by Declan O'Keeffe (Captain 1981/82)
.... so you're walking around the LGs on Freshers Week in 1979 minding your own business when Euge O'Riordan, wielding an ice axe approaches you and says listen punk you have to ask yourself do I feel lucky and you think well I was in the Boy Scouts so you sign up and suddenly it's Sunday Morning on Earlsfort Terrace and you keep your eyes focused on your new JBs hoping that Mick O'Shea isn't going to try to lock you in the boot of Ciaran Finch's state of the art Morris Minor like he has just done with Lorcan O'Sullivan and it's raining and they throw you out of the bus in Glenmalure and John Brophy and Maeve Cooke leave you behind all the way from the Zig Zags to Lug and all the way back down the Barravore and you don't have a parachute and the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep and you think well I was in the Boy Scouts and they bring you into the pub in Roundwood and let you buy them pints and on the way home you keep your eyes focused on your new JBs hoping that Colm O'Riordan and John Gleeson aren't going to try to hang you by your bootlaces from the overhead rail like they have just done with Keefe Murphy and Louis Mooney is playing a mean tin whistle with a manic glint in his eye while the Railway song chases the Monto down the Rocky Road to Dublin and you begin to wish you were in the Girl Guides and they let you out in Earlsfort Terrace and its raining and you can't find the key to your bike and you think to yourself - bitchin!.....
...... and then its the summer of 1980 and you emerge dirty and deshevelled from the train in Lourdes in the company of John Brophy and Robbie Roe and already they're getting on what's left of your nerves and they give you your opinions and you walk 20,000 feet up to your first alpine hut only it's in the Pyrenees and as the angle eases to 90° John and Robbie who got there first of course tell you the hut is full and you wish they were in the Boy Scouts and it's not raining and you wish it was and you spend the night on the floor of the kitchen and then the sun shines for the next fortnight and you realise that you've never enjoyed yourself so much in your life and Enda Mooney and Veronica O'Loughlen are there and you meet Ned and Catherine and John Byrne and Cormac and Siobhan are somewhere around and you never want to see a boy scout again as long as you live and there aren't enough Pyrenees to go round and you know you'll be back but you don't know it will be ten years because you're about to discover the Alps - and the beat goes on
..... so you're back in Ireland and you're on the committee and you can't believe your luck and Colm O'Riordan is running a tight ship and there are navigation classes with cross sections of potatoes to explain contours and you walk all the mountains in Wicklow and you go to be inspired by Peter Boardman and then it's Christmas and you cycle from Killarney with Paul Egan and there are fifty people crammed into two houses near Caragh Lake and it rains all the time and Euge and Louis and Keefe and Cathy hang their wet tent in the dining room having pitched it in a river and just when you thought you had seen it all they bring you up on the Beenkeeragh Ridge to defy gravity in a howling gale and somewhere a boy scout clears his throat and you swear and pray and hope and fall over and then you're in Jack Walshe's and the fire is roaring and pints are flowing and the sing-song on New Years Eve goes on for ever and you know you're in heaven and you climb Knocknadobar on New Year's Day because it's there and at Easter you hitch to Doolough to camp by the lake in glorious weather and you walk over all the mountains in Connacht without meeting any boy scouts at all and you know you must have died in your sleep - and the beat goes on........
...... and then it's the summer and you're led into the Garden of Eden in Dalkey Quarry by Peter Malin and he points you at a sheer wall of rock where no man has trodden since Adam and Eve were expelled from it and you crawl and claw and whimper and you gain some height and you can't breathe because your heart is in your mouth until you discover how Paradise can be regained at the top of each climb and then they ask you to do another one and this time you've got more confidence in your feet and you start to enjoy it and they tell you you're doing well until Keefe Murphy glides past you with his hands in his pockets and you fall off and they tell you you're doing great and you wish you were dead and you nearly were and suddenly its a year later and you're fumbling your way around Cornwall and the old Mick for the hard road is coaxing you up Commando Ridge and you're camped at Land's End with the feel of warm granite under your hands by day and cold pints under your belt by night and before you know where you are you're back in Dalkey coaxing beginners to regain paradise and moving click-click-click up the rock placing clipping climbing checking and totally in tune - and the beat goes on.......
... so you're drinking and you're dancing. and the sing-song's really happening and the beer and whiskey wisdom's running high and Mick is singing and Colm is singing and Enda is singing and Mark is singing and Donogh is singing and the bus is rolling from Wicklow to Dublin and it's Sunday and you're tired but you're happy and you remember eighteen hundred and forty one and it's nineteen hundred and seventy three but you weren't there but you must has been and it's nineteen and eighty five and you were there and they should have been and it's nineteen hundred and ninety eight and you're still here and you're glad you've been and you look out the window and you see Wicklow and you see Kerry and you see Scotland and you see the Alps and you'd love to see the Himalayas and your heart is breaking when you think of all who've gone but its not because they're still here and you're still here and the Club will always be here and you think to yourself...
where it's at!
In 1979, UCDMC was captained by Maeve Cooke, who returned from exile for the purpose, in a manner popularised by Lenin. With membership standing at 244, the Club was in a very strong position. In stark contrast with 1967, when the programme for the year included an annual outing to Lugnaquilla, and the bulk of the trips was located in North Wicklow and the Dublin Mountains, we spent most Sundays further South and West. Christmas that year was spent in Lauragh, with everybody piled into an old schoolhouse. Not having attended, I can only rely on rumour and gossip, both of which were fortunately rife. One incident involved the pitching of a tent in the main room and the New Year's Eve Party, stewarded by Mick O'Shea, remained a benchmark for years to come.
Still feeling my way, I concentrated mostly on hillwalking, although occasional forays into Dalkey Quarry revealed a healthy rock climbing scene with many leaders, including Mick O'Shea, Lorcan O'Sullivan, Robbie Roe, John Brophy, Peter Malin and Maire Ni Chíosáin. Malinbeg was the place to be after the exams and before the summer lacuna. That Summer, foreign activity seemed to centre on the Pyrenees, with two or three occasionally interlinking groups ranging from Gavarnie to Pic du Midi d'Ossau and beyond. A pattern emerged which has influenced much of my life in the intervening years - walking from October to April,
followed by rock climbing and some class of an Alpine trip. As a Committee member in 1980, I was much more involved in running the Club. The unholy alliance of Colm O'Riordan, Peter Malin and Keefe Murphy survived the elections and were a powerful guiding force for some time to come. My first Christmas trip (to Glenbeigh) opened my eyes and the walking moved up a couple of notches, although the weather was foul. The non-stop activity, craic and camaraderie bowled me over. Colm O'Riordan, in particular, was a powerhouse of energy.
The staple diet remained one of regular walking in Wicklow. But this was frequently supplemented by weekend trips to such places as the Galtees, the Comeraghs and the Inagh Valley. We always camped on these trips - houses were only used at Christmas. Doolough was a popular Easter venue for some years, while the end of the Summer exams saw climbers take off for Malinbeg and points North East. That Summer (1981) I was fortunate to be invited on a climbing trip to Cornwall, where I was dragged kicking and screaming up a series of classic v.diff and severe routes by a series of very difficult and severe leaders. One of those was Keefe Murphy, who was about to come into his kingdom.
The year 1981 - 82 was a particularly traumatic one for the Club and marked another watershed in its history. The year was clouded by the death of Peter McDonell in a blizzard on Lugnaquilia shortly before Christmas. Others were obliged to spend some or all of the night on the mountain. Happening, as it did in our midst, it had a big affect on Club morale. The Christmas trip a fortnight later was the best of times and the worst of times. The location was an outdoor pursuit centre in the Inagh Valley, which comfortably accommodated 65 of us. The group, which would Club Cualann later in the year, had organised a separate trip. Thrown back on its resources, (shades of 1972), the Club emerged again as a more tightly knit unit.The walking was magnificent, as the Bens, Maam Turks and Mweelrea were covered in snow and ice. However, the week was not without incident - the most memorable being when an engineer in our midst attempted to fuel the generator with water, precipitating an energy crisis for the last three days. Miraculously, a supply of petrol stoves saved the day, and permitted even the serving of an enormous New Year's Day dinner , composed of leftovers and masterminded by Paul Egan. An unfortunate side effect was the failure of the water pump leading to an outbreak of dysentery. Among the victims was Joe Mottley, whose Treasurer's abilities were so impaired, that the Club had to resort to deficit financing. Other memories of the trip include - a bucket / saucepan chain to fill the cistern from a nearby lake; concealing two coffins behind the couch in Joe Keane's upper room, so as to permit a sing-song on New Year's Eve and playing ice hockey on frozen lakes high in the Bens. As a result of the accident, the Club introduced navigation weekends based in the IMC hut in Glendalough, which have become a regular feature of the calendar. The first of those was particularly successful, thanks in the main to the organising skills of Lorcan O'Sullivan. Easter 1982 saw two trips organised - one to Scotland and the other to Glencar. Camping in Jack Walshe's back garden, we were never short of pub grub - particularly useful when the landlord's dogs had raided the tents for meat. 1982 saw the election, of the first of a Blessed Trinity of lady captains. This was Angela Conroy who would make history by eventually marrying one of her predecessors, Colm O'Riordan. The usual round of fixtures continued with the Christmas trips in 1982 and 1983 both being located near Glenbeigh - a return to tradition after the Western aberration of 1981. The Easter trip returned to Doolough each year although there were also two unofficial trips to Scotland (Torridon and Ullapool).
Angela was succeeded by Geraldine Coleman and Jacintha McSherry respectively and under their stewardship the Club continued to prosper. Many of the regulars at the turn of the decade were involved with Cualann while others were forced to emigrate for work. A small but determined group of climbers continued to push the limits with much work being done on the Burren sea cliffs. Chief among them was Keefe Murphy whose outstanding climbs included Through the Looking Glass (E3) and Virtual Reality (E4). Keefe's achievement was given due recognition when he appeared on the front cover of the first issue of " The Irish climber". Foreign trips abounded with members visiting the Alps - the Stubai and La Berarde being particularly popular venues. The period of transition ended in 1984 when a new group of young tigers began to make their presence felt. The committee that year included the next three captains - Seamus MacGearailt, Traolach O'Brien and Mark Lang. Their arrival was heralded by the usual portents - hard walking, devil-may-care climbing, eclipses of the moon, not to mention such feats as cycling from Dublin to Doolough in one day (Seamus and Traolach repeating Robbie Roe's solo run of 1978). Another chapter in the history of UCDMC was drawing to a close. What would emerge would be a leaner Club led by a new generation.