Day 3: Macroom to Mallow

Our intention was to go into our Day 2 travails when we had recovered, but frankly the less said about that experience the better. Perhaps when we are all less traumatised more detail can be added. The most immediate outcome, at any rate, was the loss of the indomitable Laura Motherway following 15 hours of walking under a full rucksack on what transpired to be a crushed fracture of the knee and damaged ankle ligaments. The fact that she managed to limp even as far as Killkeal, and uncomplainingly at that, speaks volumes for the strength of her character (and possibly to the power of 11 Neurofen in 24 hours). We're devastated to lose her.

The rest of us, chastened, made a late morning exit from Macroom and headed toward Mallow. Given our experience over Day 2, we stood no chance of making it with bags in tow, so it would be no exaggeration to say that the arrival of the legendary Denis and Margaret Devane to pick up our fallen comrade and gear saved the day. Morale was, therefore, surprisingly high as we took the R618 almost due east to Coachford. By the time we had had a quick pit-stop and turned north onto a small but generally quiet road straight to Mallow, though, even without the bags pace had slackened. The preponderance of vicious looking dogs in the gardens of most houses - a puzzling discrepancy in the otherwise flawlessly friendly atmosphere of West Cork - were calculated to wreck even the most determined buzz. Although the larger beasts were generally chained up - presumably to be given the run of the yard after dark to savage any neighbour unwise enough to pop in for a cup of tea - the smaller, yappier ones didn't do much for morale either.

As a result, we decided to embrace the now invariable fracturing of the group and allow those with more energy to forge ahead, leaving the rest to go at their own pace. This latter group was quickly dubbed the "Wasps" by its most enthusiastic member, McKeating, with the speedier contingent of Grennan, Smodge, Tim and McKinney emerging as the "Stingrays", thus fixing them with the stigma of association with Steve Irwin's death as well as allowing to Wasps to characterise themselves as the plucky underdogs rather than a bunch of lazy schismatics.

Both groups had a decent time of it in the afternoon session, however, as the gently rolling hills of north Cork soothed our spirits. The Wasps took lunch at Donoughmore Cross, a village consisting, in its entirety, of about 6 houses, two pubs sitting side by side, a Famine memorial and a ruined church. Meanwhile, the forward group were discovering Cork's very own Twilight Zone, the eerie village of Bweeng. Apart from one house, a barn and an abandoned pub, the entire village was brand new and made to the same suburban housing estate pattern, as if it had been picked up whole from Cork city and dropped in the middle of the countryside. In the pub, into which Grennan ventured for water, we found the entire population of the townland crammed in watching Cork v Kerry in, like, Gaelic Football or some shit?

Cork's eventual victory ensured a warm reception for the Wasps in LJs of Dromoughane, where they stopped for a greasy take-away prior to the final slog into Mallow. Donations, advice and offers of pear cider flowed in from the locals; morale soared.

Surely the best part of the day, though, was the herds of cows that would occasionally gallop the length of their field alongside us in expectation of food, milking or whatever it is that farmers do with them. As Grennan put it, "A guy with a sign made of fireworks saying 'Come on lads!' couldn't be more motivational than that." All agreed, and reflective silence followed until Tim's contribution of "Does anyone else think cows have really beautiful faces?" was registered. Answer came there none.

We got to Mallow, camped in a park, all was well.

Distance Day 3: 44km approx

Theme of the Day: Motivational/demotivational animals

Word of the Day: "Break?"