By Micheal founder of Furté Outdoor Co.
Some events you sign up for in a moment of inspiration. Others you win the right to suffer through because you sign up for in a moment of pure madness.
The Art O’Neill Challenge falls firmly into the second category — an overnight, midwinter, 60km test of endurance through some of Ireland’s toughest terrain, tracing the route of a centuries-old escape.
You don’t just sign up. You enter a lottery. And if your name gets pulled, you earn the right to suffer. When mine came up, I messaged my long-time walking buddy John, and we both agreed — this is the year.
We trained hard, packed smart, and told ourselves we were ready. But no amount of training quite prepares you for what comes when the wind rises over Wicklow at 3 a.m. and you're knee-deep in bog with 25km still to go.
What Exactly Is the Art O'Neill Challenge?
The Art O'Neill Challenge — also known as the AON Challenge, the Art O'Neill Ultra, or simply The Art O'Neill — is an approximately 60-kilometre overnight ultramarathon that begins at Dublin Castle at midnight and finishes the following day at Glenmalure in the Wicklow Mountains.
Held annually in January, it draws walkers, hikers, and ultrarunners from all over Ireland and beyond. What makes it different isn’t just the distance — it’s the combination of cold, darkness, terrain, and history.
The History Behind the Challenge
The event retraces the escape of Art O’Neill, Henry O’Neill, and Red Hugh O’Donnell from Dublin Castle in 1592. Imprisoned by the English, they broke out on foot in the dead of winter and made a run for freedom across the mountains to Glenmalure.
Art O’Neill died of exposure along the way. His story became legend — and the path he took became one of the most iconic and punishing endurance routes in the country.
The modern challenge honours that journey, organised by Dublin & Wicklow Mountain Rescue to raise funds and awareness for their lifesaving work. It’s part race, part pilgrimage, part test of character.
Training for the Unknown
John and I took it seriously. We had done long hikes before — Croagh Patrick, Snowdon, chunks of the Alps — but this felt different.
We trained in the cold. We trained in the dark. Long back-to-back hikes. Weighted packs. Wet feet. Blister tests. Everything we wore, ate, or carried was tested and retested. We knew that the night wouldn't be kind.
And still — nothing really prepares you.
The Midnight Start
Dublin Castle. Midnight. No music. No hype. Just 300 people wrapped in high-vis vests and headlamps, quietly checking packs and staring into the dark.
The first 15 or so kilometres took us through city streets and suburban roads, and I’ll be honest — it surprised me how tough that part was. You’d think pavement would be easier than mud and stone, but the hard ground punishes your legs early, and the flat monotony wears you down. There’s no scenery to distract you, no trail to focus on — just long, straight, soul-numbing roads under orange streetlights.
By the time we reached the edge of the mountains, our feet already felt the weight of the night, and we still had hours — and the worst terrain — ahead.
Somewhere past Halfway House, the silence grew heavy.
John wasn’t saying much. Neither was I. At about 35km, my knee started to go. Reminded of a recent knee injury repair with that deep, pulsing ache that tells you every step from now on is going to cost you later.
I took two painkillers and said nothing.
This is the part of the challenge no one trains for. The part where the real work begins. No views. No adrenaline. Just wet socks, fatigue, darkness only broken by a head torch, and your own thoughts.
We saw people resting, some quitting. The bog deepened. So did the cold.
Glenmalure: Pint & Payoff
And then — after what felt like another lifetime — we reached the final descent into Glenmalure Valley. That last 5km dragged more than the 55 before it.
But suddenly, we were there.
Glenmalure Lodge glowed like something out of a dream. Warm light. Muddy boots. And inside, a pint of Guinness that might as well have been poured by the gods.
We sat in silence, covered in mud, legs shaking, jackets steaming. I turned to John, raised my pint, and said:
“If you ever mention this again, I swear I’ll never speak to you.”
He laughed. Because he knew.
The Callback
A few months later, my phone buzzes. John.
“Will we do it again?”
And after a long pause… I said yes.
Because as brutal as it was, there’s nothing quite like it. Not just the distance — but the feeling. The story. The bond. The shared suffering and the strength you only find when there’s no one watching but the mountain.
What I Took From It — And Into Furté
The Art O’Neill taught me that the gear you carry matters more when everything else is failing. When your hands are numb, your focus is fading, and you’ve got 20km to go — it’s your kit that keeps you moving.
And that’s why I started Furté — gear not for photos, but for pain. For real nights, real mountains, and real people who know what it feels like to earn every mile.
See you in the dark.
– Micheal
Founder, Furté Outdoor Gear