wet and thoroughly character-building conditions.
It was a magnificent achievement.
More importantly, it was an achievement shared by a group of determined women and men who kept going when the weather, the terrain and their footwear were doing everything possible to persuade them otherwise.
And so Lady Altitoots records this day’s adventure with particular pride.
The Hallions may have started the day with smiles, suntanned and shapely legs, and lively discussions about children, gardens and home improvements.
They finished it with 37 kilometres in their legs, water in their boots, and considerably less confidence in the Irish weather.
But they finished it.
And to the Hallions, who conquered the Mourne Way today: be very proud.
Lady Altitoots certainly is.
Yours in altitude, endurance and occasional atmospheric disturbance,
Lady Altitoots
Chronicler of Mountain Society and Keeper of Hallions Secrets
