Posts Tagged With: spectacular

A Viral Adventure in Connemara

Posted on March 22, 2020 by singersong

After days of virally-enforced isolation I looked out my window one Friday morning in March, to a cloudless sky over Quilty. For the five weeks I had been back such a day had only happened a couple of times. I wasted no time, grabbed my camera and pointed the car northwards. Don’t get me wrong; not to get away from Quilty but here was my opportunity to visit Connemara again. OK, so it was a three-hour drive but I have experienced this place in all its moods and it is unbeatable in the sunshine. My destination ths time was Roundstone, a little corner of Connemara that I hadn’t properly explored. To get there you go through Oughterard and Maam and head out on the road to Clifden.

The view from Pine Island lookout

Twelve Pines Island

And that is not too shabby a drive. There’s one spot on this route that I cannot drive past without taking a photo. Just past Recess is the Pine Island Lookout at the western end of Derryclare Lough. Not surprisingly it looks out over a pine covered island, named Twelve Pines Island framed in the distance by the mountains of Connemara National Park. Not sure why it is called Twelve Pines, because there are more that 12 but ‘Twelve Pines’, ‘Twelve Pins’, maybe someone is having a little joke. It certainly is the spot for a that classic Connemara postcard shot.

I met Hugh Sweeney there; a filmmaker from Galway, who was obtaining some drone footage. It was fascinating to watch the process and then to see the result, which he posted the following day. I have added a link to the finished product. You can even see yours truly at the end of the first shot if you look closely.

Tracked by a drone at Pine Island Lookout

We chatted, from a distance of course, and he told me about a little hut on the Owenmore River on the way to Roundstone. which he thought would be a good location for a photo opportunity.

It was on my way; but of course I got distracted. The road was winding along the shoreline of Ballynahinch Lake and on the left near a bridge just before Ballinafad was a little church and a graveyard behind it. A simple building painted white and blue and nestled on a little river with those 12 Pins as a backdrop on one side and craggy hills with gravestones poking randomly out of the tussocky grass on the other.

St Bridget’s Church and Graveyard with the Twelve Pins in the background.

The graveyard extends for hundreds of metres along the lake shore.

St Bridget’s Church viewed from the New Cemetery across the Lough.

It is hard to imagine a more peaceful, wild and naturally unkempt cemetery. I think it’s marvelous that it has been left that way with no new burials. The graves seem to continue for a considerable distance along the lake shore and beyond that is the New Cemetery visible on the other side of Lough Nacoogarrow.

The New Cemetery at Ballinafad viewed from the Old cemetery.

I found what I thought was the fishing hut Hugh had told me about on the banks of the Owenmore River. A priceless view and I took some pics. I had to pinch myself to remind me that I was still in Ireland and not the Canadian Rockies.

Fishing hut on the Owenmore River

Driving on a few hundred metres donw the river was another hut and there I caught up with Hugh again. So a few more pics of course.

Hugh Sweeney and Jenny on the Owenmore River

Heading on to the sparklingly pretty village of Roundstone perched on the shore of Roundstone Bay across which the Twelve Bens can be seen in the distance. A fishing village still, but well known now for its arts and crafts as well as its incredible natural beauty. And with all the cafes restaurants and bars shut during the Corronavirus lockdown why were there so many people around I asked myself.

The village of Roundstone

View across Roundstone Bay I

View across Roundstone Bay II

The answer lies a few kilometres further down the road at Gurteen Bay. Here are two beaches that regularly appear on the lists of Ireland’s Best Beaches. The two beaches, Poll na Madrai (Dog’s Bay) and Pol na Feadóige (Plover Bay, although Feadóige also means tin whistle – I think I prefer the alternative name Tin Whistle Beach) are on either side of a spit of sand and grassland with a granite island at the end. This type of isthmus is known as a Tombola.

The Tombola near Roundstone. Plover Bay on the left and Don’s Bay on the right.

Dog’s Bay looking south.

Another view of Dog’s Bay looking north towards Errisbeg.

Tin Whistle Beach

Mad Dogs and Irishmen

White sandy beaches line each of the Bays bays and they are simply stunning

The white sand is unique. It is not quartz or coral as I have encountered regularly elsewhere but a mix of foraminifera and shell fragments. What are foraminifera (forams for short)? They are single-celled tiny marine organisms, related to amoeba, but with a hard shell They are abundant, both today and in the fossil record going back to the Cambrian (540 million years). The shells are made of crystalline CaCO3 and occasionally as at Dog’s Bay and Gurteen accumulate as beach sand.

The fine sand has crept over the granite hills nearby creating what I would like to call pseudo dunes. But there are ‘real’ dunes however, particularly behind Dog’s Bay and continuing erosion has created moonscape of remnant pinnacles which are remarkable in their own right.

Sand dunes sculpted into pinnacles at Dog’s Bay

Remnants of sand dunes at Dog’s Bay. Looking towards Errisbeg.

Social distancing at Dog’s Bay

Despite it being a Friday in March and the coronavirus lockdown it was very difficult to find a car park at Dog’s Bay. The beach is completely undeveloped with no facilities and that adds enormously to its appeal. I can just imagine what it would be like in summer.

As the clouds rolled in about 4 pm the normal Irish winter-dull greyness reappeared. But what a wonderful day of discovery I had, and a perfect cure for cottage fever and enforced distancing from society. I can totally recommend it. There is nowhere in Connemara you won’t be rewarded with a magic experience. It never fails to deliver.

Categories: My Journey, Wild Ireland | Tags: Connemara, Dog's Bay, Galway, Gurteen, Hugh Sweeney, Ireland, lakes, mountains, Roundstone, spectacular, Tombola, Twelve Bens, Twelve Pines Island, Twelve Pins, views | Leave a comment

Skellig Michael. Forget ‘Star Wars’. It’s more like ‘Close Encounters of the Bird Kind’.

Posted on June 15, 2018 by singersong

Finally I got onto Skellig Michael after three tries over two years. The island is 12 km off the Kerry coast and to get there you need quite a bit of persistence and a lot of luck. Fortunately the monks were smiling on an unseasonably warm day in early June. In fact we were in the third week of a sunny spell like no one could remember. Day after day over 20 degrees.

I really was excited as 12 of us boarded the first ferry of the day out of Portmagee, one of 15 that have permits, Twelve of the lucky 12,000 a year to visit. Leaving the calm, blue harbour of pretty Portmagee, its painted cottages reflected as if by a mirror, we headed towards the mystical island.

Leaving the harbour at Portmagee

The village of Portmagee. Reflective calm

But first we sailed past the nearby Little Skellig, Skellig Michael’s twin rock. George Bernard Shaw said of Skelllig Michael following a visit in 1910, it was the “most fantastic and impossible rock in the world”. Like its big brother, Little Skellig is if anything more jagged and more precipitous and more impossible. As we sailed around the island constantly changing our view different faces were revealed.

Little Skellig I

Little Skellig II

Little Skellig III.

These islands defy geological truth. The Devonian sandstone protrusions shouldn’t be there. It is easy to see how the ancients would have believed they got there by the hand of God. Jagged needles of stone, rocky barbs, thrown into the sea by an angry deity. Piled one on the other. I can see little vegetative life. Useful to no man.

But useful to birds they are. Little Skellig is painted white with birds and their droppings. Gannets, gannets and gannets. Some say 50,000 of them. I can’t not think though of Monty Python and the Bookshop Sketch. ‘Do you have Olsen’s Standard Book of British Birds? The Expurgated version. The one without the gannet.’

Gannets on Little Skellig

Did I mention gannets?

Natural arch at the northern end of Little Skellig

This is the second largest such colony in the world. There doesn’t seem to be room for anything else as every rock ledge is crowded. A majestic sea bird, second in size only to the albatross, the sky is filled with their gliding forms as some soar effortlessly around our boat.

Every surface is occupied by a gannet

A gannet glides past our boat

We head to the Big Skellig. In much more comfort I should say than the monks who arrived in their curraghs in the 7^th Century, or even George Bernard Shaw who in 1904 was rowed by 10 oarsmen who took 2½ hours for the trip. As the island loomed, its jagged peaks towering over us, to me it seemed softer than the never-occupied Little. There were patches of seductive vivid green on its slopes.

As we head to the south Skellig Michael is revealed

Looking back northwards towards Little Skellig

Skellig Michael looms. Approaching from the north

We tied up temporarily against a set of concrete steps and you had to time your leap with the rising and sinking of the boat. They warned us about the steps to the monastery but no mention of this. It would be impossible to land in any kind of swell. I have heard stories of visitors getting to the island but not being able to disembark.

This was not the first place the monks landed but one of three used over the centuries and the only one used today. This choice historically provided the opportunity to get ashore regardless of wind direction. Above us winds a set of steps of stone heading straight up the mountain. This path is not now used.

Steps rise to the monastery from the north landing place. Currently not used.

Instead we follow a path that snakes south, clinging to the cliff edge past nesting sea birds on sheer cliffs to the start of another set of steps that is the current route up.

The access road along the eastern face of the island. The main steps to the monastery rise up the saddle between the two peaks.

But then I see my first puffin and then another and then they are everywhere. These cute and protected birds are the stuff of legend and a reason alone to ensure your visit is in late Spring or early Summer. We all of us turn into expert wildlife photographers producing copy fit for National Geographic. It is impossible not to take a great photo.

My first sighting of puffins

Poser.

Close Encounters of the Bird Kind.

But I am going to pass on the puffins for the moment. I will have more to say about them in another place. It’s not just puffins though. They share the rocks and crevices with many others. Guillemots clustered together with a similar upright stance on the narrowest of ledges, looking for all the world like penguins. Kittiwakes with specially designed claws that enable them to cling on to their precarious piece of rock. Razorbills with their distinctive white streaks to the eyes. Gulls, terns and others such as shearwaters that I didn’t see. An aquatic avian paradise.

Guillemots and kittiwakes nesting on the cliff

Kittiwakes grab their spot wherever they can

Razorbills

The main purpose of any visit to this place though is to see the monastery. Not tackling the 611 steps to the stone structures atop the northern peak would be like visiting the Guinness factory and not having a pint. The journey up is spectacular but so is the reward.

Visitors start the climb

In the footsteps of the monks

The final leg heads up from Christ’s Saddle, the area between the two peaks

It is considered the best example of an early monastery in Ireland and is of world significance. Developed between the sixth and eighth centuries it is truly remarkable for its preservation. A series of terraces contains six ‘clochán’-type beehive cells, two oratories, stone crosses, slabs and a later medieval church. The cells and oratories are all of dry-built corbel construction. This unique method of overlapping stones giving an igloo shape to the outer wall but more regularly rectangular inside is very efficient at keeping out wind and water and have been doing so for 1,500 years. Other terraces housed gardens. Vegetables were believed to have been grown but their main source of food was fish, birds and eggs. The monks led a simple life of foraging and prayer and sought out remote places such as this, as the hardship and sacrifice proved their devotion, until the island was abandoned in the 12^th or 13^th century.

Rich archaeological heritage including beehive huts and a high cross

Inside a beehive hut

View through the window of the church

While regaining our breath, one of the OPW guides Catherine, who has been doing this for 18 years gave us the benefit of her wisdom. And cheerfully took my photo as I and countless others posed for the de rigeur ‘selfie’ shot with Little Skellig in the background. Funny how small Ireland is. I had met Catherine at a music festival, two years ago.

Proof I was there

For some monks sharing this isolation with other monks was still not enough. On the higher south peak there is an hermitage, where a monk is believed to have led a solitary life. You can’t reach it now but just getting there involve huge risk and athleticism, No steps in places just toe holds cut into the rock face. And squeezing through the notorious Eye of the Needle. In the accompanying photo you can just see the terraces across the valley near the very top of the South Peak.

The South Peak. You can just see the stone walls of the Hermitage near the peak.

A close up of the terraces at the Hermitage site.

I can but wonder at the devotion and sacrifice of these people. Their zeal to be closer to God seemed almost to have given them super powers.

Our time at the top though was all too short. Conscious all the time of getting back to the boat I returned down the mountain gingerly negotiating the steps to the bottom. Just a little quicker I have to say than the way up. I surprised myself actually at how doable the climb was and though I saw many struggling I saw no one give up.

The southern shore of the island. One lighthouse is visible on the right

view of the south peak and the road to the second lighthouse

The main landing spot for the monks with the ancient steps up the valley

You can’t get everywhere on the island though. The road to the lighthouses (there are two of them) is closed and they can only be seen from the ocean. In fact on the way home our helpful skipper from Casey’s took us around the southern shore where aside from the lighthouse you can see the other landing points I mentioned.

I met Christina, a fellow Aussie, who was lucky enough to get onto the boat during her short visit to Ireland. It was impossible not to be infected by simply being on this ‘impossible rock’. The joy on her face was real as it was on the faces of the others that were privileged enough to get there on such a warm sunny day.

This will be a lifelong treasured memory for us all.

Categories: My Journey, Real Ireland, Wild Ireland | Tags: beehive huts, birds, Cliffs, ferry, gannet, gannets, Geology, hermitage, Ireland, Kerry, Little Skellig, monastery, north peak, Portmagee, puffin, puffins, rugged, Skellig, Skellig Michael, south peak, spectacular, Star Wars, steps, views | 6 Comments

Connemara Colours. Winter in the Maumturks.

Posted on December 1, 2017 by singersong

Sometimes you get lucky.

On a Saturday late in November I made a quick trip to Galway to attend a concert in a friend’s house in the heart of Connemara. Now as readers of this blog will know I love the many moods of Connemara and relished the opportunity to spend a little time there. The weather is not always kind however. You can expect mist on six out of ten days. But if you spend enough time in this surprising country occasionally you are well rewarded.

I had heard reports of snow but had no real expectations. I was not prepared for what awaited me though as I drove a circuitous route in and out of Galway and Mayo between Lough Corrib and Lough Mask.

Near the village of Cong (famous for its association with the Quiet Man, but I will be quiet on that for the moment), I saw snow on the ranges to the west. So of course I headed in that direction along the shore of Lough Mask until I reached the village of Finny. The white shrouded backdrop above the little yellow church were now within reach. These are part of the Sléibhte Mhám Toirc (or the Maumturks). Not so well known as the Twelve Bens, which lie on the other side of the Inagh Valley, they are less rugged but with their brilliant white caps reflecting the sizzling sunlight they were no less spectacular.

As the sun and clouds and rain and mist fought for dominance an amazing winter palette was in full display. Everything contributed. The sky, the hills, the snow, lakes and rivers, stone walls, pastures and paddocks. The snow caps would change from grey to dazzling white and then glow golden orange with the descending sun. The sky was at once black then blue as the storm passed, the hills were orange, brown, red and green. The country sparkled.

I was lucky and happy. To be in such a stunningly beautiful place where a world class vista was around each corner. And so grateful that I could capture some of those fleeting moments with my Canon.

Words are irrelevant.

Categories: My Journey, Real Ireland | Tags: Connemara, Galway, Ireland, landscape, Maumturk, Mayo, photograph, photography, snow, spectacular, sun, sunset, travel, view, vista | 2 Comments

Dingle Peninsula. The Irish Alps

Posted on March 1, 2017 by singersong

I have blogged about Dingle quite a few times and posted many photos. Even the name has a delightful ringle to it. So what else could I possibly say about it? But. There’s the thing about Ireland. There are always surprises and you can go back time after time and each time it’s like you’re there for the first time.

It was the end of February and my annual pilgrimage to Ballyferriter was completed (I have written about this Festival in previous years and it delivered yet again). It was time to go home. I’d been up that night until 4am playing tunes with wonderful people whose friendship is renewed every year. That’s what’s great about Festivals. It’s not just the music.

Anyway, during my short time in bed I lay awake listening to the wind lashing and the hail thrashing. A wild night. Next morning it was calm and there were patches of sun, so I decided to head around the Slea Road back to Dingle, one of my favourite drives. I’d had Aidan Connolly in the cd player all weekend so it was time for a change. I stopped to retrieve a new CD and something made me look back towards Mt Brandon. I was stunned by the view. Completely shrouded in snow with Ballyferriter nestled at the bottom. This is what I saw.

Mt Brandon, the third highest mountain in Ireland looms over Ballyerriter.

A quick change of plans and I headed the other way making the instant decision to return via Conor Pass.

Perhaps a little foolhardy but the weather looked ok and I doubted I would get another opportunity like this. It turned out to be an inspired decision. As I got closer to the pass the patchwork of paddocks gave way to a carpet of white. The weather came and went in waves as I headed up the hill. I was greeted at the top by another snowfall. But also enough sun to revel in the alpine glory. I was in the heart of the Kingdom and I had been granted admission to the Palace. I was lost for words and I really can’t describe the feeling I had immersed in this wilderness.

On this occasion I will let the camera talk. And talk it will. Loudly. Driving over the top and down Conor Pass, there were surprises with every turn in the road . I headed to the villages of Cloghane and Brandon and out to Brandon Point and then returned along the coast to Aughacasla. All the time snow clad ranges framed the views.

Please enjoy these photos of an Ireland rarely seen.

The green fields of Kerry on the road up the Conor Pass, from Dingle, turned progressively whiter,

and whiter,

and whiter,

and whiter.

The view from the top.

Heading down the mountain

Corrie lakes in the glacial valley

The start of the steep bit! Or the end if you’re coming down.

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And then…..

It started to snow.

It’s not easy to photograph snow.

At the bottom of the pass is this view towards Mt Brandon.

And the light kept changing.

This is still Ireland.

The Irish Alps

Slieveanea from the base of the Pass

Approaching Cloghane

A view of Mt Brandon near Cloghane

Cloghane with Mt Brandon.

Mt Brandon looms above Cloghane Church

Mt Brandon

The sun shone

The road from Cloghane to Brandon

looking across the bay to Beenoskee

And then it was raining

Fenced in

The mountain disappears in the mist

View from the pier at Brandon

The pier at Brandon

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Another view across the bay towards Beenoskee

Incongruity. Surfers in the bay.

Colours.

The village of Brandon

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Cappagh Strand near Brandon village

View across Brandon Bay and Cappagh Strand

Cappagh Strand

View from Cappagh Strand back towards Mt Brandon

The village of Cloghane

Cloghane or have I been teleported to Switzerland?

The hills are alive with the sound of……

A last view of Mt Brandon.

Categories: My Journey, Wild Ireland | Tags: Ballyferriter, Brandon, Conor Pass, Cranagh, Dingle, Dingle Peninsular, Ireland, Kerry, Mount Brandon, mountain, Mt Brandon, photography, snow, spectacular, travel, view, views, winter | 1 Comment

The Torr Road Drive, Co Antrim. Lime Kilns, Game of Thrones and sublime beauty.

Posted on January 17, 2017 by singersong

Travelling by car along the north coast of Antrim is spectacular to say the least. As seems to be the way of the world the drive has to have a label. So this is the Causeway Coastal Route because it features the Giant’s Causeway. I will blog on this and other places in due course because they warrant attention. But after Ballycastle, if you are heading east, the Causeway Coastal Route turns inland (away from the Coast – go figure!) towards Cushendun and Cushendall. So most travellers miss a little pocket of Antrim that is staggeringly beautiful. This is the Torr Road which hugs the coast to Cunshendun. Ireland is noted for its green of course but in many parts that green turns brown and red in winter. Not here. In this part of Antrim you seem to get the Forty Shades all year.

View from the Torr Road, Antrim

Green and gold. Just add sunshine. Torr Road. Antrim

Green slopes that run down to the sea. Torr Road, Antrim. That current looks pretty treacherous. Scotland is visible on the horizon.

Coastal view, Torr Road.

Fences need repair whatever the weather. Torr Road, Antrim.

Of course the road leads to Torr Head. This is the closest point to Scotland and from here you look across to the Mull of Kintyre. It was very cold this morning, so I resisted the temptation to climb to the top. At the top of the headland is a tower which watches over the Sruth na Maoile (Straits of Moyle), a former haunt for privateers, and acted as a signal tower, passing on messages of ship movements to Lloyds of London. There is also a now ruined, customs station which was abandoned in 1922. Its stark ruin brings an evocative supernal element to the gorgeous views both along the coast and back towards the hinterland. Awaiting you, at the end of this drive at Cushendun, is the gateway to the Glens of Antrim, but that’s another story.

Torr Head.

Ruined Customs House, Torr Head. Antrim.

Ruins of Customs House, Torr Head

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Phone Box looking towards, Torr Head.

On my first drive along this road I went past a turn off to Murlough Bay. It was an inconspicuous sign and nothing drew my attention to it. If it hadn’t been for my B&B hosts that night at Teach an Cheol, just out of Ballycastle then I would have missed this little gem entirely. They insisted I go back there before leaving Antrim. Thank you Micheál and Catherine.

The single lane road to Murlough Bay snakes off the Torr Road across brilliant green paddocks, and then suddenly drops off the plateau winding both perilously and picturesquely down to the sea. Remarkable views open up.

Limestone cliffs at Murlough Bay.

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I passed a solid stone structure which intrigued me, so I dragged my eyes away from the view. It was like nothing I had seen before and I later discovered it was a lime kiln where broken limestone rock was melted to produce quicklime. This was used for mortar or for agriculture. It was a thriving industry wherever limestone and coal (for fuel) was found.

Lime kiln near Murlough Bay. Front view.

Lime Kiln from above. Showing hole where lime and coal are loaded.

Limestone cliffs

A little simple chemistry. Limestone with the application of heat breaks down to lime with the release of carbon dioxide gas as in the following reaction

CaCO3 + heat → CaO + CO2

The reaction requires about 1000 °C. They were extremely common around Ireland and Britain, indeed in the mid 1800s there were believed to be 23,000 in Cork alone. There was plenty of limestone here with the surrounding cliffs. I’m guessing there was also a good supply of coal nearby too. I am always impressed by the beauty and solidity of the industrial architecture I come across here in Ireland. The stone work of the multiple arches over the air intake is stunning.

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So continuing down towards the coast I see a sign reminding me that this area was used to film episodes of Game of Thrones that hugely successful television series, still running. Of course you can see why. Film tourism has always been a big thing in Ireland what with The Quiet Man, Ryan’s Daughter, Father Ted, PS I Love You, and it continues with Game of Thrones and Star Wars.

Murlough bay is a place of singular beauty. You leave the car and walk along the track which follows the coast to a whitewashed cottage with the most perfect location in Ireland. There is a second small abandoned cottage; padlocked but in reasonable condition. A peek in the window and I can see some bottles of disinfectant and cloths suggesting a level of optimism by the owner. What a place for a holiday batch. Nearby there is another lime kiln.

This place is everything that makes Ireland beautiful. Cliffs, washing waves on rocky shores, boulder beaches, jagged headlands, green fields rolling into the sea, craggy islands, little coves. The surprising variety of landscape is a result of a rich geological melange which I might talk more about at another time, but I saw metamorphosed schist and gneisses, basalts, sandstone and conglomerate, limestone and of course the ever-present carpet of bog over it all. A geological history of 600 million years on display in this little bay. Again a sign tells us a little cove here was used in another episode of GOT.

Distant view of Murlough Bay

Murlough Bay looking east.

Murlough Bay looking west.

Basalt outcrops forming islands and bays

Murlough Bay.

Murlough Bay. Sandstone rock platform with narrow bands of conglomerate.

Murlough Bay. This view has sandstone, basalt, gneiss and limestone. A geological melange.

Murlough Bay. Abandoned cottage on the shore.

Another lime kiln on the beach at Murlough Bay.

Again a sign tells us a little cove here was used in another episode of GOT.

Folded schist

Hanging on to life on the basalt

It is hard not to use clichés in describing this spot. I was the only one there and it was so quiet and so still. the only activity was a fishing boat, way out in the channel and the only noise was the ripples lapping the shore and the occasional squawk of a gull. There was an undisturbed equanimity and you could feel tension disappearing with the tide. Just me and my thoughts. I didn’t want to leave. I have been to so many beautiful places in Ireland, but not felt this way before. Surrounded by natural beauty, yet somehow otherworldly.

Extraordinary.

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