Killarney National Park

As we headed out from Kenmare toward Killarney the road was persistently uphill. It was only when we approached the top that the significance dawned on use - we were heading deep into the mountains. Checking the map to make sure we were going the correct way and we realised we were headed for Moll's Gap.

The approach continued to have our surroundings bathed in so much mist and rain we could barely see anything. The road had improved but was still very narrow. As we got closer to the gap, the road unstraightened itself and began meandering in an easy-going sort of way. At the gap itself we were able to get some sense of the drama of the location - close to the top of the peaks, it took a while for hearing to return with the pressure.

As we began descending on the other-side we entered Killarney National Park and at several viewpoints were able to glimpse the spectacular site of the upper and lower loughs. At the bottom there was short causeway linking a pair of crags: evidently the amount of traffic it was having to support was having a negative effect and there were visible signs of it bellying out under the load.

We cam out at Killarney which seems to expanded dramatically since I was last there. We carried on though over more terrible roads through Mallow to Mitchelstown when we were able to connect with the main road to Cork - now a motorway. From there it was almost motorway all the way to Belfast. At least once we crossed the border, main trunk roads were that.

Ring of Kerry

When we arrived in Cahirciveen the sky decided to empty itself. On the bright side we found a really nice little cafe serving homemade carrot soup and special toasties served with wonderful coffee.

Around the town should have been very scenic but we could see little because of the rain and mist. We spent some time exploring the renovated Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) Barracks which was an impressive Schloss-style building. The area all around here had a chequered history in all the troubles that Ireland has seen not unrelated to nearby Valentia Island where the first cable-link between Europe and America was located. In addition The Liberator, Daniel O'Connell, who almost single-handedly gained emancipation for the Catholics of Ireland, is celerbrated by a most impressive church almost exceeding the authority of Killarney Cathedral. The displays in the Barracks told us everything we needed to know.

On our way out, popped in to the Tourist Information Office and discovered we had missed a Poetry Slam the night before in a local bar. We did pick up the programme for the Bantry Literary Festival though. If I had known of either of these events beforehand may have been able to plan ahead to attend one or other. Still there was a chance we could catch something in Bantry before the festival finished.

Carried on round the west of the Ring but visibility was still poor though the hint of spectacular views was still there. After Waterville the road narrowed dramatically as we negotiated a pass through the mountains towards Caherdaniel. The mist and poor visibility made going possibly scarier than it ought to be with only our imaginings of what off the precipitous side to the road. With some relief we pitched up for the night at the camp site.

After settling in, we biked it down to O'Carroll's Cove for a beer and as it turned out in time for the Uruguay-Holland match in the World Cup. Next day P set off early in the reverse direction and discovered the wonderful beach at Derrynane by the home of The Liberator. I was called down in the van with the canoe. At the village, turned down to the beach and succeeded in arriving at a gate blocking entrance to tall vehicles. We had to give up on that so retired again to the camp site. The return trip not quite as uneventful with more traffic on the single track road.

That evening we headed down again to O'Connell's (after checking at the next-door Hotel, their extortionate menu for a very limited selection of grub). Had a homely meal and retired to the bar to watch the other semi-final, Germany vs Spain.Met a couple of Northerners who recommended a beach further on at Castle Cove. But it was not to be...

The rain started at 8:00 am. Serious rain this time, not the shower we had had in Cahirciveen. By lunchtime not only was the rain not slackening but I believe it got heavier. 3:00pm we called it day: started packing up and head for home - it was clear the weather had turned. By 4:00 we were on the road for Kenmare and Killarney; unfortunatly we picked what must be the worst road in Ireland: barely passable as a two-lane highway, only in rare parts could the van safely keep to its own side of the road, worse was the surface - full of potholes and so badly surfaced with holes, yumps, bad cambers, you name it - the Kenmare Road had it all.

Inch-Glenbigh

On the road from Dingle to Kenmare is a sand spit at Inch stretching 4 miles out into the bay. This was the strand featured in Ryan's Daughter. It is mirrored from the other side as Rossbeigh Beach near Glenbigh: this is where we were headed for the night.

The beach or Tra at Inch is spectacular. A surfing school was in progress and we were sorely tempted to stop and get the canoe out. But we reckoned we could do the same at the other side from Glenbigh so we didn't pause longer than a photo shot.

Glenbigh camp site is one of the few Carvan Club sites in Ireland and of course expensive. But you cannot avoid the style of the place; spotless does not come close. Even though facilities are not much better than Doonin, and the site is not as well presented - it still has an edge to set it apart. Though that is not necessarily appealing!

We had dinner in the Glenbigh Hotel; sadly cannot recommend it after the grub we had in Dingle. Besides the hotel claims to be the oldest in Ireland dating from 1860 or something - sounds very unlikely given the Crawfordsburn Inn dates from 17th century. After pint and pub food, set off to check out the beach at Rossbehy.

Took longer than we expected; about 4 miles in total but it was as expected a huge strand and a decent sea breaking. Sadly the parking area along the strand was governed by high gate preventing vans entering. A few parking spaces were available outside so we reckoned we would have to come down really early. On the return trip I investigated a road before the campsite to see it would be handier. It gave access to the lagoone behind the two spits at Inch and Rossbhey: the shoreline looked more interesting with small islands and inlets but certainly not as scenic. At this point we both caught the sun going down behind the mountains of Dingle.

In the morning the weather had turned definitely for the worse; the boat trip was off. So we just packed up and headed for the next port of call on our schedule - Cahersiveen.

As we drove along the fringes of the Ring of Kerry we could see absolutely nothing of the mountains: mist had drifted down to the lower slopes. Out to sea was marginaly better - we could just make out the mountains of Dingle. The views must be great though on a clear day; looking back toward Glenbigh we could just about make out the sand bar at Rossbhey reaching out to Inch.

Dingle

The Kilrush-Tarbert ferry joined a pair of oil-fired power stations. The least salubrious section of coast we could imagine. We did not linger and set out for Tralee as fast as we could go. This felt like an extraordinarily straight road taking us through uninteresting and barren countryside - again reminiscent of Lewis. Straight through Tralee with only a thought of stopping and onward to Dingle Tow.

Grateful for a stop, we parked the van the first chance we could and then wandered the town. First impressions again of Scotland, of a major fishing port but the style and laid-back nature of Ireland. Second impression was the sheer number of Bridgestone awards that were evident on almost every building which seemed to claim to be a cafe, restaurant, take-away, bistro - did not seem to matter, it had some award or other for its cooking. One had so many awards over the years it hardly had room for them all on its wall. Not surprisingly we decided to test one out - but which one. Found our way to a bank and retired to a pub to ponder the quandary of how to choose where to eat. Not sure how we finally arrived at our choice but it was one of the few without an award, nor did it have a drinks licence. But it did have spectacular food. First the chowder for me, even the whole mussles were devoured; then a delicious piece of plaice with champ and veg & delicate sauces. Pauline opted for meat equally well served. Maybe not the best the town had to offer, but still a wonderful meal.

As the light began to fade we headed out toward Ballydavid - recommended for its bar - where the only camp site was. As we arrived a beach could be seen nearby and even more of the ruins that Dingle seemed to possess than Clare. Rain was threatening but just to get some sense of where we were, I biked off to Ballydavid and struggled back as the light had almost gone, rain had arrived and the wind was up again against me; what seemed to be a downhill ride became a struggle - and then the chain came off!

Still, the next day we decided to repeat the trip go beyond. We reached the pub Tig T.P. where we paused for a pint before continuing round the headland alternately by foot & bike. The views were brilliant with small cliffs guarding the bay and its huge beach. Across the bay the cliffs would be bigger. Further round, we could see Ben Brandon shrouded in rain and more typical scenery. This was an idyllic spot.Cameback to the other pub in Ballydavid and had an interesting lunch. On the way back cycling by road, experienced the the downhill strain again; must surely be an electric-brae here with a false horizon somewheres.

We settled down for a couple of days in the site. On this second evening we explored by bike the huge beach, the remains of the Norman tower-house and Garrulus Oratory (both of which were closed - it being 10 o'clock). Planned the next day to visit the Oratory properly and maybe visit the beach for some canoeing.

When morning arrived we cycled up to the oratory and just as we were about to enter the building the rain came. Heavy, cold and wet. Aong with 3 busloads of German and other tourists, we sheltered in the building. This is reckoned as a transition building from the round, corbelled bee-hive huts to the traditional rectangular floor-planned churches. What distinguished it too was the circular window in the rear which had been carved into a group 4 or 5 substantial boulders; this feature probably dates it to 900AD rather than earlier.

In the grounds was a standing stone with a cross and other imagery carved on it. Rather a small stone. We noticed several others though did not stop to investigate them. These stones often had Ogham incriptions; Ogham being effectively Latin but using its own alphabet; the stones date from the middle-ages and are believed to have been used as either boundary markers or as monuments as we would use headstones.

The rain had depressed our spirits so we decided to leave and head for Kerry. We actually measured it out in days so that would end up for a couple of days in Dough near Mizend Head. The camp site there had been recommended by a German tourist I met in Lettergesh. So now we had a schedule.

Started on the Skea Head trail round the edge of Dingle back to the town. The road was narrow and often there would be little sandy bays tucked in amongst the cliffs. As we neared the most western point of Europe and the Blasket Islands, the round shrank further to a single track twisting and turning round the headlands with cliff drop on one side and sheer mountain on the other. Fortunately the traffic was quiet and we only had to reverse once - but it was a scary ride.

As we came round the bottom of the loop we paused at a group of Bee-Hive huts and later a stone promontory fort. The huts were scattered over the hillside and must have been similar to structures at Ceide Fields but dating seems to be way off. The fort looked like a stone version of a rath, possibly because of the abundence of local stone. This one was quite a complicated structure with guard houses built into the walls and tunnels leading underground. Erosion of the cliff had taken parts into the sea.

We should have stopped at the Prehistory Museum but we were getting a bit jaded with sight-seeing and decided to keep on motoring: past Dingle Town toward Kenmare and the Ring of Kerry.

Doolin, Clare

On Tuesday the rains had come so we decided to head south.

Talking it slowly we first made Clifden: the town has certainly exploded in the past few years. We paused for a cup of coffee in what had been the railway yard but was now a complex of apartments, shops, cafe, pub, hotel, museum, you name it. The yard must have had several multi-storey warehouses which have now been converted into apartment blocks. Looks very civilised now but despite their efforts it has completly lost the feel of a railway yard: the pub looks like the old station building but feels more like a theme pub rather than an historical building.

Continued round the coast heading south into the Gaeltacht from Maam Cross expecting to arrive at Spiddal to over-night in the campsite there. Nothing much has changed on this route: the barren limestone lanscape is still largely barren and limestone. The approach to Spiddal has seen some development but it looks most money has gone into the area after the town and the approach to Galway. Booked a date with Cath and Peter for lunch in the town on Wedneday.

The campsite here has suffered an influx of static vans like most of the touring sites we have seen so far. Not very pleasant though the rain likely didn't help. So miserable we paid for electric ostensibly to recharge batteries but I suspect it was as much so we could put on the telly and vegetate for a while. 'Spose Ireland ain't up to much when it rains in the country.

Next day, Galway - as always - was brilliant and seems to improve each time we visit. This time C&P took us to a little Bistro place near the Spanish Arch where we had a spectacular lunch. A mere description of Hake on a bed of rissotto does not come close to the wonderful flavours; I even gobbled up the salad to savour the flavour. Afterward we browsed the book shops to update our collection and finally set off about 4 o'clock heading for a site half-way down the Clare coast at Doonin.

Although we avoided the road through the Burren, prefering to follow the coast to Lisdoonvarna, the limestone landscape was still quite evident. Often the mountains were just plain grey stone. Fileds strewn with boulders of all sizes. Also, from the moment we entered Clare there were castles or monuments all over the place in various states of repair. I suppose with the vast quantities of stone just laying about, it was not necessary to pillage these old structures for building stone and they have just decayed at their own pace. Everywhere in Ireland must have had this or better density of Norman settlement; still, it is great to see the number of building that do survive.

We finally arrived at Doonin passing through the village right down to the hardbour where boats left for the Aran Islands - just about visible through the rain and mist - and the Cliffs of Moher further down the coast. The wind had picked up since Galway and there was a big sea buffeting the hardbour; all boats had been cancelled till Saturday though occasional ferries were scheduled to the island at least once a day (rather than multiple times even at this quieter part of the tourist season).

We had not intended taking a boat just now anyhow. Still we wandered about the harbour headland marvelling at the sea crashing onto the limestone rock; the wind whistling and howling about us even though the air had little of a chill. The power of the sea - at times eerily grey and frothing white - was truely awsome. Quite hypnotic watching the sea pour over the craggy outcrops and drain away with the persistent sounds and smell of ozone overloading our senses. We spent quite a while just watching the sea and opted then for Nagle's camp site right beside the harbour (rather than the one inland at Doonin itself - handier to the pubs). It was a good choice though as it must be the best site we have ever visited and amazingly only rated 3-stars with fee accordingly low.

After settling down and a bite to eat we could barely wait to get out for a walk along the coast and experience the sea again. Although the effects of the sea on the limestone were quite obvious by the pier, as we walked round the headland more, the nature of the Karst scenery was even more evident. Clints and grikes forming a fractured limestone pavement stretching in all directions. Some of the cracks were quite deep sucking me in at least once - painfully so - not watching where I was going. Most of the gaps were full of various plants huddling together for shelter and barely putting the flowery heads above the pavement. Other evidence of weathering were the round holes often with broken edges where pools had dissolved the rock. By now it was well almost 11 and getting dim with pinkish hues hinting at better weather tomorrow.

Next day we headed for the Cliffs of Moher. The site includes a visitor centre and O'Brien's Tower - an 19th century version of a visitor centre built by the local family landowner. The modern visitor centre is quite impressise with some interesting displays and a "virtual reality" room: basically a video display trying to create a 3D experience in air (flying with the birds), an land *nesting with the birds) and underwater (following adiving bird then swimming with seals, whales, sharks, dilphins, etc). It almost works really well, at times causing vertigo unfortunately more because of the conflicting imagery rather than the virtual motion. A rather odd distraction was details of the first ever submarine designed by a local engineer rejected by the British Navy but taken up by the US Navy.

The building itself is mostly buried into the hillside with an entrance and wall constructed of layered limestone; quite the local fashion in building and decorative stone work in many of the local building. Very attractive it is too: the locally quarried limestone is quite dark in colour and not at all grainy like a sandstone or chalk. But it does split well into long paving slabs or narrower brick shaped stones. Even inside the centre, the stone is evident especially in the sky light to the museum part which forces its way through the hillside.

Outside, the extensive path, retaining walls and guidestones leading from the centre to the 3 viewing platforms all use local stone in various ways: the stone use to build O'Brien's Tower, the paving around it and on the main paths, the kerb stones on the edge of steps here and there are a darker stone riddled with white fossils all brightly polished by wear and or weathering, dry stone boundary walls and finally big slabs mounted vertically at the cliff edge.

Not a glorious day to see the site but after an hour or so in the visitor centre and the weather had calmed a little to allow us to get a decent view. In some respects, the wind and threatening sky suited the wildness of the cliffs; certainly discouraged everyone from approaching to close to the edge.

The grey day made it difficult to get decent photographs though. Looking south along the cliffs the final headland with its Napoleonic lookout tower almost disappeared in the mist of rain and sea spray combined. At their tallest, the cliffs are over 700 ft from base to cliff top (at O'Brien's Tower) and none of the photos do justice to the sheer scale of these cliffs - the tallest in Ireland. Watching the lumpy sea batter the foot of the cliffs with the huge sea spraying high into the air looks rather tame at this distance but in reality, sometimes the sea must have been splashing over 100 foot into the air especially in some of the coves already carved into the cliff with caves and stacks towering out of the sea.

There are several large stacks remaining from rock falls but the biggest crag is Goat Island, Between it and its enclosing cliffs are ideal habitats for the many sea birds wheeling above our heads in the wind and occasionally splashing into the sea to catch a fish. This location is reckoned to be the largest colony of puffins  on the mainland of the British Isles; I suppose that rules out both Lundy and Rathlin. Unfortunately it is not possible to see down to the foot of the crag and most of the birds are lost to view. Now and again it was possible to spot the energetic flapping of a puffin buzzing the surface of the sea as it raced away from the island.


The next day we took a bike ride up to the nearest Norman tower-house. The approach road was too narrow for the van - or so the signs said. It was quite a steep climb and disappointingly the tower is currently in use as a private residence so we could not get closer than the gate. We continued along the hillside for a bit to catch amazing views over the harbour. With a clearer day it was just about possible to see the lighthouse and dwellings on Insheer, the smallest of the Aran Islands. In the photo the wild sea can be seen as almost completely white as it rages aroung the headland protecting the harbour. The villages of Fisher Street and Doolin can be made out too but above them a solitary white wave towering into the sky; this must have been an enormous wave.


Although this was the best site we would encounter on the trip, we decided to move on hoping the weather would hold and we could find a beach for the canoe. Passed through Lahinch just after the cliffs and it did have a fine beach with huge breakers encouraging surfers. We continued on, passing through Dunbeg, Kilkee and eventually arrrving at Kilrush to catch the ferry over to Tarbert in Kerry. The drive was uneventful with the landscape deteriorating reminiscent of the poorer parts of Lewis. Indeed, Scotland was seldom far away from our thoughts as various aspects of last years trip were often reflected in the scenery we saw on this trip.

Lettergesh

We set off for a wander down the West coast of Ireland starting as usual in Connemara. Not that we were ignoring Donegal or Mayo even, but the northern part is more accessible being that much closer. Our plan on this trip was to make it as far south as we could, hopefully right to Mizen Head. Last time this was attempted, it took 2 weeks to reach Tralee when we had to turn back.

Could not quite make it on the Friday so we over-nighted in Florencecourt then the backroad through Manorhamilton-Dromahair-Ballintogher-Ballygawley to join the Sligo-Galway road (N17) at Collooney. Continued on the N17 and then took another new route: instead of Swinford-Westport we carried on through Knock branching off at Claremorris. Stopped for breakfast in Ballinrobe and then slowly through Joyce Country via Cong to Lenane and eventually Connemara. The weather was good and the scenery as you would expect: lough-side views with the Twelve Pins towering above and where it could, lush undergrowth exploding from the bog.

Lettergesh as usual was spectacular. We were able to pitch right on the headland overlooking the bay and as usual caught the sunsets as the sun disappeared behind Inishboffin. Amazingly each evening brought a completely novel end to the day.

Saturday, a golden sky lit from behind a cumulus hovering over Inish Boffin hiding the golden orb. Sunday, with a clearer sky we had to wait till the sun went down behind the island and the horizon turned orange with the last rays touching the edges of the low flying clouds. Monday, as the good weather neared a close and the sky clouded over, a break in the cover let a golden light escape and reach us with a long drawn out reflection cast upon the sea.


By now the weather was indeed beginning to turn and Tuesday brought rain and a drop in temperature  with wind speed picking up from the sea. The past few days of sunshine had allowed us to wind-down: a couple of canoe trips along the coast echoed by bike rides preventing us from totally vegetating.

The boat trips were interesting: as usual giving a completely different perspective to the shoreline. We navigated as far as we could up the river as the tide was coming in; the contrast between the river landscape and the estuary was quite striking. Emerging later into the big sea was "fun", the wind was up and sizeable breakers caused us to surf-in - usually when we did not want to; battling with the wind, tide and the waves was hard-work.

The other trip was less eventual as the wind was quieter. We went for quite a trip round as far as the next beach - which we had reached by bike the previous day. The route required us to navigate round several headlands which forced us into deep water. Nonetheless, the clarity of the water was amazing - a deep green populated by hidden rocks wrapped in kelp, shoals of fishes and a host of tiny jellyfish almost phosphorescent as the same just below the surface. The trip, using double paddles was probably past our range - we were glad to beach below the van.

It was time to move on...

Future Targets

The weather today was supposed to be good if a bit blustery. At about 6:00am the sky gaves us the "sailors warning" with a spectacular firey sunrise

Neither of us seemed to have much motivation to get started today though P did an early morning bike run. We were both feeling the affects of yesterday's paddling and an excess of fresh air.

We headed south and somehow ended up in the Republic without quite meaning to; made the most of it anyway stopping for a great lunch in Belturbet and refilling the van with diesel at a 15% discount.

When we got back into the North we checked out various locations though the wind was too strong for us to consider heading out. Knockninny: had a nice little marina with a stylish hotel & restaurant nearby; quite extensive water with islands within paddling distance (see picture). Carry Bridge: disappointing busy commercial centre though it does have a camp site adjacent to the river and hotel. Crom Castle: we looked over to the castle and Crichton's tower on the first day and on closer inspection it was even better close up; really interesting spot for exploring by either canoe or bicycle if we could find somewhere to park the van.

And eventually home - with a minor detour to Kinegoe Marina for a cuppa - for tea with the boys.

Mother of all Yews

Started the day with a cycle round Florence Court.

The entrance to the estate is wonderful; seemingly manicured lawns skirting a perfect little switch-back road. This took us up to the main car park before the house beside the walled garden.

The walled garden is currently being reconstructed. An original plan shows it to be quite huge with an Italianette entrance flanked by apple orchard. The apple blossom was especially striking with perhaps half-a-dozen mature trees crowded close together overloaded with blooms. By the entrance too were several varieties of Narcissus. So far work is progressing really well and looks to be near finished just waiting for the plants to mature.

A stone wall separates this part from the rest of the garden and of course out of sight, behind the wall and the garden is barely under control. Mostly seeded as lawn with the paths barely defined. Evidently this is work in progress. At the top is a small cottage available for rent. Constructed as the other walls are in a rather unusual brick pattern, the cottage looks an ideal holiday retreat. At the other end are more apple trees and quite a few saplings only planted very recently. FInishing the garden is a large wall stretching the full length with a couple of architectural features. What interested me most were several wisterias twisting their was up the brick-work. A few were even in bloom.

From here we cycled round the back of the house following various trails past the sawmill, ice house and such into woodland. Skirting pasture at times and just about staying within the boundaries of the estate we came to the FLorencecout or Irish Yew. According to a stone before the tree, it was found between 1740 and 1760. Being female it can only be propogated by cuttings and this has led to some severe pruning of the tree. See the Wikipedia article for more information and pictures. Despite this, the tree seems relatively healthy after almost 300 years!

From the tree, paths led back toward the estate entrance road crossing in front of the house far enough away to give a grand view of the house. Its not quite as I remember it when I played with Niall and Steve & Lynne Majury's eldest in the cut grass by the steps of the front-door - must have been well before 1984...

Back at the van, we set off quickly having planned our search for a new launch point. Just above the Share Centre and Smith's Beach is Killy Quay. We arrived here and started to assemble the boat. Considering this place is on the road to nowhere, it was like Picadilly Circus will all sorts driving by. Two sets of young fellas arrived with their flash motors which they drove right to the edge of the Quay so they could take photos.

Anyway we got the boat into the water again avoiding getting wet. This whole region is supposed to be very shallow - less than a meter as far as we could see. Indeed right out in between the bigger islands were patches of reed poking through the water - quite bizare. The wind was up today though and seemed to catch the boat quite badly. Made steering difficult and hard work paddling into the wind or even across it. We did not feel so confident in these conditions and came in fairly quickly.

On our way back to the Florencecourt site we were stopped by a force of 6 PSNI officers and nearly as many squad cars. Remarkable more for the fact they were all female.

Fermanagh Ahoy

Made good time leaving promptly at 5:30 from Bangor stopping for a dreadful dinner near Dungannon - tasteless faggots, yugh!

Reached Enniskillen while it was still light but mistakenly chose the wrong road which took us along the western side of the lower lough. Coincidently we took this road on our honeymoon (from the Killyhevlin) and at what must have been the exact same spot we were stopped again at a police check - 30 years on.

Even at this time the views along the lough-shore were spectacular. Not many islands on this side so the views were across to Boa and the likes. P was eager to get the canoe out at these jetties; even the river through Beleek looked inviting. Eventually we wound our way round to Clonelly after passing in and out of the Republic several times.

Saturday was a tourist day.

Starting at Clonelly we motored into Enniskillen looking for a rope for the canoe and maps of the loughs. The town was seriously busy; though we did enjoy the handmade posters for election candidate Stevenson as we sat stuck in traffic. We decided to head out of town and hopefully pick-up something by the Lough. Made it as far as Lisnaskea where we paused for refreshments.

Spent a lot of time checking out various jetties and slipways but nothing quite seemed to work. Eventually we found our way to Derryvoy jetty but there were too many cruisers tied up to the dock. Continued to the supposed part-time ferry to Crom; here the road just petered out becoming the grounds for Crom Church. This was to be our first launch point.

Moved the van down the path and assembled the canoe; carried it down to the slipway. Water too shallow so P climbed in dry and I waded in to push the boat out. Spent what seemed like ages pottering about from island to island and just sitting watching the herons & swans; but it was probably only 30 minutes before we came in. Despite this we were so exhilarated; the canoe was so stable and easy to control. We both managed to exit without getting ourselves wet.

By now it was getting quite late and light was fading so we headed for the Florencecourt site.

Castlewellan Lake

This was an important weekend. 30 years ago, almost to the day, we were married. Goodness it seems so long ago and since then a whole generation has disappeared and another arrived. I am not even sure I can recognize myself from that long ago.

Anyway, to celebrate we headed off for a very long-weekend in Castlewellan laden with gifts to be consumed on Sunday and best wishes to be relished. It took us a while to get organised and with various delays, including the boys calling over with gifts, eventually we set off in the late afternoon. The weather was already much warmer than it had been the weekend before.

The touring site was quite busy with folk still here from Easter; many would depart on the Sunday leaving only the earnest and ourselves. The weather was indeed glorious with undeniable heat even this late in the evening.

On Saturday, we began with a trip into the farmyard. After Fermanagh, Pauline had a notion to rent a canoe so we arranged a rental for Sunday morning. We also got directions to a bike shop where Pauline could get replacement pedals.

This was our second trip, away from the park into the mountains along country roads. The views over the hills into this part of the Mournes, over to Slieve Donard and the rest and down to the sea at St. John's Point and Dundrum were all amazing. We could even see what must have been the Isle of Man above St. John's lighthouse. The warmth in the air, the country smells and the general silence all reminded me of the good times in Fintona. I for one could be easily persuaded of a move to the country again.

Third trip now back around the lake for our usual jaunt and returning through the Arboretum. Its seems unreal that it was only a couple of weeks since we were last here. Shrubs and trees are in bloom all over the place: purples and whites and reds and pinks floating in the sunshine to a chorus of spring bird-song. Of all the blooms, a pale pink magnolia virtually explodes with colour. A stonger-pink one down by the Sequoia was just coming into bloom, and a smaller proper white flowered magnolia had been and gone but this very tall tree was festooned with enormous magnolia and pink flowers. It was tucked away in the garden so it was rather difficult to get close to but it virtually shouted with spring colour and vigour over the heads of everything else.

On Sunday we set off on our lakeland adventure. Up to the farmyard to get our life-preservers and then down to lakeside where we carried a 15' Canadian-style canoe into the water. We were able to launch without getting wet, only with the help of one of the Centre's leaders. Off we went.

This boat was very difficult to steer. Pauline in the front and me in the rear; we were paddling at different rates and strength of stroke. The boat was yawing wildly and only generally heading in the direction we wanted to go. It took some time till we managed to get better control over steering but it remained pretty poor except for one patch as we were coming up the lake and got into a rhythm and for a time we kept the canoe going in a near-perfect straight-line.

We gradually crept anti-clockwise round the  lake keeping quite close in-shore as we struggled with the dynamics of the boat. Our destination was the larger of a pair of islands in the north of the lake. The smaller, we were told, hosted otters and was out of bounds (we never saw any of the shy creatures). The larger could be landed on. So we carefully manoeuvred our craft in amongst the tree branches dangling into the lake, to somewhere that looked relatively easy to land. Tieing up fore and aft, the boat steady, Pauline stood and with a deft piece of footwork managed to fall out of the boat into very cold but fortunately shallow water. I took especial care to make sure I did not end up in the drink myself.

While P rearranged herself, I searched the island for a corner the sun was able to get through to and we would have some warmth to help P dry off. But the island was encrusted with wild, tangled trees and it was a major task just to get through them. By now there was enough heat in the day that we could share my dry clothes. And so we were ready to take to the water again.

We paddled down to the far end of the lake where there was something resembling a beach and with considerable messing about I was just about able to scramble ashore but with a number of hefty knocks against granite boulders. We gave up on that idea and just set off again spending the rest of the morning paddling around and across the lake. It was wonderful to sit in the middle of the water just looking about at the stillness. The air was so still and heavy voices carried very far so it was possible to listen in on the chatter of the fishermen on the edges of the lake, and the ramblings of joggers and couples circuiting the lake.

It was a wonderful experience and while we were still high on the wonderment of it all, we grounded the canoe on a sandy stretch and hauled it out of the water, still managing to keep ourselves otherwise dry. By now we are convinced we will have to get some sort of a boat. The day before we had seen an inflatable kayak resting by the lake. Turned out this was being photographed for sale on Ebay; we discovered this when we finally got hold of the girl selling a 2-man Kayak on Gumtree. So our hunt for a kayak begins.

We dined in Hilllyard House, or rather had high-tea - Sunday is not a good time for fine-dining unfortunately, to celebrate our anniversary and most of the chat was about getting a boat and what we could do. The rest of the trip we spent recovering from our extertions fortunately in wonderful warm weather.

Gosford

We arrived in the early evening so there was plenty of time to get settled. Once the tent was up, we all set off for the reverse walk through the forest, to the animal paddocks and eventually the mill race and wheel next the entrance to the site.

As we came out of the woods, in the corner of a paddock, a crows of female deer were grazing. We created as much an occasion for them and admire each other mutually. As the rest of the paddock came into view, the males arrived with their antlers bristling. Their interest certainly seemed slightly less than curious.

By now the temperature was dropping and eventually the overcast sky began to shed its burden whipped along by a cutting wind. The rare breeds of black bulls, multi-horned sheep, poultry and other random farm-yard beasts did not get much attention as we sought shelter.

The next day was seriously sluggish. We all must have needed a good break because we all struggled to find any motivation instead preferring to chill, read a book or whatever. When the sad news came that the Planetarium event we wanted to see was booked out, well we just collapsed in a heap of inactivity.

Eventually we got the energy to prepare for home. Before leaving I set off on at least one decent bike ride through the grounds. Following the supposedly "easy cycle trail" for 6K I wandered round the edges of arboretum and into the forest. Although the trees were only getting ready for the spring, the birds were singing loudly about it; hoping about the branches and flitting between trees. By Greer's Fort - a rath - I decided to pause and see if I could get some pictures of these birds who were proving very elusive but tempting with the flashes of yellow, blue and red feathers.

The rath is fairly large with a variaty of trees surrounding it. In one corner I caught a nest of primroses nicely in bloom. In another while tracking some finches I caught sight of a bushy gray squirrel's tail but by the time I had navigated the puddles and water-logged field I lost its owner up a tree.

Emain Macha

We struggled up this morning and took our time breakfasting and packing up to leave. Headed back into Enniskillen to have lunch down by the Castle where we could watch the long boats and cruisers drift by. The wind was up today so the kids launched their kite in the playing fields by the Forum. Not a very photogenic arena: the back-side of the town and the Forum derelict and being renovated.

After lunch we all agreed to head for Armagh and hopefully visit the Planetarium; the sight of Mars had obviously whetted our appetite for some astronomy. On our way we passed Navan Fort so paused for the visitors centre. Proved to be more expensive than we were prepared for; instead walked up to the fort to be blown away. Enough of an incentive for the kite to come out again. This time it was slightly more photogenic with a wild, overcast sky; it needed Ru's SLR to capture the kite as well as the flyer.

By the time we reached Armagh and the Planetarium, the presentations were over so we booked one for the next day and headed for Gosford looking for a curry shop - something Markethill lacks it seems.

White Island

Well, its Easter Saturday and we hurtled down quick as we could with all 3 kids on board. First stop Omagh to take on refreshments and then a final spurt to Kesh and Clonelly just in time for enough light to setup a tent for the boys. The night sky was remarkably clear and according to the sky-atlas on my netbook,we were able to identify both Mars and Saturn - Mars was especially red and quite distinct.

Next day we headed for Castle Archdale. Arrived in the car park with an open-air religious meet in progress; could not rent a boat for while nor even extra bikes so we went a dander till it rained and we retreated to the van for lunch. Timed it well as by then the boat was free.

Tootled off in the Oyster, all 5 on-board. For me, driving, everything felt very strange. Engine was really sluggish - even flat-out - which meant the steering was not responsive and the boat had a tendency to wallow about quite easily. The balance of the boat was easily upset when someone moved or shifted seats or even just hitting the wash of a passing jet-ski.

First stop was White Island. A ruined 9th Century church had a number of carvings mounted on the wall. Several of the faces were quite grumpy. Gave us plenty of photos, in and around the church walls. But the island was more an excuse to land the boat and recover our confidence than anything so we were all eager to get afloat again.

Having docked pointing the wrong way, took some deft heaving by Niall to haul us right-way-round so we could power out without any special tricks. By now Pauline was loving it, yelling how much she wanted a boat. Quite a surprise given her prior aversion to water craft. We headed round a larger island and behind a third. All the kids taking turns at steering the boat. Reckoned there was nowhere else worth traveling to so we just docked at the largest island and decamped.

I am positive this is an island I took the kids to last time we had a boat, way back in the 80's; the remains of an old house was very familiar. The weather today was a bit quieter than it was the last trip.

Everywhere on the island, wild garlic was getting ready to bloom and the aroma already filled the air in still spots. Found a purplish flower that Niall said was very rare and only found in Crawfordsburn; seemed quite happy where it was here. Walked a fair bit into the island hoping to find picnic seats (as informed by the boat people) hoping to reach another jetty currently out of commission. But to no avail - after at least a mile of following what was left of a wide track deep into the island surrounded by silence, we turned back. Along the way we found numerous examples of a rather odd fungi: very firm with a bright red inverted cap and clean white stem. Thought it very odd to be growing in the spring.

Returned to the jetty where we settled in a clearing for a picnic and to paint our eggs. Climbed the hill beside the ruined house to "roll" our eggs down; more a question of finding a target to aim at to ensure the eggs did not survive. A lake warden came by later to check up on things. Gave us a wave but that was our adventure on the "high seas" of Lough Erne.

Back on land, we headed into Enniskillen to re-provision and finally out to the site near Florencecourt. The evenings already beginning to lengthen for it was quite late now but still plenty of light for the tent to go up.

Down by the Quoile

Instead of just wandering around Castlewellan, we decided to go for a drive and since it was more or less St,Patrick's day, why not head for Downpatrick and visit Saul and related places.

We arrived in Downpatrick and picked up some usefull information in the Centre just below the church. This gave us enough information to head out along the Quoile to Saul and Raholp. The roads got very narrow round here and the traffic annoyingly busy so rather than try to park and visit on foot, we back tracked to the Quoile estruary for lunch.

Parked by the water-side and later walked up to the old quayside; this had been the main landing stage for sailing ships delivering goods into Downpatrick. Now with tidal barriers further down, the quay was surrounded by fresh-water and what had been the Quoile estuary was now a peaceful fresh-water lagoon, a thriving habitat for swans and other wildlife.

We returned to Castlewellan driving through Strangford just as the ferry was rushing to unload its cargo, Ardglass, where Pauline retraced her footsteps from a summer long gone, Killough, still unchanged from what I remember from my first outdoor experience in the youth hostel at Minerstown. and finally past Tyrella House to Clough.

Pre-spring Castlewellan

Our first outing for the season with a new bike for me.

It had taken us much longer than we expected to get organised and issues with the van needing charged did not help. Something up with the electrics had been draining the battery till it was virtually flat while resting over the Winter. Several charges did not seem to wholly rectify things. This was going to be a "careful" trip as we judged how well the van was holding together.

First major test of the bike was the route round the lake; not at all too testing. The bike passed with flying colours, amazingly easy to ride even up the steep incline at the far-end. Despite its 18 gears a low-6 seems more than sufficient. Even able to get up the steep incline into the campsite.

The forst remains starkley naked though. So many of the solitary trees in the parkland showing quite clearly their characteristic shape. Some, like the Weeping Willow, just looking really cool. Took an age to get this image and it still does not really work to show the tree in its full glory.

We finished up checking out the Arboretum, I especially wanted to have another go at the Sequoia thinking the Fibonacci spiral would be further exaggerated with minimal foliage; which it was but images were not much better than the original.

Found still further surprises even at this time of the year with blood-red rhodadendrons well in bloom, a storm struck cedar broken in half and a variety of beautiful barks that normally go unnoticed, normally over-powered by their foilage. Discovered a marvelous Japanese maple which illustrates this well. This particular shrub had three sides draped, like a willow, with a network of fine, bare branches. On the fourth side, the normal growth receded and we can see into the main trunk. As far as I know, these maples are not trained, they are just naturally twisted and gnarled. Clothed in moss just enhances the image with better shadings. Struggled to get any other colour in though, perhaps a good thing to leave the focus on the trunk.