Author Archives: Marce

Fastnet Rock is legendary to anyone with an interest in the sea or sailing. It’s the southernmost point of Ireland lying way out in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of County Cork.

My birthday was looming and after seeing Fastnet from Mizen Head we took the plunge and booked ourselves on a day trip to the Rock and Cape Clear Island. It’s a fitting way to spend my birthday.

The boat leaves from the little town of Schull and we arrived early enough to watch the local sailing school readying their boats for launch.

We were delighted to find our tour boat was half empty.

It took about 45 minutes to get to our first stop, Cape Clear Island, where we picked up additional tourists. We were now at capacity and headed for the Rock.

A lighthouse was first built on Fastnet after an American sailing packet was lost on a nearby island in thick fog in 1847. By 1854 the new lighthouse was signaling to ships at sea.

The original brick and cast iron structure proved to be too weak to withstand the ferocious gales common in these parts, despite attempts to shore up the base. By 1891 the powers that be also concluded that the signal from the lighthouse was too weak to signal ships arriving from across the Atlantic, and in 1899 construction of a new tower was begun. The stronger structure was built from dovetailed blocks of granite and entered into service in 1904. The beacon has a range of 27 nautical miles.

Here’s a little tech background for non-sailors. Every lighthouse has a unique sequence, described in abbreviated form on a nautical chart. It’s possible to be in range of more than one lighthouse at a time, so it’s important to know the pattern you’re seeing in the distance to be sure of which beacon it is. Here are some examples of lighthouse characteristics.

As a sailor I can tell you there’s nothing more reassuring when approaching a landfall as spying a signal exactly as described on the nautical chart, assuring you that you are where you think you are.

All of that aside, our first closeup view of Fastnet took our breath away.

We circled the Rock in both directions, giving everyone ample opportunity to get the money shots. It’s beautiful from every angle. And I promise you every one of these photos has had significant horizon correction; while it was an unusually calm day on the ocean, taking photos from the deck of a boat pitching in the Atlantic swell while dodging other tourists is no easy task.

Fastnet Light is the rounding mark for the legendary Fastnet Race, one of the three classic offshore yacht races, along with Sydney-Hobart and Newport-Bermuda, all about 625 nautical miles.

The 1979 race was hit with an unexpectedly severe storm that wreaked havoc on the 303 participating yachts and called in thousands of rescuers and emergency services. It was the single largest maritime rescue operation in peacetime. Nineteen people died, 75 boats capsized, five were lost and believed sunk.

There are plenty of videos about the event. Here’s a link to one of them.

When the captain decided we’d exhausted the photo possibilities he turned the boat back toward Cape Clear Island where we’ll have a couple of hours to explore an idyllic outpost of County Cork.

Not far from the harbor lies a memorial to the nineteen souls lost in the 1979 Fastnet Race. (More names in the side, for those counting.)

Beautiful Cape Clear Island swallowed up our fellow boat passengers and we spent a pleasant few hours exploring the country roads to the other side.

And then it was time for the return trip to the mainland. Escape Velocity’s absentminded navigator forgot to bring the tracker so if you’ve been following along on our track link, here’s the missing bit courtesy of Google maps.

We’ve had a delicious run of good weather but now it’s about to end.

We picked our parkup for the night because it’s ten minutes away from tomorrow’s destination. It didn’t register until we arrived that we were visiting the 4000-year-old Altar Wedge Tomb. Not only is this a great example of the type, but we had it all to ourselves. We found that odd because the car park was full — we grabbed the last remaining spot — so we wondered where all the people were. A short meander down the road (truth be told, I was looking for ripe berries) revealed a small, protected beach. So that’s where everyone went.

We were content to bask in the sunshine and explore our little corner of the universe as afternoon slipped into evening.

I never get tired of gazing at the place where the sea meets the sky.

The days are getting shorter. We have so much more to see.

Just a few miles from Mizen Head, on the north side of the peninsula, is Three Castles Head. Any mention of castles gets Jack to break out the hiking poles so off we went towards Dunlough Fort.

You can’t drive all the way there, and what you can drive is an unpaved track. A nearby farmer has set up a car park where you pay a couple of Euros to a young man who presumably watches your vehicle while you tramp up to the castle.

The name is confusing. The headland is called Three Castles, but there’s only one castle and it’s called a fort. The castle has three towers, hence the name Three Castles Head.

The path starts easy enough. Before long we were wheezing up a steep rocky trail that switched back and forth around hillocks and rock piles.

When we crested the hill we finally saw the castle and paused to catch our breath and take in the sweeping landscape.

It’s still a long way down. The distances are deceiving!

The castle is beautiful, as 13th century ruins go. We loved the many arches.

The real magic of Dunlough Castle is the setting, perched on the edge of a lake, with views out to the sea. It’s postcard perfect.

We thought it couldn’t get any better until we discovered a trail that leads further up the slope. And as we all know by now, Jack can’t resist getting to the top. So up we went.

What a stunning place! I know we say that a lot, but this is really one of our favorite castle ruins. Of course the brilliant weather helped.

We could have stayed for hours but it’s a long way home. We hiked back down to castle level and followed the path along the lake for a bit. Then it was time to start the steep trek down towards the sea and overland to Escape Velocity.

Believe it or not, this beautiful day isn’t over yet.

Slea Head Drive on the Dingle peninsula was gorgeous but we weren’t permitted to complete the circuit via the dizzying and beautiful Conor Pass because of a weight restriction. No campervans or motorhomes allowed.

We reluctantly retraced our route (a Rule#1 violation: Never Go Backwards) to our home for the night, a quiet memorial park along the River Maine in the tiny village of Castlemaine. We had a bit of a think on our strategy for the next few weeks, aware that the consistently bad weather in July set us back a lot. We now have only about six weeks left before we need to leave the country, lots of Ireland still to see, decisions to make for where to go over the winter months, and figuring out where to store the van while we’re away. We both suffer from Planning Resistance so it wasn’t an easy discussion. We generally live by the Baba Ram Dass philosophy: Be Here Now.

In the end we made the shocking decision to skip the Ring of Kerry completely and drive right across the Beara peninsular via the Caha Pass, recommended by our Irish friend Gordon, and also skip the higher Healy Pass and continue to Bantry. We love mountain passes in general and some of our best memories are of thrilling high altitude scenic drives but they’re lots less fun in a campervan than in a zippy little car. And we certainly aren’t suffering from a deficit of dazzling scenery, regardless of where we go.

In Kenmare we stopped for groceries. I haven’t mentioned before but nearly every supermarket of any size has a dedicated section like this one. We learned there are about 100,000 Polish people living here, and Ireland has accepted more than 80,000 Ukrainian refugees so far. The array of regional comfort foods shows how much the Irish do to make them feel welcome.

On the other hand, ketchup flavored Cheetos is just wrong.

Our parkup gave us a stunning valley view across from Molly Gallivans Visitors Center, and we got a vivid sunset to boot.

The Caha Pass goes through three tunnels hand-chiseled through solid rock. We are small as campervans go, but I imagine the driver of a larger motorhome would be holding his or her breath driving through the tunnels despite the reassurance of the road signs.

For once there are places to pull off the road and take in the scenery. We must have taken fifty photos along the road, each view as pretty as the last.

We are people who like to go to the end of the road, any road, wherever it leads, and so we drove to the very end of Beara peninsula where we’d heard a cable car takes one across to Dursey Island, sticking way out in the Atlantic Ocean. You can’t go any further. That’s for us, we thought.

We saw the cable car as we approached but when we parked we realized it wasn’t moving. The food and coffee trucks we saw in photos were missing and the place was more or less deserted. Eventually we found a small sign informing us that the cable car was closed for repairs. How long it’s been closed or when it’ll reopen is anybody’s guess. We wished we’d known that before we drove all this way but it’s beautiful nonetheless and we learned about a dramatic 1881 rescue from the lighthouse at the memorial just up the road from the island.

For the second time in as many days we retraced our route along the coast and arrived at the cheerful little town of Bantry, where we were welcomed by St. Brendan and a rare municipal motorhome car park.

The motorhome aire gave us the opportunity to service the van without having to book into a campground, and we went to the movies for the first time in about five years.

Our good weather is predicted to continue for the coming week and we left Bantry on a mission to make the most of it. We are heading for a place that evokes awe and respect from sailors everywhere. It’s bucket list time again.

Since we got to Derry/Londonderry we’ve been more or less following the Wild Atlantic Way, a tourist route that runs along the rocky west coast of the island. We’re now getting to the area most visited by tourists — and tour buses — and many of our decisions are made to avoid the crowds that high season and good weather bring.

We feel no need to stick to a line on the map and we often seek out quiet outposts for the night.

On any day without rain it’s rare to find a beach that’s not crowded but here we are at Kilgobbin Bay Beach on Dingle Peninsula. Not only did we have the place nearly to ourselves, but the beach was bordered by some of the most colorful rocks we’ve seen so far in Ireland. If we were still on the boat I’d have relocated a few choice ones to our saloon, but sadly the campervan can’t accommodate a rock collection.

We’ve grown accustomed to one-lane driving and luckily there’s little traffic in remote areas and we rarely meet someone coming head-on, but even the official Wild Atlantic Way route is also often one lane but with enough passing places to squeeze by another vehicle safely.

Still, there are areas you hope to goodness someone isn’t barreling toward you from around the bend with no passing place in evidence.

We don’t think there are nearly enough places to pull off to take photos but we take advantage of most of them. Sometimes there are food trucks or vendors or buskers. We loved this man’s music but he was selling CDs. What are you supposed to do with a CD?

We found a quiet beach parkup just before another storm blew through. Our weather has definitely improved but the squalls are still fierce and require some planning.

By morning the sun was shining again. This is the Ireland we came for.

We mentioned before that it can be challenging to visit cities where motorhomes are discouraged or safe parking is hard to find. We heard about a park ‘n’ ride outside Galway and took advantage of the opportunity to leave the van in the company of others of its kind while we took the train to the city.

For once it didn’t rain and Galway was a delight, colorful, artsy, often whimsical.

We stopped in the visitor’s center for a map and a walking guide but we made no attempt to see all the sights. It was fun just to share the joy of a dry day with fellow tourists.

Galway embraces the new and modern but celebrates its history, too. Here’s a look at the original castle walls under the floor of the Aran sweater market.

We tried following our walking tour map but there were too many distractions to keep us on track.

Ah! A cheese shop! Maybe we can get something besides cheddar? But no, the shop was closed and we could only peer longingly through the door at what might have been a very big sale for the proprietors.

I don’t play chess and I don’t collect anything, but if I did I’d consider chess sets. They always catch my eye wherever we go and these are particularly fanciful.

By the time we left the park it was well past lunch time. Jack couldn’t pass up the Irish stew.

We finished the day with a visit to the museum and loved seeing these posters of Irish musicians.

I wish we could visit more cities as easily as this. One quick stop on the train and we were back home again. It looks like the bad weather is behind us. Maybe we’ll have summer after all.

After a day in a crush of tourists we were keen for some quiet time, and we followed the coastline looking for a small harbor or disused pier. The rain had swelled the waterways, large and small, and we followed this stream to the shore.

Despite the volume of water rushing to the sea it was low tide and the few boats in the harbor rested on their keels.

The cozy little town of Spiddal lured us with charming traditional buildings and a pretty little library.

As usual, the propane ran out in the middle of making coffee and while it was raining. After many years of swapping propane tanks Jack’s become a speed demon at the tank changeover.

Spiddal lured me for another reason, a labyrinth. My sister introduced me to labyrinth walking back on Block Island, Rhode Island, and I’ve been keeping my eyes out for others ever since. When I spied this one on the map a few months ago I marked it and hoped our route would take us close enough for a stop.

While Jack napped I slowly walked the small labyrinth and appreciated the changing views from the churchyard and out to the sea.

The pathways were narrow, little more than a foot’s width, and just following the twists and turns amounted to a meditation in itself.

My focus alternated between the closeup and the long shot, and for the twenty minutes or so that I walked I felt at peace.

I think if we ever find ourselves living in a house with a garden I might build a labyrinth. Pretty to look at, and a beautiful way to meditate.

This labyrinth is nearly hidden behind a church and next to the graveyard. I think the setting epitomizes the Irish landscape: a church, a garden, and the sea.

An unfamiliar sensation woke me shortly after 6:30am. It was the sun, not seen for days and certainly not in the morning when the warming rays make it so much easier to jump out of bed. And jump I did, throwing on my clothes as quickly as I could, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Ireland it’s that you don’t waste a minute of good weather, for surely the gods could change their minds at any moment and it’s back to the drizzle and damp. Or lately, pelting downpours and ferocious wind.

I happily walked Bunowen Pier snapping photos in the morning light until the dark clouds rolled in and chased me back to the van as the rain resumed in earnest.

It’s laundry day, and we drove about an hour in the gloom along the coast to an outdoor launderette. We love these conveniences where we can park right beside the machines. It’s almost like doing laundry in a house; no schlepping involved and the clothes go right back in the closet.

The rain stopped unexpectedly while we navigated another of Ireland’s one-lane stonewall-lined roads toward another quiet pier at the all but abandoned Cartron Harbour.

We’re always mindful that we aren’t a nuisance to local fisherman, so I asked the gentleman getting out of his car if he thought it was okay if we stayed the night. He not only assured us we’re fine on the pier, but he regaled us with local lore and shared his photos of the fine fish he caught in these parts. We hope we ooh’d and aah’d appropriately.

Our friend’s brother returned from picking blackberries along the shoreline and wanted to take a closer look at Escape Velocity. We’ve learned during our various journeys that the freedom of self-contained travel with no set schedule or destination is a dream shared by many. We’re always happy to evangelize our chosen lifestyle.

After Tom and John went home we put on our hiking shoes and set off along the rocky path around the point, grateful for the break in the weather.

We wondered when this rock wall was built and how they managed to move and place these giant boulders.

When we turned the corner we could see the Aran Islands on the horizon, just as John told us we would.

Jack returned home while I tramped through the brambles picking berries for tomorrow’s breakfast.

We expect rain again soon and throughout the night, along with high winds. We’ll have a cup of tea and watch the tide come and go and come again.

Long ago, we mentioned to an Irish friend that we planned time in County Mayo. “There’s not much there,” he warned.

We beg to differ. After spending more time here than expected, thwarted by the weather and waiting for the parish priest to return, we’ve come to appreciate the varied landscape and the way of life.

We take every blue sky opportunity between storms to drive the back roads and see what we can see. One day we watched as a farmer trained his sheep dogs. Amazing herders, they are.

Turf is still used for fuel in many places, although there are new regulations underway to ban the burning of polluting solid fuels like coal, wood and peat briquettes, and new houses are built without chimneys. Turf cutting is also being banned to halt the destruction of the fragile environment and because newer mechanical methods of cutting reduces the carbon sink properties of the bog. Nevertheless, we see turf drying wherever we go.

Mayo is flat as a pancake in parts and quite hilly in others and on dry days we find the landscape breathtaking.

As usual, we haven’t done any planning or research so as we crossed into County Galway this stately building took us by surprise and precipitated a quick detour.

It’s Kylemore Abbey, home to an order of Benedictine nuns. We didn’t visit but stayed long enough on the grounds to appreciate how beautifully the building nestles into the forest at the foot of the mountain.

The clouds were rolling in and we knew there was a storm coming. We wanted to fit one more stop into our day before we sought shelter.

I had spied this food truck on the map and if I know my man, I know he’ll be pretty excited about a crab sandwich. I assumed there’d be nothing for me, but luckily there’s another truck across the car park with delicious spicy roast sweet potato tacos. Win-win.

We would love to have stayed at that pretty place overnight but it wasn’t permitted so we dashed into Clifden hoping for a supermarket resupply before the rain started. We didn’t make it. It rained so hard even the local shoppers were reluctant to run to their cars. There was a backup at the exit as we all waited. And waited. And waited. One by one they gave up and dashed to their vehicles. Except us. Our van was parked up the hill in another car park and we kept hoping for a wee break in the downpour so we wouldn’t be sodden when we got home. A campervan festooned with dripping clothing is not a pleasant place to be.

We did eventually get a break and made it back to the van with minimal dampness and drove to our planned sheltered parkup. The storm rolled in as predicted and we battened the hatches and hunkered down.

We’ve posted dozens of gloriously sunny photos while simultaneously complaining about the weather. You may have found this confusing. It’s Ireland and we expect rain but it turns out this is the wettest July on record. We were lulled into complacency by a near perfect June, and July took us completely by surprise. Shorts and T-shirts we unpacked on the solstice got packed away again by the Fourth of July.

We’ve not only had rainy days but some hellacious storms as well, when we’ve had to seek shelter from fierce winds and squall lines. The weather affected our intended counterclockwise circumnavigation such that our track is looking like an ornery child’s scribble.

Whenever we get a few hours of blue sky we dash to the nearest point of interest and do our best to make the most of the sunshine. That’s how we still manage to snap some beautiful photographs despite weather that even the Irish are grousing about.

What’s shocking to us, as sailors and perpetual weather watchers, is that we can have clear blue skies with barely a hint of a puffy cloud one minute, and mere moments later we’re socked in with low dense clouds and rain that might be light or heavy, for ten minutes or three hours. There’s just no predicting it.

The next three shots are time-stamped one minute apart. That’s how quickly it changes.

Luckily, as sailors we’re practiced at hunkering down and finding bad weather things to do. Longtime readers know I like to spend time on family history research and while I’ve had no luck scaring up anything useful on my own ancestors, we find ourselves this rainy July in County Mayo, birthplace of my son’s paternal great-grandfather. That’s a good enough place to start.

As I was poking around an old churchyard one drizzly day, a local man asked what I was up to. I told him who I was looking for and he directed me to a different cemetery.

“Keep walking down the road past the cemetery,” he said, and he gave me directions to the home of the custodian of the historical cemetery records.

“She’ll help you out,” he assured me.

I followed his directions and met this beautiful lady. Her name is Rose and when I explained my mission she sat me down in her kitchen and produced the burial records.

As we looked for the right people, we talked about the family. She knew them all and gave me the rundown on who belongs to whom, who went to America, who stayed here. She told me where to find the existing graves, then on impulse put me in her car and drove me all over the townland pointing out the ancestral homes, the church, the school they attended.

I spent a delightful couple of hours in Rose’s company and learned a lot about the McDonnell clan. She thought the original marriage and baptism records were at the church but said the priest is away until next week. That’s my week sorted.

Back at the cemetery Jack was amusing himself watching Formula 1 and I broke the news that we’ll have to hang around for a few days until Father Stephen returns on Wednesday.

No worries. The soggy weather continued and we found a quiet parkup by a lough, and I visited the local library, too.

When Father Stephen returned I met him at the church, the same church where Drew’s great-grandfather was baptized, perhaps in this very font. (The mosaic floor, of course, is new.) I was too excited to remember to photograph the priest in his vestment, but after he changed he took me to the residence where he keeps the parish records in a small anteroom at the entrance. He had other churches to visit, so he left me alone with the records, invited me to stay as long as I liked, and asked me to lock the door when I left.

I wish I’d had the same luck with my own family but I’m happy I was able to see where Drew’s Irish people come from. And so is he.

We’re eager to move on. There’s more of County Mayo to explore and it looks like there might be a break in the weather.