Prologue
The day after the eighth full moon of the year, we sailed across the Irish Sea to walk St Patrick’s Way. The trail connects two locations closely related to Ireland’s patron saint: Armagh, the ecclesiastical capital of Ireland, and Downpatrick, St Patrick’s final resting place. St Patrick was born around 400 CE in Roman Britain. He was enslaved and transported to Ireland before escaping his captors. After studying to become a cleric in France, he returned to Ireland on a mission to convert the pagan Irish to Christianity.
Croagh Patrick, Ireland’s Holy Mountain, is a renowned pilgrimage site where St Patrick fasted for 40 days. We’ve climbed the mountain twice, but to date, we’ve barely set foot in the north, the part of Ireland most associated with St Patrick and home to the entirety of the 132-kilometre St Patrick’s Way. Keen to discover the stories held in the land, we acquire Pilgrim Passports and set out to follow in St Patrick’s footsteps through County Armagh and County Down, weaving our way in and out of villages, through forests, and across mountains that sweep down to the sea.
Day 1: Armagh to Gosford Forest (20 km)
Our walk starts at Navan Fort, just beyond Armagh. Last night, the Iron Age fort and seat of the Kings of Ulster hosted the Wickerman Festival. This ancient celebration marks the beginning of the harvest season and honours the Celtic Sun God, Lugh, with the spectacle of a 10-metre Wickerman set ablaze in a dramatic fire ceremony. A sacred gathering place for millennia, St Patrick recognised the fort as a site where he could reach large numbers of people and teach the Christian faith.
We stamp our Passports for the first time and set off from the Fort, an unholy trinity of pilgrims. We circle the impressive ceremonial mound and cross rolling green fields where cows, sheep and horses graze. On a quiet back road lined with hedgerows of honeysuckle and blackberries, a sign warns us of ‘road bowling ahead’. Road bowling is an ancient rural sport in which competitors throw an iron ball along a stretch of country road; the person who covers the distance with the fewest throws wins. Although it’s a throwback to a time when roads were quieter, it’s experiencing a resurgence, especially among young people. As an outdoor activity, the game became popular during the COVID pandemic. Since then, social media has amplified its appeal.
As we walk into Armagh, we’re surprised to find that the city has two cathedrals dedicated to St Patrick; one Catholic, one Protestant. Located on opposite hills, they face each other across a valley. St Patrick’s Church of Ireland Cathedral sits on the site of St Patrick’s original 5th-century church. During the 16th-century Protestant Reformation, the church was appropriated by the British and transferred to the Anglican Church. Three hundred years later, after the repeal of anti-Catholic laws, construction began on what is now St Patrick’s Roman Catholic Cathedral. Today, the two churches work together to promote reconciliation and celebrate their shared traditions.
Brian Boru, the last High King of Ireland, visited St Patrick’s Church in 1004 and proclaimed it the centre of Irish Christianity. After his death, his body was escorted to the Cathedral where it lies under a granite plaque. In the centre of Armagh, we notice scars on the courthouse from a massive IRA car bomb in 1993. We walk past the heavily fortified police station and pause at a memorial honouring the 30+ women and girls killed by domestic violence in the last six years. Following the waymarkers out of town, we’re pleased to leave such potent reminders of the Troubles behind, and surrender to the peace of the countryside. It’s a green and pleasant walk along quiet rural lanes. Used to human interaction, the horses and cows in the fields nuzzle into us when we stop to pat them.
We take the time we need to find our walking rhythm and settle into the grace of each other’s company. It’s mid-afternoon when we reach Gosford Forest Park. As we traverse its meandering paths, we meet a procession of dog walkers and day wanderers. Having seen no one on the trail since Armagh, we’re happy to chat and answer their questions about St Patrick’s Way. Emerging from the forest, we make a short detour to Markethill for food. Its streets are strung with Union Jacks and Orange Order banners from the 12 July celebrations marking the Protestant Prince William of Orange’s victory over Catholic forces at the 1690 Battle of the Boyne. Not used to such sectarian displays, we feel a gathering sense of unease as we pass through town.
Day 2: Gosford Forest to Poyntz Pass (25 km)
A humid, overcast day. Returning to the forest, we clamber over trees felled by a recent storm. The River Cusher runs flush with last night’s rain. At Clare Glen, there’s a fairy ring, a gateway into the realm of the supernatural. It’s rich in history and mythology, with its sacred mounds and bewitched, moss-covered trees. We’re too late for spring’s wood anemones and bluebells, but if we close our eyes, we can imagine a ripple of vivid violet-blue beneath the hazel, oak, ash and elm trees.
It’s a Monday, and almost everything is shut. We scour Tandragee for a coffee and stumble upon the one cafe (cum school uniform shop) that’s open. Tonight, our host has promised to lend us a microwave so we can heat our dinner. He says that, apart from the supermarket/petrol station, there’ll be nothing open in town tonight, but we’re hopeful of procuring a pint of Guinness.
It’s calming, strolling along the quiet county backways, and even more so once we’re on the Newry Canal path. The Newry is the oldest canal in Ireland and was once used to transport coal, linen and timber. Today, the only disturbance on the water is the trail of a duckling etched into a thick layer of green algae. Mute swans glide past empty nests, the cygnets all out exploring the world. As if transported back in time, we pass a man walking the towpath carrying his shillelagh, a wooden stick made from blackthorn with a large knobbed head. Associated with Irish folklore, it’s carried as a symbol of Irish pride and tradition.
St Patrick’s Way is well waymarked, but since leaving Armagh, we find little written information en route about the man whose footsteps we’re following. Others’ stories abound, though. We come across a hand-drawn sign advertising ‘LUNDY NIGHT’ and discover that to this day, every year, loyalist Protestants burn an effigy of Robert Lundy, the Protestant Governor believed to be a traitor during the 1689 siege of Derry.
We’re staying at the Railway Bar in Poyntzpass, where they pour a fine Guinness and the publican comes good on his promise of a microwave. While buying food at the supermarket, we get into a discussion with a local farmer about our pilgrimage. He poses a question we hadn’t even considered. Is St Patrick Catholic or Protestant? Even though Protestantism didn’t develop until hundreds of years after the saint’s death, the farmer is confident that St Patrick is Protestant.
Day 3: Poyntz Pass to Newry (15 km)
A world emerging from fog. A sky shot through with swallows. Hedgerows draped in lace-like spider webs. It’s a short day today, all of it beside the Newry Canal. An easy day on an even trail, under a warm sun. A local wishes us well on our ‘dander’. We pass Canal Wood, a refuge nestled between the canal and the mainline railway. Though still young, this mixed woodland and thriving wetland is rich in wildlife.
We arrive in Newry with time to explore the town, founded in 1144 as a settlement around a Cistercian Abbey on the Clanrye River. The staff at the Newry and Mourne Museum take our backpacks into their office for safekeeping as we explore the history of the site, once Bagenal’s Castle, and the culture and heritage of the region. The museum holds many treasures from prehistoric times to the present, including a set of Order of St Patrick Robes. St Patrick spent time in Newry, and as a symbol of his faith, planted a yew tree above the river. Yews can live for thousands of years, and we wonder if we might see a living relic of Ireland’s patron saint. But we’re almost 900 years too late. The Abbey with all its furniture and books, and St Patrick’s yew tree, were burnt to the ground in 1162. However, his legacy lives on in Newry’s coat of arms, which depicts him standing between two yew trees.
Day 4: Newry to Rostrevor (19 km)
We walk out of Newry into a bucolic landscape. Fields bordered by hedgerows and stone fences. A landscape that’s green and undulating. Leaving the tarmac behind, we traverse wilder country, covered in expanses of heath and heather. The hills give way to mountains. Clouds atop their summits. The walking is a blessing. We stop to chat with a laconic farmer who has all the time in the world and a son working in construction in Australia, as do so many of the people we meet.
The glimmer in the distance is Carlingford Lough, a glacial fjord fed by the Newry River and Canal. Its upper reaches lie between the lower slopes of the Cooley Mountains and the fabled Mountains of Mourne. The Lough’s extensive mudflats and salt marshes provide a refuge for over-wintering birds, breeding terns, and an array of migratory birds.
Through Narrow Water Wood, towards Warrenpoint, the small port town that sits at the head of Carlingford Lough, then around a bend to a sweeping view of the shimmering estuary. Sail boats out. Pale-skinned holiday makers paddling in the shallows. We’ve arrived in Rostrevor, a charming Edwardian coastal village with a sloping beach that faces south and catches the sun. After a string of austere towns, Rostrevor delights us. The bright-green sunlit street trees, the crystal-clear River Kilbroney flowing through town, and panoramas of misty-blue mountains. These same mountains were the inspiration for CS Lewis’s Narnia Chronicles, and a place where you might find a portal into a magical world. CS Lewis holidayed in Rostrevor, and the town keeps the connection alive with evocative murals and the creation of the Rostrevor Narnia Trail. Not far from the trail, in a wooded grove, is a Fairy Glen that some locals avoid after dark because of the mischievous spirits who dance to ethereal music on the banks of the Kilbroney.
When we ask who pours the best Guinness in town, our host tells us the best Guinness in the universe is to be had at Henry’s, as Fearson’s Bar is known. His claim has merit: we savour a pint of the creamy, bittersweet elixir. ‘Short pipes, a quick pour, and plenty of practice’ is what the barman says produces the ambrosial taste. Mellow from the Guinness, we follow the music drifting through the warm dark streets to the Rostrevor Inn. Opening the door, we find ourselves in a packed Wednesday night session. All of the performers are local, and the crowd is in fine voice. It’s a wrench to leave after an hour or so, but the mountains beckon.
Day 5: Rostrevor to Hilltown (20 km)
Leaving town, we walk through the hallowed silence of a larch forest before climbing up into the mountains of Mourne. We’re told that if we search, we might find St Patrick’s handprint embedded in a rock, or come across a great cairn marking the abode of mythical figures. The mark of the saint eludes us, but there’s magic enough in the Mournes. It’s a beautiful, sparse landscape of rocky granite tors and slopes of purple-pink heather and yellow gorse that descend through the fens and swamps, providing a refuge for rare plant species. We hear the trilling of red grouse in the moorland and watch as kestrels soar overhead.
Around the year 431, Pope St Celestine sent St Patrick back to Ireland. His mission was to introduce Christianity to the country, something he had vowed to do since his days as an Irish slave. He was aiming for the Antrim coast, but strong currents swept his boat southward, and he landed in County Down instead. Although initially treated with hostility, he persevered. Some of his first converts were the local hill folk who roamed the mountains we’re now walking across.
For a time, we follow the Mourne Wall. Local stonemasons built this 35-kilometre-long wall in the early 20th century to enclose the catchments of several reservoirs and keep livestock away from the rivers that flow into them. The wall runs in a rough circle as it traverses 15 mountain peaks in this land of legends, song, and poetry. High on a hill, we can see Mass Rock. Once a clandestine outdoor altar used during the 17th and 18th centuries when Catholic Mass was banned, it is now marked with a monumental cross.
The forecasted rain holds off until we finish our long day on the trail and arrive in the small village of Hilltown.
Day 6: Hilltown to Newcastle (24 km+)
An inauspicious start to the day. The early-morning taxi we booked to drop us where we left the trail yesterday fails to materialise. With great reluctance but little choice, we head off to walk several kilometres in thick fog along a busy highway.
It’s a relief when we leave the dangers of the road behind and start climbing into the high moors. The fog is so dense that we are but apparitions in a mythical landscape. It’s wild and sparse; the land scarred from centuries of peat cutting. A hermit’s cell and an oratory maintain a crumbling link to St Patrick. After a time, the fog lifts to reveal high tarns and mountains all around us. The Mournes have 12 main peaks over 600 metres, with Slieve Donard being the highest at 850 metres. Legend has it that St Patrick vanquished the snakes from Ireland by chasing them down the slopes of Slieve Donard and into the sea near Newcastle, today’s destination. As snakes were sacred to the high-ranking members of Celtic society, the legend may be symbolic of St Patrick ridding Ireland of pagan influence. Slieve Donard remains one of the three great spiritual heights of Ireland, along with Croagh Patrick and Great Sugar Loaf.
Our route follows parts of the Ulster Way and the Mourne Way, around Slieve Bearnagh and into Tollymore Forest. One of the Game of Thrones locations, the forest is bathed in a magical green light that emanates from moss-covered rocks, luxuriant ferns and woodlands lush with ancient trees, including grand cedars. Grottos, caves and gothic stone bridges add to the forest’s allure. We’re not surprised to see cloaked Game of Thrones fans armed with shields and swords, playing out scenes from the fantasy drama.
Down from the granite tors of the Mournes and out of the forest, we descend through fields and farms before we come to the coast. Sheep grazing. Blackberries sweet for the eating. Our long and enchanting day on the trail ends at the seaside resort town of Newcastle. It lies by the Irish Sea at the foot of Slieve Donard and takes its name from the MacGinnis stronghold built in 1588 and demolished in 1830. More than 400 years after the ‘new’ castle was built, the name persists.
Once we’ve showered and rested, we stroll along the seaside promenade as the day winds down and families come out to play. We find a pub and order a ‘double Guinness’ (a pint of Guinness and a Guinness pie). As we look around the bar, we see it’s clearly a favourite of the locals as well.
Overnight, as we sleep, the tide comes in and goes out 400 metres.
Day 7: Newcastle to Clough (12 km)
Seabirds caw as we walk along a pebble beach that gives way to sand. Fog obscures the Mourne Mountains. A lighthouse flashes on and off in the distance. The sea appears calm, but there are warnings of sudden drop-offs, strong undercurrents and riptides.
We walk along the shoreline to Murlough Beach, where seals haul themselves out of the water in winter. This pebble-ridged beach is backed by ancient dunes and a path that follows the inner bay to the small village of Dundrum, where we enjoy a fine coffee. Behind the village on the summit of a rocky hill stands the imposing medieval ruin of Dundrum Castle, once home to the Earl of Ulster.
Many fishermen have lost their lives in Dundrum Bay over the centuries, but in January 1843, a sudden storm caught boats unawares. High winds, sleet and snow prevailed. Heavy seas sank most boats, including a boat that had gone out to rescue the fishermen. Seventy-two men perished, leaving behind 27 widows and 74 children. Still standing as a poignant reminder is Widows’ Row, a group of cottages built by public subscription to house the worst-hit families. From here, we take the Lecale Way and the Ulster Way, staying close to the water to observe the curlews, lapwings, godwits, oystercatchers, and sandpipers wading in the mudflats.
It’s our last night on Patrick’s Way, and we’re staying at a B&B a little way out from the crossroads village of Clough. Our affable host, Sarah, picks us up from town and later drives us back in for dinner, having already made a booking for us in the town’s only open restaurant.
Day 8: Finishing St Patrick’s Way, Clough to Downpatrick (17 km)
This morning, after a sumptuous breakfast, Sarah insists on driving us to Tyrella. It’s what she does for all St Patrick’s Way walkers, she says, believing the first seven kilometres on the road too dangerous to walk.
A golden morning. An Arcadian landscape of rolling green fields dotted with small churches. On a quiet country lane, we stop to help a farmer coax an escaped sheep back into the fold. The efforts of five people prove inadequate in the face of the animal’s determination. It leaps over obstacles, dodging people and kicking Michael’s outstretched arm to make a successful getaway. With our bit-part in the drama over, we wish the farmer all the luck of the Irish and continue on our way.
Our peaceful back road becomes busy with Sunday-morning Mass traffic. Turning our back on the Mourne Mountains, we head inland, walking through St Patrick’s country towards Downpatrick, where the saint is buried.
En route, we come across a sunken lane, a fairy holloway, that we follow to the Ballynoe Stone Circle. It dates from the late Neolithic Age. Thirty-five metres in circumference, the more than 50 upright stones surround an oval mound. It was thought to have several uses, including burials, ceremonies and community gatherings. According to traditional Irish folklore, fairies protect ancient sites such as this. People still treat it as a magical place, leaving small offerings for the fairies in trees and on top of the stones.
Back onto quiet byways until they peter out, and there is nowhere left to walk but alongside a busy highway. We follow it into Downpatrick, past playing fields and on to the St Patrick Centre, dedicated to the life and legacy of Ireland’s patron saint. We’re warmly welcomed, presented with certificates acknowledging our completion of St Patrick’s Way and photographed for the Centre’s social media pages.
Before calling our walk done, we explore the Centre’s exhibits about the life of St Patrick and his contemporaries during a time when Ireland experienced a unique period of influence as the isle of ‘saints and scholars’. As Roman power declined, Irish monks played a crucial role in preserving classical and Christian texts, establishing monasteries, and spreading literacy and learning across Europe during the Dark Ages. This influence wasn’t achieved by military conquest, but through cultural exchange and missionary work.
Our final ritual is to pay our respects to the Saint at his grave beside Down Cathedral. Some people believe that the grave is empty and Patrick lies buried beneath the church. To be sure of covering all possibilities, we pay our respects in the Cathedral as well.
In our eight days on St Patrick’s Way, we didn’t meet any other end-to-end walkers, and more than once we spoke with locals who didn’t know St Patrick’s Way went through their village. But there’s no doubt that Patrick is a saint for all Christian faiths in Ireland and remains a unifying force.
As for the three of us who, with our mix of Protestant and Catholic heritage, might never have formed a friendship had we grown up in Ireland like our ancestors, we’re grateful to have felt Irish soil under our feet and come to a deeper understanding of St Patrick’s legacy as we followed in his footsteps.
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If you’d like to see more of Ireland, check out our five-day walk along the Burren Way and for more mountains, don’t miss the stunning Tour de Mont Blanc, or our epic walk across the Alps on the Dream Way
