Dungonnell Lough, Cargan

Today we set out for Dungonnell Lough, hoping to make it the whole way up to the reservoir. The morning looked promising; cold, bright, and crisp, but as we climbed higher, the road slowly turned into a sheet of glass. Ice covered everything: the track, the grass at the edges, even the stones we tried to step on for grip. We had to abandon the car farther down the track than we would have liked, but it was just too icy to take the risk. From there, the rest had to be done on foot, carefully navigating the frozen ground and laughing at how unsteady we were.

However, this cold, frosty morning turned out to be perfect for the dogs. It was colder, so they could run faster. The low temperatures seemed to give them extra energy, and they tore along the path as if the ice made them quicker instead of slowing them down. Every few minutes they came bounding back to check on us, faces dusted with frost, tails wagging like they were having the best day of their lives. Their enthusiasm made the slippery climb feel lighter.

The scenery up here is breathtaking, you feel like you’re standing on a completely different planet. The frost turned every blade of grass silver, the hills rose around us in quiet, icy stillness, and the air was so clear it almost didn’t feel real. The sunlight caught on the frozen ground and made the whole landscape sparkle, like someone had scattered shards of glass across the moor.

Even without reaching the reservoir, just being surrounded by that otherworldly landscape made the whole trip worth it. There was a peacefulness in the cold, a kind of silence that you only get in winter. And as we made our way back down, with the dogs still sprinting circles around us, it felt like one of those small adventures you remember long after the ice has melted.