Even though I am Irish, I never felt a real kinship with St. Paddy’s Day.  Don’t get me wrong, I am a fan of any excuse for raucous celebration!  But this year St. Patrick’s Day has a much deeper meaning to me.

In September, I finally made the trek back to Ireland to learn a bit about my heritage and experience a taste of what life had been like for my father‘s family on the Emerald Isle.  His immediate family now lives in the U.S. where they are spread out from coast to coast.  We don’t see each other often and thought a great way to reconnect would be a trip back to the old country.  My aunt, uncle and grandfather all took separate flights and met up with us (my dad, my husband Tim, and yours truly) at the Shannon airport in Ireland.  I knew having three generations of Cannon’s in a house for a week was going to be interesting to say the least.  Let’s just say I was trapped in a house where all of the men had a serious, and almost disturbing, fascination with farts.

The first day, I stepped outside to get some fresh air (quite literally) and then I saw it.  The reason for our journey to Ireland stood as a towering mound in the distance- Croagh Patrick. Croagh Patrick is a mountain located in County Mayo on the West Coast of Ireland.  People have been ascending the 2,500ft mountain for holy pilgrimages for over 5,000 years.  It was on the summit of this mountain that Saint Patrick fasted for 40 days in 441 AD.

 For years, it had been my Aunt Vanessa’s dream to take the pilgrimage.  A few years back she severely injured her knee and several surgeries later we all wondered if she would ever be able to make it up this beast.  Since my Uncle Declan, Tim and I were decently experienced hikers we figured that if she really wanted to do this, we were going to help make her dream a reality. 

What we hadn’t exactly anticipated was that my 80 year old, over 200 lb. grandfather was also insistent on making the trek.  My grandfather, P.J., is someone who never quits.  He is the most determined man I have ever met.  Even to this day, he walks 5 miles everyday without fail.  Knowing this fact gave us some security that he would be able to make the distance.  It was really more the terrain and incline that we worried about. 

The sign at the base of the mountain indicated that the hike would take a total of about 3.5 hours to complete the climb and descent.  Knowing that we were going to be hiking with a smoker and two sets of bad knees we decided that we better give ourselves double the amount of time to make the journey, “just in case”. 

I had wondered how we were going to hike the steep slopes in a country that is known for its rain.  I have hiked on my fair share of muddy trails and it can be pretty treacherous.  The days leading up to the climb I wondered how so many people were able to make this climb in the wet conditions.  Yet as soon as I started on the trail all of my wondering ceased.  On this mountain you don’t hike on the wet ground.  You hike on rocks, but not just any rocks, loose boulders.  It’s one thing to feel unstable when the ground is muddy in certain areas.   It is another thing entirely to feel unstable with each and every footstep you take. 

We started out the hike around 11am.  Knowing it would be a half-day hike, we brought a few bottles of water and lunch for when we reached the top.  Everything started out fairly calm. My father charged ahead in front of all of us and would stop periodically and wait for the rest of us to catch up.  Declan and I backed up Vanessa as she climbed cautiously with her knee.  Tim was in front of us backing up my grandfather who also seemed to be charging up the mountain with excitement.  As we climbed, the ocean below us got further and further away.  Yet somehow the summit did not appear to be getting any closer.  The hike was taking a bit longer than we had anticipated and we began taking more breaks.  We paused to read a sign at an odd make shift shelter. It indicated that this would be the place that a helicopter would drop down for you should you get injured.  The only way off of this mountain is by hiking down or being air lifted off.   At this point my father’s “complaint train” had departed the station and he was saying things like ‘hiking is stupid,’ ‘why would anyone think this is fun’ and ‘I think I will wait right here.’   Doubt of whether or not we were going to get up this beast started to arise, but we kept pushing on.  

The last leg of the climb is the most challenging and it required a lot of effort to get the lot of us up safely.  I couldn’t help but feel how this climb was like a spiritual metaphor for life.  We started out with the best of intentions, but we had no idea what challenges we would be faced with along the way.  All we could do was put one foot in front of the other and take the next step, and every step mattered.  Each step was the difference between making it and not making it.  In the end, we did make it to the top and the view was utterly breathtaking.

At the top of the mountain is a small stone church where people were praying.   I took the time to walk around the summit alone as the others ate their lunches.  I walked out to the edge and took a seat.  I marveled at the view of the ocean below and I thought about what St. Patrick must have felt on this mountain, for 40 days and 40 nights.  I meditated on the experience of the climb.  Each part of the climb had been emotional.  There were times when some of us thought of giving up, or had doubts that we could do it, yet we pushed on.  Sometimes we vocalized the thoughts, and sometimes they just echoed in our minds.   I was feeling pretty peaceful and exhilarated when out of the blue my emotions took an unexpected and dramatic turn.  All of a sudden I became aware of time.  I realized that the climb up should have taken only two hours but it took us more than four hours.  Something inside of me said “leave now.”  Fear began to set in and I knew I had to round up the others for our journey back down.

We began our descent around 3pm.  Knowing this leg should take an hour and a half I figured that even if it took us three hours we would still be able to get down the mountain in plenty of time.  Down the mountain we went.  My father again charged ahead of the pack.  Tim stayed with my grandfather and Declan and I were helping Vanessa navigate the treacherous descent.  I started to notice that my grandfather was really having a difficult time with the descent.  When you climb down there is far more weight and pressure on your knees.  Since Vanessa was feeling the burn I knew my grandfather was feeling it too.  Then he slipped.  He caught himself on the jagged rocks and Tim grabbed his arm to brace his fall.  We shouted for him to try and sit down and slide down the mountain but it was no use.  Boulders aren’t exactly made for sliding down. 

Tim and Declan both took my grandfather on either side and began to give him more assistance.  He was clearly struggling and we started taking breaks- lots of breaks.  It became increasingly difficult both physically and emotionally, especially as it got later.  The sun had started to go down on one side of the mountain.  There was still light in the sky when his knees gave out completely.  Only a few steps would get taken before a break was necessary.  It became even more discouraging as we started seeing people that had passed us as they were on their way up the mountain now on their way back down.  People started becoming sparser until it got so late that others had not passed us for at least an hour.

Vanessa, my father, and I had gone a bit in front so that we could find the least treacherous of the rocks for the three of them to walk over.  I remember looking back at Tim’s face and seeing a determination and focus like I have never seen.  He was determined to get my grandfather off that mountain.  We were more than halfway to the bottom but at the pace we were going I knew that it could still take hours to get him down.  Knowing that we had run out of water hours ago and had no supplies I started to get concerned.

I took a moment and closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was feeling a nauseating mix of adrenaline, fear, anxiety, determination, and hope.  Again, I imagined that these emotions were probably not all that different from how St. Patrick had felt on his 40 day stay.  I was then suddenly struck with a deep sense in my gut that just said ‘get down and get help now before it is too dark.’ 

I told the rest of the group that I was going to hike down to get help and a flashlight and then hike back up to help them.  I started to literally run down the mountain.  I was seemingly flying over the unstable boulders I had so gingerly crossed before.  When I got down to the parking lot my heart just sank.  Everyone was gone.  The visitor center was closed.  The parking lot was empty, except for our car and one other.  I realized there was no one to help and I just stood there as the last rays of the sun disappeared and I prayed for a miracle.

 Suddenly I noticed that there was a truck pulled up to the restrooms and I ran over yelling for help.  A janitor came out looking quite bewildered as I tried to explain what was happening.  Unfortunately, he spoke Gaelic, and I did not.  We were able to communicate enough for him to point me to the road and help me to understand that there was a pub close by.  I took off running in that direction.  I went inside this tiny pub where the bartender and two locals sat.  Frantically, I tried explaining the situation.  They told me that the only thing to do was to hike back up to the helicopter point and call for the helicopter.  Knowing that we passed that point hours ago, I figured a flashlight was my next best bet.   They loaned me a ‘flash lamp’ and I ran back up the mountain.  

As I reached Vanessa I told her she was close and could make it the rest of the way and to bring the car as close to the bottom as possible.   Just as I passed her I saw the most amazing thing.  Rounding the corner were the men, plus two more.  Apparently the other car in the parking lot had belonged to two men from Ireland who had hiked the mountain many times.  When they crossed paths with my family and saw how bad the situation was they refused to leave without helping to carry him down.  They each took an arm and a leg and the four of them hoisted my grandfather over their shoulders as if he were a pharaoh and tried to cautiously maneuver the boulders. 

They navigated the dangerous terrain, in the dark, carrying a more than 200lb. man on their shoulders and coordinating synchronized movement down boulders.  It was truly incredible to witness.  We reached the bottom of Croagh Patrick a little after 8pm, nearly 9 hours after setting out on our “3 hour” hike.

We profusely thanked the two angels who came to help us on our journey.    We all got into the car and were silent.  There were truly no words for the vastness of the experience- the joy, the defeat, the triumph.  As I sat in the back seat staring out the window at the stars, I was overwhelmed with emotion.  Generations of humans had pilgrimaged Croagh Patrick for thousands of years, and on this day three generations of Cannon’s did it too. 

St. Patrick’s mountain and our journey was a metaphor for what is truly important about life.  You can’t go it alone.  Life is enriched by all of the people that surround us.  We share a collective experience as human beings.  We all have dreams, hopes, fears, challenges and triumphs.  Each of our bodies experience pain and joy.  Life requires that we all do our best to dig down deep and find the courage inside of each of us.  The courage helps us to put one foot in front of the other and move forward with a determined spirit towards the summit of our destiny. 

I wish I could do more than just recount the story of what happened on Croagh Patrick, but so much of it is indescribable.  It was one of those experiences that just changes you and reminds you to be grateful for the bounty of life’s experience.

That day in September became my “St. Patrick’s Day” and now every March 17^th I will also think of St. Patrick and that crazy mountain.  So this year, when you are drinking your green beer or watching the St. Paddy’s day parade, take a moment to think about the summit of your life.  Think about the challenges you are facing, the struggles which seem too big to surmount and take comfort in knowing that we are all in this together and with faith, hope, courage and love we will triumph.

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