{"id":2899,"date":"2026-08-26T11:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-08-26T10:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/?p=2899"},"modified":"2026-08-25T22:18:26","modified_gmt":"2026-08-25T21:18:26","slug":"at-74-he-has-climbed-slieve-foy-every-sunday-since-he-retired-%ca%bcyou-get-the-whole-of-carlingford-lough-to-yourself-in-september%ca%bc","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/at-74-he-has-climbed-slieve-foy-every-sunday-since-he-retired-%ca%bcyou-get-the-whole-of-carlingford-lough-to-yourself-in-september%ca%bc\/","title":{"rendered":"At 74 he has climbed Slieve Foy every Sunday since he retired \u2014 \u02bcyou get the whole of Carlingford Lough to yourself in September\u02bc"},"content":{"rendered":"

Dawn rolls off the lough in a soft, silver<\/strong> breath, and a man in a faded jacket tightens his laces with ritual<\/strong> care.
He is seventy-four, and the hill has become a calendar<\/strong>, each step a bead on the long string of his Sundays<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He sets out while the town still sleeps<\/strong>, trailing a quiet purpose<\/strong> along the hedged lane to the first stile.
The mountain is not tall by global standards<\/strong>, but it is high enough to reorder thoughts<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The path changes with the weather<\/strong>, and he reads it like a friend\u2019s face<\/strong>.
Stone tells him where to edge<\/strong>, bog tells him where to float<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The same hill, a different day<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

He does not chase a record<\/strong>, only a conversation that deepens by unhurried returns<\/strong>.
\u201cSome Sundays it feels like the whole water is mine<\/strong>,\u201d he laughs, turning his cap into the low breeze<\/strong>.
September is his quiet season<\/strong>, the trails thinned and the lough carrying a hollow echo<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He counts the pulse in the ground<\/strong>, the way gorse lifts a lemon light<\/strong> at mid-morning.
Cloud opens, and Carlingford lies like a sheet of beaten tin<\/strong>, islands of reflection among the cold ripples<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He knows when the ravens will tilt<\/strong>, when the heather trades purple for a rusted bruise<\/strong>.
His map is no longer paper; it\u2019s a web of muscle<\/strong>, breath, and instinctive angles<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Why he keeps going<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

Retirement left him with hours he could not spend<\/strong>, a silence larger than any week<\/strong>.
\u201cSo I filled it with a slope<\/strong>,\u201d he says, smiling with a small, flinty pride<\/strong>.
His doctor calls it excellent exercise<\/strong>, but he calls it his weekly repair<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Grief walks with him sometimes, light as mist<\/strong> and heavy as wet wool<\/strong>.
He lets it pass from calf to thigh<\/strong>, from chest to open air<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Up there, he remembers ordinary days<\/strong>, suddenly precious as chipped china<\/strong>.
He remembers colleagues and the whistle of the kettle<\/strong>, then lets the wind file the memories smooth<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Reading the mountain<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

He places feet where sheep have taught<\/strong> him, prints overlapping like handshakes<\/strong>.
The mountain is a patient teacher<\/strong>, whispering lessons only repetition can unlock<\/strong>.
Isobars have become a kind of prayer<\/strong>, recited under his breath<\/strong> when the forecast deepens.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a rock shaped like a shoulder<\/strong>, a little spring that always tastes of metal and rain<\/strong>.
He taps the cairn with two knuckles<\/strong>, a greeting kept for years like a private joke<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Solitude, and the people in it<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

Up high, solitude isn\u2019t a void<\/strong>, it\u2019s a wide room<\/strong> with the door ajar.
He meets dog walkers and Sunday deciders<\/strong>, trading nods that feel like trust<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

On the way down, he thinks of the pub\u2019s dark wood<\/strong>, the first sip\u2019s small fire<\/strong>.
But he never lingers past the whisper of evening tide<\/strong>, wanting to leave the hill the way he found<\/strong> it.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

What the climb gives<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n
  • A moving ritual<\/strong> that steadies a restless mind<\/strong> <\/li>\n

    <\/p>\n

  • A lesson in limits, and where they can be stretched<\/strong>, gently and safely<\/strong> <\/li>\n

    <\/p>\n

  • Weather literacy<\/strong>, learned face-first in rain and light<\/strong> <\/li>\n

    <\/p>\n

  • Kinship with a single place<\/strong>, deeper than any long itinerary<\/strong> <\/li>\n

    <\/p>\n

  • A quiet pride that asks for no applause<\/strong>, only a packing of the next day\u2019s bag<\/strong><\/li>\n

    \n<\/ul>\n

    <\/p>\n

    How he keeps going<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He trusts the small habits<\/strong>, not heroic bursts<\/strong>.
    Boots dried by the stove, socks turned with a pinch of salt<\/strong>, flask rinsed till the water runs clean<\/strong>.
    Stretching at the door, he counts to ten<\/strong>, slow enough to mean it<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    \u201cPick a pace you can speak through<\/strong>,\u201d he advises, \u201cand leave enough breath to say a kind word<\/strong>.\u201d
    He carries a map even when the phone shows five bright blue bars<\/strong>, because glass can crack and batteries fade<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He watches for cattle on the lower fields<\/strong>, for sudden fog that eats the first two fences<\/strong>.
    He tells younger hikers not to race the sky<\/strong>, because the hill will always be older<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    A Sunday in September<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Mist lifts like theatre curtain<\/strong>, and the lough becomes a living mirror<\/strong>.
    Boats idle far below, stitched to the morning by thin rope<\/strong> and old habits<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He reaches the crest without ceremony, breath warm in the cool air<\/strong>, eyes penciling the tide\u2019s line<\/strong>.
    He does not take a triumphant photo<\/strong>, only a slow drink, cap tilted like a quiet salute<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Somewhere a bell folds over the town<\/strong>, and swallows edit the sky with black commas<\/strong>.
    He turns for home, letting gravity write its soft answer<\/strong> in knees and careful ankles<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    By the gate, he looks back once, as if checking a light<\/strong> before leaving the house<\/strong>.
    Another Sunday has been earned, not by speed but by showing<\/strong> up, faithful as the weather and just as tender<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2920,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2899","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-50"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2899","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2899"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2899\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2911,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2899\/revisions\/2911"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2920"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2899"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2899"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2899"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}