It’s a long drive from West Clare, my base in Ireland, to Carlingford in County Louth. In fact it is across the country from one coast to the other. So when you get there you want to maximise the time. Early in February a small festival known as Feile na Tana is organised by renowned fiddler Zoe Conway and she manages to attract some of the finest traditional musicians in the country. I posted on this festival on my blog a couple of years ago (here) and nothing much has really changed. Centered on instrument workshops the focus of the festival is on reaching out to the young and to try and restore and invigorate a once strong musical heritage on the edge of Ulster. The other thing I love about coming to Louth, the smallest county in Ireland, is that it and the neighbouring counties of Armagh and Down has unrivaled beauty and such unique landscapes, geology, ancient archaeology and recent history. I relished the chance to explore this while playing music at the same time.
I was blessed on a number of accounts this time. The weather was relatively fine (let me translate: ‘it didn’t rain’) and I found a marvelous place to stay through AirBnB. Eve, another expatriate drawn to leave her life in the US behind and put down roots in Ireland, was the perfect host. With views toward the Mountains of Mourne and in the shadow of Slieve Foy, I could come and go, I could practice the fiddle or settle down by the fire. And then she was instrumental in convincing me to stay an extra couple of days to experience the coming snow. Thanks Eve. I was well rewarded for that decision.
And that’s what I want to talk about in this blog.
Coming from the Land of the Midday Sun (I’ve just renewed my Poetic Licence!) I have little experience with snow. Except that I love it and the spectacular images that may result if the light is right. This lack of experience however led to some interesting learnings about coping with ice and snow on the road
In West Clare when it rains or hails you certainly know about it. The sound of the rain on the slate can be deafening. Here if it snows at night you sleep through the silence. The flakes drift to the ground steadily and quietly building up anywhere where gravity is only mildly resisted. This is what happened on the Monday night. After an unusually undisturbed night snuggled up with the thoughtfully provided electric blanket (surprisingly unusual in an Irish BnB), I looked out the window in the morning, with no great expectation, but was dazzled by brilliant blue sky and a sparkling carpet of fresh white powder. And remember I was at sea level.
I had a loose plan. I would take the ferry across the Carlingford Lough to County Down and explore the Mountains of Mourne, which I could see from the window of my second story bedroom.
However the best laid plans. The ferry was closed for ‘adverse’ weather conditions. Hardly surprising really with a strong wind now making life difficult and whipping up the waters of the Lough. In Ireland you always have to have a Plan B, so I drove north towards Slieve Gullion. Lucky really as in retrospect driving through County Down would have been treacherous.
My vague plan was to revisit some spots on the Ring of Gullion but really I was dictated by which roads were passable. I had earlier spent a couple of days exploring this stunning area of South Armagh . A blog on this is on the way. I was curious to see what this ancient world looked like under a white blanket. My route took me through Carlingford to Omeath and up to Flagstaff Hill. Mistake. There were stunning views on the way up. But.
My car struggled to deal with the icy hill and only after some hair raising moments did I make it to a relatively ice-less part of the road to pause. Up ahead the road continued to climb with even more ice and snow. What did they say about discretion and valour? So I did an 11 point turn and gingerly pointed the car back down the hill.
Having got this far though I decided to walk to the top of the hill. So glad I did. I actually didn’t realise that this was Flagstaff Hill which I will talk about in another blog but the snow certainly added another dimension. Flagstaff Hill is actually in Northern Ireland. There are no border signs so you don’t actually know. In fact the only way you know you have passed into another countyr is that the road signs and Google Maps switch to miles. Honestly I can’t conceive of an hard border here.
The fine white powder transformed the green rolling hills of the elevated Cooley range into an Alpine wonderland. The biting wind and an outside temperature of 1 degree though did nothing to dampen spirits. I actually didn’t want to leave but I was worried about how the car would handle the trip back down the mountain.
It was nerve wracking I have to say. Slipping and sliding with shuddering and totally ineffectual brakes I edged back down the hill to Omeath and then on to Slieve Gullion by a more circuitous and less treacherous route.
Naively I had expected to be able to drive to the Summit but luckily the road was closed because I might have been tempted to give it a go.
Thwarted again, I made my way west to a castle I had visited a couple of days earlier (Castle Roche). Only a light dusting of patchy snow remained at this lower level but this is one of the most imposing ruins in Ireland and the patches of snow added to the mystical quality of the fortification. I will have more to say about it in my upcoming blog on the Ring of Gullion.
Suddenly the blue skies weren’t blue anymore and snow showers would sweep across the fields. Not enough to settle and they were only intermittent but they reminded me how quickly the weather could change.
By now it was approaching 2 pm and as I had to be back in Clare I reluctantly headed south.
But my adventure was not over. Driving down the M1 towards Dublin the snow continued to blanket the cuttings along the motorway. Skirting Dublin on the M50 and then south west on the M7, I could see plenty of snow in the distance and I just couldn’t bring myself to speed past it.
So so I left the Motorway at Rathcoole in County Dublin and headed east, I had never been here and had no idea where I was going. I love that. The only thing on my mind was to get closer to those white hills. My confused route took me through the west of Dublin to Kildare and then crossing into the edge of Wicklow. If anything the snow was heavier here than further north and there were unrivaled picture postcard views of snowy villages and of winter landscapes revealed around every corner. The ranges in the distance I later discovered were the Wicklow Hills.
Something was drawing me on but common sense intervened. As the bright blue sky turned orange with the disappearing sun, and darkness descended, I headed back to the Motorway. Continuing to Limerick, as if to tease me in the fading light, drifts of snow reflecting in my headlights, continued to tantalise .
A marvelous day and indeed a rare day and I think I took full advantage. I manged to experience and observe snow-draped winter terrains under largely blue skies across Six Counties – Louth, Down, Armagh, Dublin Kildare and Wicklow.