About three weeks ago, on our second day crossing the border into Northern Ireland we took a hike up Slieve Gullion, a mountain known for a tale about a magical lake the sits up top.  We began our hike with sunshine and a freezing wind. Our guide, Bernard O’Hanlon (local guide, musician, pub owner) had to have been in his late 60s. This goes to show that when it comes to age, younger isn’t always better. This super athlete of a guide practically sprinted up the mountain as the fifteen of us gasped our way to the top.  After finally reaching the top, it began to rain. (I type that like I'm surprised it rains in Ireland) We followed Bernard as best we could, but before we knew it, the group had broken into three strands: the equally motivated and super athletic over achievers that kept up with Bernard, the middle of the road fast walkers who weren’t willing to exert themselves too much (I’m in this category), and the “slightly oblivious to time restrictions” sight-seers that wanted to stop and take pictures. This entire small mountain was very deceiving, because although it wasn’t raining the entire time, the ground was muddy, very wet, covered in deceptive vegetation, and snow.  Luckily, I was wearing an amazing pair of Northface hiking boots that were completely waterproof. I looked ridiculous but I was the only one who managed to keep my feet dry. After sloshing through puddles for a couple of hours, we realized that we’d lost our guide, and another man that came with us on the walk ran forward to try and catch Bernard and the overachievers so that we could go down the mountain directly to meet our bus. We finally get the group back together only to find that one of the overachievers had sprained her ankle trying to keep up with Bernard. She had to be piggy-backed down the mountain by the smallest, yet most athletic girl, Summer. The entire scenario was doubly hilarious when we all got back on the bus and realized that we’d be walking coating our entire bodies in sheep poo while climbing up the mountain. Reeking of feces, muddy, wet, and cold, we returned to our accommodations for lunch, hot tea, and complaining.  Looking back, I really enjoyed the “hell hike” as we call it.  The views from Slieve Guillion are some of the most beautiful in all of Ireland, and the pristine lake that sits atop completely took me by surprise.  I managed to snap my picture in front of the lake for posterity.  “Look Mom and Dad! I survived Slieve Guillion!” Also, the other picture is of me and Bernard. He is ALL THAT IS MAN.