Returning to Connemara

We are very disciplined when it comes to packing for our trips. We have a comprehensive list that has been developed over the years, updated as technology has moved on and as items have been lost or broken. One item on the list is an old Trangia, to which we recently added a non-stick frying pan (thanks for the suggestion Amanda). It needs a supply of gas canisters and there was one spare in the box (check!). However the packing list doesn't suggest reading the label on it. If we had done, we would have been reminded that there are six others in the shed, bought when GoOutdoors were having a deal!

As it is, we haven't used much gas as on most sites there's a Camper's Kitchen. Usually these have a fridge, freezer, sinks and a kettle. Some are tiny but others cavernous, like this:

Very reluctantly we left Renvyle beach at Tully Beg and made the short trip around the coast to west of Clifden (and very close to the house that we rented earlier). Clifden ecoBeach Campsite is run by Chris and Tatiana and it's situated above another stunning beach, about 15 minutes from the town of Clifden.

With the weather threatening to finally improve after about a week of sun, wind and rain, it wasn't safe enough to fish from the previous spot on the Aughrus peninsular, although I did take a walk there early one morning. It was so rough that I daren't go onto the fishing mark and instead just watched the sea.

 During a wet evening we had posh food in the camp kitchen and then we went to Clifden to find a pub with some music.




It wasn't difficult. These guys were playing with the doors wide open and it was a great hour or two. They are a duo playing Irish folksy ballads but were getting a bit of craic from the back. It was from another musician that they know of and he was hauled on stage to sing a couple of songs. Rather than Irish traditionals, he blasted out Psycho killer and Dreadlock Holiday, to great applause.

He was supposed to be in Clifden on his holiday. Well he wasn't dressed for it as he looked as though he'd just come out of his shed, with great holes in his elbows and a generally scruffy look! BUT he could play the guitar and sing! I wish I could.

They promised that the more we drank, the better they would sound and that the more they drank the better they would think they sound. The guy on the banjos seemed to get shakey whenever his pint glass of Guinness fell below the halfway mark. It certainly turns his hair a funny colour.




We drove to the south of Clifden, firstly around the coast and then back across the bog. The tide was out and this exposes strange swathes of rocks that must make navigation extremely difficult.
On the southern part of this route are two more huge beaches, Dog's Bay and Gurteen Bay. There must be some times when the crowds flock here but not in early June.

After stopping in beautiful Roundstone, we then took the road back over the bog. This area is a true blanket bog and it absolutely amazing to see just how much water there is held up here. It would be almost impossible to walk across and on a misty day no doubt very scary. Someone managed to build the road but it undulates and probably floats as the ground moves underneath.

Clifden is the site of one of Marconi's permanent long wave radio stations, the first for transatlantic radio transmission. On 17th October 1907, 10,000 words of CW (Morse code) was sent to Glace Bay, Nova Scotia. There's little left of the huge settlement now as most was destroyed during the Irish Civil War and it closed in 1922.

Also on 15th June 1919 and when we visited it was 98 years to the day, Alcock and Brown completed the first non-stop trans-Atlantic flight and (crash) landed here. Thankfully they missed Marconi's aerials otherwise there would have been an irate Irish-Italian to deal with as soon as they clambered out of the wreckage (and if you know, as I do, what irate aerial erectors are like when their masts get destroyed, then you'll know just what I mean).

The Wild Atlantic Way attracts plenty of travellers who come to drive some or all of it. You can tell which they are as they don't stay in one place for more than a night and are usually last in and first out. (They wouldn't spot any dolphins).

For two consecutive nights the spot behind us was occupied by a couple of "campervans" with New Zealanders in them. The first night was a couple from South Island who were in a Wicked Campervan vehicle like this one

and on the second night was a solo NZ lady who had hired this VW Caddy. It will be fun for her once the weather improves but it is fairly tricky in the rain.

It is amazing to talk to travellers and to hear their stories. We even had a laugh about the Christchurch earthquake with the NZ couple. We firstly had to be polite and not laugh out loud when they told us they were hoping to see the Northern Lights, gently explaining that it's the wrong time of year and all other electromagnetic things considered, it never really gets dark in June!

No, the joke was that he thought he could see the Southern Lights one middle-of-the-night-toilet-moment in New Zealand. He had almost completed dialling his son's number to wake him up and tell him, when he realised he was looking at the post-earthquake spotlight, that was being aimed up into the night sky as a "look we are surviving" kind of symbol to everyone!

It was time to get excited as the promised warmer, drier weather wasn't far way. Firstly though there was more cloud rolling in to western Ireland...

Dolphins are like Shooting Stars

Finally leaving Achill but thinking that we would be back one day, we headed south, back along "The Wild Atlantic Way". This is a 1,600 mile defined route along the west coast and it is signposted everywhere. There's clearly a number of vehicles making the journey, some to the north and others towards the south. We decided to stay at Westport in order to sample a little town life. However there was a stark contrast between the manicured site in the grounds of Westport House and the isolation of our previous pitch at Achill.

Westport is a nice town around which to wander. There was a folk / bluegrass festival that weekend and various pubs were hosting musicians however somehow we managed to miss them - either too early or too late for the sessions during the day and we didn't turn out on Friday evening as it was pouring down.

The three guys who were planning to all sleep in a T5 motorhome next to us, had gone out that night and rolled-up at 3am and treated it like an extension to the pub. It was unbelievable that they could talk and laugh so loudly in the early hours amongst a group of motorhomes, tents and caravans but they did. By 3:30am I'd had enough and when there was a lull in the rain I knocked loudly on the window. "There's a fecking prick outside banging on the window", shouted the loudest. "Don't you think it's time to be quiet, it's 3:30" I shouted back. Luckily another started to apologise and they did go quiet. The next morning, in fact it was the afternoon when they got up, a guy came over to us and profoundly apologised saying that "it won't happen tonight", as the loud guy had gone elsewhere. So we had a quiet night on Saturday night!

So a bit of a wander around Westport, a Guinness in Malloy's pub and we were ready for the wild Atlantic Way and we took the road west towards a remote coastline where we had thoughts of wild camping.

Firstly we stopped at a memorial to the Famine at a very sombre casting of a plague ship. This is located under Croagh Patrick, a very popular mountain just outside Westport. Today was very definitely not a day to walk up there, as the cloud base was very low and it was lashing with rain and very, very windy. However there were clearly people intent on going up - there were mental.

This bronze casting of what are known a "Coffin ships", was unveiled in 1997, the 150th anniversary of the Irish Famine and the rigging takes the form of skeletons. To escape the famine, many Irish left for the USA and Canada but were subjected to uncontrolled conditions on the ships that carried them and for many, a fate as bad or worse than that from which they were fleeing.

We travelled further west along the southern shore of Clew Bay. This should have been an interesting road as there are alleged to be 365 islands in the bay. We couldn't see more than two or three at a time.

At coffee time we arrived at a beach where I had harboured ideas of a wild camp and a beach bonfire. It's a huge expanse of sand and usually there must be some hardy surfers as there's a lifeguard hut. For some reason, even though by now it was so windy that we daren't open the Land Rover doors, the lifeguards had fought to raise two flags. You can just see one of them in a full survival suit on the windward side of their hut. I really can't believe that it was necessary to do this as NO-ONE would have ventured into the water. It would have been insane!

By now we were beginning to realise just what an undertaking "The Wild Atlantic Way" is for all travellers but especially those who are using bicycles (or who are using a Land Rover and camping). We were also beginning to realise that the weather gods have special rules for the W.A.W. Take a look at this map of European temperatures and see if you can see just where the south of Co. Mayo and the north of Connemara are (clue look at the colours).

We continued south through the mountains. It's a spectacular route and we could see the waters of Doo Lough as we drove alongside with the mist shrouded hills invisible. The road turns east and then there's the amazing inlet of Killary Harbour which thrusts inland for miles until it's finally possible to reach the other side near Leenaun.

Travelling west again we crossed back into Connemara and headed for a beach campsite near Tully. It's a steep descent from the road but the site is laid out on flat ground behind the beach. It would have been too easy to pitch the tent on a sheltered pitch with no sea view. Instead we decided to park as close to the beach as possible and to sleep in the Landy. The wind was very strong and the rain lashing in frequent squalls.

It's a beautiful place. You couldn't get better and we spent three nights here because it is so wild and rewarding. We plucked up courage to erect the tent and this gave us much more protection from the wind and rain.

The beach at high tide appears to be small but at low tide the water rolls back so far that headlands are exposed and the sand continues past them forming a huge expanse.

The best bit is that this seems to be a quiet corner and we had great times walking the sand and climbing the rocks. Looking out to sea there are small islands and viewing through the binoculars we could see sheep, a ruined church and even an old tractor.

A seal swam past along the shoreline just as I was going into the tent at about 10:30pm. It's still very light at this time as we are 53.6 North and 10.0 West and so sunset is late.

The next morning we were looking out over the bay and a pod of dolphins became visible. They were  making their way across the bay but decided to have a play. They were jumping clear of the water; too far away to take pictures with an iPhone but through binocs it was a spectacle. There was a moment when we could clearly see about ten at least. This must be a Peelies record! No-one else we talked to had seen either seals or dolphins, from which I can only conclude that they are like shooting stars. If you don't look you'll hardly ever see one!

Here's what they probably looked like close-up:

We walked to the pub at Tully Cross for dinner and so the driver could have beers too. Paddy Coyne's pub has been in the same family for generations, in fact since 1811. It was Monday evening and we were lucky to get a table as it packed out very quickly.

The area has been used as set for several films and through the years stars such as Fred Astaire, Charlotte Rampling, Richard Harris have been here.  Also Two Fat Ladies cooked lobster.

We opened a tab, got the Guinness ordered, made our selections only to then discover that they don't take plastic. A quick cash count showed that we had €70 "so that's enough" but by then the waiter had told us not to worry. "We're open again at 3 tomorrow so come back and pay then"! Remarkable.

We commented on how busy it was. Apparently it was a little unusual. O'Conners (?) in Galway were having an evening works do and had arrived unannounced.

So back to the tent, in daylight and it was time for another look out over the beach. Even the wind had died-down and the sea was calmer. What a "tent-view"!

More Achill!

Just behind the beach at Doogort is a wide expanse of grass that is kept closely cropped by the hardy blackface sheep that are free to roam. Here we were free to try the kite and Dawn had great success!

The cutting of peat is everywhere and it really interests me. Here's a photo of a real peat cut-face with the unspoilt ground on the right and disturbed to the left. There are many places that were cut so many years ago that at first glance they just appear to be very hummocky ground. It's only when you look more closely that you realise the moss reeds and rushes have taken over and disguise it. 

With our solar panel on the roof we feel very modern, which is true but this also comes with a big investment price tag and total reliance on complex manufactured products. No doubt peat burning will die out but there's an awful lot of peat still being cut, stacked and stored "in the bog" for later pick-up.

I wandered down the harbour quay at Purteen, near Keel and talked to an old(er) guy who was fishing for Mackerel. I assumed he was an islander but he retired here fifteen years ago from Dublin. e loves the place but can't get on with the locals. "They don't want to know you if you come and live here. Tourists are OK but not incomers". It was rather sad as it's the first negative thing I think that we've heard anyone say. Our experience has been of the sheer positivity and amazing good humour of the Irish people we have met so far.

Enda at the campsite had been slightly self-critical of his fellow countrymen in that earlier conversation referencing Maslow. He had asked us to make any suggestions for improving the campsite, something he said was unusual for an Irishman to do. Normally, he said, the Dutch are the best at sharing experiences and ideas. They take great delight in helping someone else improve. The English, on the other hand are a little bit reticent and unsure of how the advice, should it be offered, will be taken. When it comes to the Irish though, he says that they would rather see you struggle than pass on a useful bit of advice! They think that self-protection is the correct course of action!

Anyway the fella caught three fish and offered them to me (apparently quite a normal thing to do) but I politely declined as I'm sure they were for his tea or the freezer. We stayed out and went to the pub for our tea.

I think it was a year ago that a helicopter crashed into the sea with significant loss of life to the north west of Ireland and to mark the occasion there was a memorial Mass this week. It was held on top of an accessible mountain on Achill, on which there are the TV and phone relay stations and antennae.

It is possible to drive to the top and walk the last few hundred meters to the summit. What promised to be a super view was blocked by swirling mist. The Mass had been held at the point just behind me in the photograph where there's a statue of "Our Lady" and for some reason there are dozens of small cairns, build from the thousands of rocks that are scattered all over the summit.

I was also totally under-dressed for this small extra-vehicular excursion!

Keel and the rest of Achill almost looks as though it could be in "the far north" with low rise settlements, spread thinly around the beaches.

What we will miss most is our little private campsite next to the lamp (broken and not working thank goodness). We thoroughly recommend a visit to Achill if you are anywhere near the mid / north of the west of Ireland.

Exploring Achill Island

The campsite at Doogort is now run by Lorraine and Enda and you couldn’t wish to meet a more friendly couple. I’d previously only known two Irishmen, Brother Healy, at St Ambrose College and Father Ted but now I know another! Enda is a bit of a dark horse as he said that he’s a builder. Then he elaborated and said that he “has a construction company”. Someone else told us that he’s the biggest builder on the island although his wife wasn’t impressed reminding us that it is only an island.

However he’s an educated man alright as we were only into our introductory conversation and he managed to drop in a bit about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs as we discussed the character contrasts between Dutch, English and Irish. How’s that for a holiday conversation?

With Doogort as a base, Slievemore in front of us and a nice day beckoning, we decided to climb the peak. Walking in Ireland is unlike anything we are used to. Not only are there no paths at all, no-one else seems to be doing anything very strenuous and the only way to climb a mountain (for mountain is what it certainly is) is to start clambering over heather and massive tussocks of moss with bits of grass trying to grow. The hillside was strewn with rocks and boulders and it’s still bog, only now it’s bog on a slope. It was very hard work and concentration was required to avoid dropping a boot into a hole, of which there were many, or even worse, falling into the heather covered gap formed between each big rock and the ground behind.

It was instantly rewarding as the whole bay became visible. Slowly we plodded and although the sun was shining, the wind was screaming in from the north and the mist formed on the mountain was blowing off, beginning to obscure the sun to the south of us. The result was that we needed all layers, plus hats and gloves, well before we reached the summit.

This is the view north across Blacksod Bay and the big piece of land is the southern tip of a remote mainland peninsula with a lovely string of tiny islands stringing out from it.

Looking south towards Keel and the beach with a large lake inland where kite surfing lessons are to be had.

From the top there's the best view of our campsite, about 2,200 feet below.

Going down was almost as hard as going up as it was nearly steep enough for some scrambling. There was time for some shelter spotting and of course there's only one way to sooth weary feet!

At the western tip of Achill Island is Keem beach and this is accessed along a short but exhilarating road along the cliffs that descends steeply to a car park and turning point. We scrambled up to the cliff tops which are 300m+ vertical drop to the sea.

All around are the signs of boggy ground, with cotton grass in abundance and plenty of exposed peat, even though here it's been eroded naturally (I presume).

Back at Doogort beach, Enda was beginning his plan to resurrect the hibernating campsite and he has invested in two mobile homes to add to three which he must have sited recently. As we had 24 hours stuck in the tent due to heavy rain, it's understandable that most visitors to Achill are sleeping under metal or tiled roofs. There are few campers!

Achill Island, Co. Mayo

We left the house at Claddaghduff feeling very happy, as the week with all the family together was hugely successful. Everything fell into place, the house was perfect, the weather was perfect and the location was perfect. We were very appreciative of Dawn’s research that led her to a big house with space for everyone and that has never before been let. The owners had just moved out, down-sizing to achieve some rental income. As their family is very young, this must be hard for them.

Off we went to Strandhill, near Sligo for a family wedding. This is a major surfing spot and the Atlantic swell rolls in across a huge bay that is not suitable for swimming but is perfect for surfers. It was very entertaining to be able to watch from the promenade.

The wedding ceremony was held on an adjacent, sheltered beach and at the Strandhill golf club, which has never before hosted a wedding. This is unbelievable as it is the perfect venue and setting.

Following an extended wedding weekend, we said goodbye to all the family and headed off on our Landy trip back south, down the west coast. It was Sunday 4 June ’17 and we just heard the news about yet another terrorist attack in London before we disconnected from the internet.

The whole of Ireland is a bog;a blanket bog and it was formed in the years following the last ice age. So that's in the last 10,000 years or so. Perhaps the retreating ice had some special "stuff" underneath as there are layers and layers of peat (known as turf I believe) and you can see it drying everywhere in piles, some arranged better than others.

Obviously the cutting of turf in order to burn it as a heating and cooking fuel is a well known fact. However the dominance of this cutting and the scarring of the landscape came as a surprise. I'd obviously have done it myself if I lived here years ago but it is still burnt today and you can smell the smoke as you pass by a house or cottage. The fact that the landscape is scarred is of little consequence as seems to blend in reasonably well.

Rhododendrons grow in massive clusters and as they are in full bloom they look fantastic. Moving south and west through Mayo we followed the N59 which in a Land Rover was rather “humpy” with unpredictable bumps and hollows. We skirted the Nephin Beg Range and Ballycroy National Park before swinging around a sea inlet and the Corraun Peninsula, finally crossing a swing bridge over Achill Sound to reach Achill Island.

This really is a remote and beautiful place. It has mountains and wild cliffs with numerous wide sandy beaches. One of this was recently in the press as it has been re-covered with sand after about twenty five years. The bay at Dooagh was once sandy but a storm sometime in the 1980s removed the sand in a flash, leaving pebbles and rocks. Then at Easter this year, during just a few days, the sand was re-deposited and the beach has been restored by the very forces that removed it. Watching the waves roll in and onto a very steep beach, it isn't hard to imagine that it could all be washed away again. There's something about the wave action there that suggests "scouring" of anything that's in the way.

Achill Island is surrounded by pounding seas, except on the side facing the mainland. There are five blue flag beaches and we headed to one at Keel on the southern coast. However the site is on flat land behind the beach and the wind was screaming in from the sea. So we turned north east to the other coast and five minutes later we were at Doogort and another blue flag and outside a site that was showing on our Archie’s camping POI on the TomTom.

Seal Caves camping has just re-opened after a ten year hibernation. It’s beautifully situated behind the beach and right under the highest mountain on the island, Slievemore (672m) which provides a dramatic back drop to the beach. The fact that it is a pyramidal peak only adds to the splendour.

The campsite is clearly unknown as there’s hardly anyone here and with our solar panel meaning that we no longer need to connect to the grid, we were able to drive up to the highest terrace to get a pitch overlooking the beach, with the mountain opposite.

Rather surprisingly all the hedgerows lining the terraces are Fuschia and this provides a lovely environment and my planters at home will look very small in comparison. In fact there's Fuschia growing everywhere in Ireland. Most hedges are Fuschia and it seems to grow in abundance,