Isle of Man Odyssey - Day Three
by Phil LongI sit now on top of Snaefell - the Isle of Man’s tallest, by virtue of being its’ only, mountain.
I’m in the bar as I write, with a pint of Manx-brewed Okell’s bitter. The view here is… limited by a bright yellow CCTV sticker on the window. Outside is a different matter.
Wind beats my ears and I have to fight to stop my shirt letting my relentless foe in to chill my chest. It’s a half-cast day - blue sky breaks up matt-chrome sky. When I set off from Douglas at 10:40 it was the other way around. Pretty much happened the same yesterday when I explored Douglas some more and bought my week-long travel ticket.
But, anyway, I was describing the view. In the distance to the North-East I can see Scotland. It’s hazy, but the dark shadows of a mountain range still makes an impression on the sky.
A quick spin round; I see the coast of Ireland. It’s far nearer, clearer, and flatter. I can make out colours of cliff faces and hills.
Then there is the flat blue of the sea, broke up by wisps of white spray whipped up by mine enemy, the wind. Now we reach land. It drops off suddenly into the sea. Hills rise from the landscape hiding behind them the settlements on the Isle of Man. You could be forgiven for thinking there was no other soul on the island as the hills roll towards Snaefell.
They are covered by a rich patchwork of greens, olives, red and browns. The mountain itself is far from impressive - you could push your granny up it with easy, if it weren’t for foot-and-mouth restrictions. The Isle of Man remains disease free - and is quite intent on staying that way. The only way up is by road, to just below the summit, or by the Snaefell Mountain Railway which takes you from Laxy (home of the famous Laxy wheel) to the Café at the top.
Painted on the wall of the Café is the height of Snaefell. 2,300ft. Still 383 times (ish) higher than me.
Finally, just below me, is a foot and mouth warning…
And some sheep shit.
Related posts:
