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.