[Wildlifewriter]

Twelve months. It seems a lot longer, but that was 2005 - the glowing sunshine, snow, rain; body all aching and racked with pain; find that cache, tote that bale - get a little drunk and you...

...end up climbing a mountain in tennis shoes. It was my 100th cache, done on a somewhat befuddled 2nd Jan 2005 in company with the Families Wuthered and Gottsche. Don't know what happened to my hiking boots - they're out there, somewhere.



It set a tone for the twelvemonth to come: a year spent searching for plastic boxes, in some of the most beautiful places in these islands. Two weeks later in Dublin, my tempestuous and ill-starred affair with MC finally shredded, with the expected rancour and you-said-this and I-didn't-do-that. I still miss her – thus proving, if any more proof were needed, that there's no fool like an old fool.

The New Years Resolution event happened that same weekend, in Glenmalure, Co. Wicklow.



My heart, still bleeding, wasn't really in it - but we climbed a mountain, did a cache, drank beer. It never stopped raining the whole time. The event gave me a first opportunity to meet many of the cachers based around Dublin: they seemed a decent enough bunch, though – like all geocachers – just the tiniest bit deranged.

I tucked away one set of new friends and set off a few days later, to make some more. The SGDO at Ratho Park near Edinburgh was held at the end of February, and it was an eye-opener. This was event caching on a different scale, with more than forty people in attendance.



The quantity and quality of local cache hides were a revelation too, and I stayed on an extra day to bag some – including Go Forth, PhD, Almond Dell and the infuriating Musical Box.

There's a lot to be said for solo geocaching. It gives an opportunity for reflection, and peace to study the astonishing things that nature does, sometimes, when She thinks you aren't looking. But caching doesn't always have to be a solitary pursuit – and in 2005, there always seemed to be new people to meet...

Florida cachers Team Dinosaur landed in Ireland in the middle of March, and I met up with them, Donnacha and Steve to show them round the place. They are genuinely nice people and (considering 1855 finds to date) hardly deranged at all. The selected caches we did were fairly easy, though driving round Dublin was hellish as ever. It gets worse every year.



April brought a visit to the Kidderminster area for a family celebration. An exceptional amount of drink was taken and, as a result, only a few nearby caches were sought the next day – of which Court and Locked Up stands out. In the same month, Klaus23 announced that he was decamping to England so nothing would do but to hold a valedictory event, centred on the village of Leenane in Connemara. The most intrepid souls climbed Mweelrea – a tough and forbidding hike – while us sensible ones were driven round more accessible caches in the splendid Windsockermobile.

While the hillwalkers groped through the mist, we cached in glorious sunshine; listened to Ina and Edel chatting (for seven hours) and saw the West of Ireland at it's incomparable springtime best. In the evening, we held a dinner in Klaus's honour – which (being Klaus) he didn't actually attend – but a good time was had by all.



May brought my favourite cache ever: Wuthered's brilliantly-sited Do an Ascent, which sums up (if a geocache can) the hills of Mourne that we both call 'home'. June brought Triumph and Disaster, and showed that between Kipling's two imposters there's sometimes only the width of a footstep...

At 849m, Slieve Donard is the highest point in Northern Ireland. Its summit had foiled two previous attempts to reach the cache there, but conditions were perfect for a third try on the 11th of June. All that could stop our little party this time would be, if some bloody fool fell over his own feet, sustained concussion, and broke his arm in two places.

So that's what I did.

Mrs. Wuthered first-aided the injury with her usual care and efficiency, adding soothing and sympathetic remarks such as: “Stop being such a big baby – there's nothing wrong with you.” With this encouragement I managed to finish the climb and find the cache unaided, after Mike showed me exactly where it was.



One of the worst things about this accident (apart from having my arm in plaster) was that it happened only a few days before the 2nd Annual Irish Cache Event – which I was supposed to be organising. Friends to the fore again, as Mike, Judy and Christine pitched in to help with the catering and transport, while Seacon added four new belters to his collection of caches in the area.

The event was – by all accounts – a great success and was gratifyingly well attended (for Ireland). To be honest, my own recollections are a little hazy as I was off my face on painkillers the whole time. Nobody died after eating the barbecued food (which always helps) and those who'd travelled long distances to attend, seemed to think it was worthwhile.



My own view (admittedly, rather biased) is that the Antrim coast offers an area for geocaching to rival that found anywhere in the British Isles.

Once it was all over, something of a personal reaction set in. After a few days I was fed up sitting around the flat, trying to open tins of Heinz Ravioli with one hand. (Try it, sometime.) I couldn't write, and I couldn't really drive. On my next visit to hospital, I asked the doctor if it would be sensible to try for one of the most remote, inaccessible, difficult and dangerous caches in the country. “Under no circumstances are you to do anything of the kind,” she said.

So I did.

(To be continued...)

[Haggis Hunter]

A very good read Wlw, I look forward to reading the next instalment.
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