Fifteen Words for Rain

A couple weeks after I arrived in Belfast, someone told me that here in Northern Ireland, there are fifteen different words for rain.  She couldn’t recite them all for me, but she was confident that they existed.  I, however, was skeptical.  You’d think that coming from a place like Mount Vernon, I’d have already collected quite a few terms for precipitation myself.  I could think of five…and that was stretching things a bit.

But after last Saturday, I can believe that there are fifteen words for rain in Northern Ireland.  Easily.

Saturday, you see, was a much-anticipated hike up Slieve Donard, the tallest mountain in Northern Ireland.  Over 20 people from my church were going, so five of my fellow YAVs and I decided to join.  Before going, I had gotten a few different opinions on the intensity of the hike: some said that it was so difficult that I would need walking sticks, hiking boots, and rain gear, while others said that it was a mild uphill walk.  I figured that it would be somewhere in the middle.

So, on Saturday, my friends and I arrived at the Mourne Mountains (of which Slieve Donard is a part) with light rain jackets and exercise shoes (or trainers, as they’re called here).  When a man from our hiking group came up to offer us waterproof raingear, I said that I would be fine without it.  I had only ever put on that type of gear when I was going out to spend a day in the snow.  This was just a little rain, right?  Besides, I had Eddie Bauer on my side—I was prepared. 

False.

Thank goodness that kind man was so insistent.  I was as blue as a smurf when I put on the gear—and I looked like I had fallen into a bog before I even started hiking—but I was never more thankful for a coat and trousers in my life.  The hike itself was great fun, but the rain never stopped coming down.  It fell on the stones, the green-and-brown hills, and the grey walls.  It filled the streams until they were gushing down the mountainside.  As we climbed, the wind whipped the rain into the air until it seemed like there wasn’t any rain at all—just wet wind. 

When we got to the top of the mountain, we were in the thick of a raincloud, but we still felt triumphant.  And even though I was wet and cold, it was fun to be wet and cold with all of my new friends—and to share pictures, conversation, and biscuit or two along the way.

And just so you know, I’m on a quest to find those fifteen words.  I know they’re out there.

Preparing for ascent.

This is the face of someone who is suddenly confronted with a camera whilst she is trying NOT to slip on the rocks, choke on her mint, and die an untimely death.

A brief respite at the wall.  Jaffa cakes kindly provided by Andy.

The final climb.

At the top.  You've got to love small victories...