I like to feel warmth
of sunshine, coolness of rain,
fresh air on my face.
Sunday
One last preparation to be made - a batch of Nigella's chocolate brownies. No outdoor exertion (or indoor laziness, for that matter) would be complete without them.
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| Brownies - in progress |
Monday
Arising early enough - but not so early that it's still dark, we are on holidays after all - we fill the car with enough gear to cope with all the vagaries of Irish weather for cycling, hiking and slothing, then finally the bikes on the back. It is sunny and even a little warm as we head north-west out of Dublin. We waited until after peak hour to start out so there is little traffic, pleasant driving through rolling countryside mostly green but coloured by autumn.
Across the border into Northern Ireland, we stop for lunch by the pebbled shore of Lower Lough Erne. Once in the U.K. there are plenty of picnic tables. In Ireland they are few and far between. Back into Ireland again and we are driving across the bleak brown hills and bogs of western Donegal. Liberally encrusted with white bungalows, only the mountains are really wild.
Once across the Rosses we arrive at our home for the next few days - a cabin nestled in a small oak and birch wood beyond the village of Crolly. In Irish - Croithlí.
We are in the Gaeltacht, one of the few remaining areas in Ireland where Irish is spoken. And written. All the road signs are in Irish, without English translation like in the rest of the country.
Across the border into Northern Ireland, we stop for lunch by the pebbled shore of Lower Lough Erne. Once in the U.K. there are plenty of picnic tables. In Ireland they are few and far between. Back into Ireland again and we are driving across the bleak brown hills and bogs of western Donegal. Liberally encrusted with white bungalows, only the mountains are really wild.
Once across the Rosses we arrive at our home for the next few days - a cabin nestled in a small oak and birch wood beyond the village of Crolly. In Irish - Croithlí.
We are in the Gaeltacht, one of the few remaining areas in Ireland where Irish is spoken. And written. All the road signs are in Irish, without English translation like in the rest of the country.
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| Neil on the shore of Lower Lough Erne, Co. Fermanagh, Northern Ireland |
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| Shades of grey |
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| Gabby skipping stones - or trying to... |
Tuesday
In our little hollow, frost creeps in early making it rather difficult to get out of bed. When we do, we are rewarded with another sunny day. It is our plan to cycle north, meandering along the coastline for the day. Starting off with plenty of layers, we have ridden only a few kilometres before we need to strip down to shorts and short sleeved jerseys.
Our road takes us up and down numerous small hills, through villages, across headlands with stunning views out to the Atlantic Ocean and the plethora of islands large and small fringing its expanse. White bungalows abound - some lived in, some holiday homes - and their attendant power lines criss-cross sightlines in every direction. Inland loom the rust coloured hills of Gweedore, crenelated with gigantic white wind turbines.
We miss a turn to a planned rest, either through lack of sign posting (common throughout Ireland) or not understanding the Gaelic, eventually stopping by a lovely beach that is not even marked on the map, we stretch out in the sun and eat.
After a post-prandial bask I decide that it is warm enough for a swim. Motivated by the fact that I haven't had a swim since leaving Wollongong more than 4 years ago, I get changed and dive in. And promptly get back out again. It is so cold that when I try to swim my lungs freeze and won't let me breathe. I can't believe people surf here.
Our road takes us up and down numerous small hills, through villages, across headlands with stunning views out to the Atlantic Ocean and the plethora of islands large and small fringing its expanse. White bungalows abound - some lived in, some holiday homes - and their attendant power lines criss-cross sightlines in every direction. Inland loom the rust coloured hills of Gweedore, crenelated with gigantic white wind turbines.
We miss a turn to a planned rest, either through lack of sign posting (common throughout Ireland) or not understanding the Gaelic, eventually stopping by a lovely beach that is not even marked on the map, we stretch out in the sun and eat.
After a post-prandial bask I decide that it is warm enough for a swim. Motivated by the fact that I haven't had a swim since leaving Wollongong more than 4 years ago, I get changed and dive in. And promptly get back out again. It is so cold that when I try to swim my lungs freeze and won't let me breathe. I can't believe people surf here.
We cruise back to our cabin, not terribly perturbed about only riding 30km - we are after all, unfit and have been unwell. To top off a lovely day we walk the 300m to the local pub to eat. Leo's Tavern is renown for it's traditional music (Leo being the father of Enya and her siblings in Clannad) but not this night.
We manage to miss sessions wherever we travel in Ireland and Donegal is not to prove the exception. The pub however is warm and welcoming, with a coal fire (next to the empty stage), good food and friendly staff.
As we leave a crescent moon rises in the south.
We manage to miss sessions wherever we travel in Ireland and Donegal is not to prove the exception. The pub however is warm and welcoming, with a coal fire (next to the empty stage), good food and friendly staff.
As we leave a crescent moon rises in the south.
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| Another unnamed Irish road, north-western Donegal |
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| Self-photo by Neil, lunch stop |
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| Picnic on the warm rocks |
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| View over Gweedore Bay to Gola (Gabhla) and Inishmeane (Inis Meáin) |
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| Bikes at rest |
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| Very very refreshing - so much so I went in again ! |
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| Ubiquitous powerlines outlining the scenery |
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| On the road south into Derrybeg (Doirí Beaga) - a rare unobstructed view ! |
Wednesday
Awaking to the sad drips of rain onto the cabin roof, we opt for a lazy morning snug inside. When we venture out, the world has contracted. Instead of open skies and light zephyrs, grey clouds cover hill tops and a cold wind blows off the ocean.
It is not a day for hill climbing so we head to the low dunes of the Dooey Peninsula and the sea cliffs of the Bloody Foreland (not named after a battle but for the colour of the foreland and the hill above it at sunset) at the far north western corner of Ireland.
The wind is bitterly cold and instead of the promontory fort marked on the map all we find are sheep and cormorants. The sea is grey, the sky is grey. We go back and cook up a pot of soup.
It is not a day for hill climbing so we head to the low dunes of the Dooey Peninsula and the sea cliffs of the Bloody Foreland (not named after a battle but for the colour of the foreland and the hill above it at sunset) at the far north western corner of Ireland.
The wind is bitterly cold and instead of the promontory fort marked on the map all we find are sheep and cormorants. The sea is grey, the sky is grey. We go back and cook up a pot of soup.
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| Cloud low over the hills of Cloghaneely (Cloich Chionnaola) |
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| Ballyness Bay (Bá Bhaile an Easa) |
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| Neil atop the ridge of sand dunes on Dooey peninsula (An Dumhaigh) |
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| Sand, sea, grass - Dooey peninsula (An Dumhaigh) |
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| Grasses blowing in the chill wind |
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| At the waters edge |
Thursday
Another night of rain eventually clears late morning so we dry down the bikes and head west this time - around the Rosses, an area of hills and loughs. The rust brown hills are liberally speckled with grey stone, a rough granite which is quarried in many places for building.
As we cycle over the stone bridge spanning Annagary strand, past a large standing stone, a grey heron takes off from its perch amongst the reeds. The weather is fickle, heavy grey clouds and chill breeze alternating with warm sunshine.
We cycle on, up hill, down hill, around a bend, by a lough, past a frisky colt. 'Tra' is now recognisable as beach, so we turn down a gravel road to Mullaghdoo, a headland of worn granite. The mussel encrusted rocks give way to another lovely sandy beach.
In summer there would be throngs of people but now, just us and the occasional dog walker.
As we cycle over the stone bridge spanning Annagary strand, past a large standing stone, a grey heron takes off from its perch amongst the reeds. The weather is fickle, heavy grey clouds and chill breeze alternating with warm sunshine.
We cycle on, up hill, down hill, around a bend, by a lough, past a frisky colt. 'Tra' is now recognisable as beach, so we turn down a gravel road to Mullaghdoo, a headland of worn granite. The mussel encrusted rocks give way to another lovely sandy beach.
In summer there would be throngs of people but now, just us and the occasional dog walker.
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| Morning, birch twigs |
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| Leaf after rain |
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| Neil before the bleak Annagary Hill (Cnoc Anagaire) |
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| Looking north toward the Bloody Foreland (Cnoc Fola) from the Rosses (Na Rosa) |
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| Mullaghdoo beach |
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| Mullaghdoo |
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| At least the distances are in kilometres... |
Friday
Clouds and rain once more herald the day, clearing a little but still topping the hills. We had hoped to climb Errigal Mountain this morning before driving back to Dublin but we are unsure until we actually gain the foot of it. The summit is still covered in cloud so we decide to walk up part of the way to see the surrounding countryside.
Errigal is the highest mountain in Donegal and from a distance the sloping grey sides look like huge granite slabs, which would be great to climb. They aren't. The grey slopes are loose scree, which is almost as fun to scramble up as the boggy approach is to squelch through. We wear gaiters so keep most of the bog out - even when knee deep !
Lured by the almost clear summit, we make it nearly to the top before strong winds blow cloud over us. The small ridge to the peak of the mountain is invisible now so we stop and have a snack on the false summit, looking out over the Derryveagh mountains to the south, the cliffs of the Poisoned Glen almost directly before us, all seen through a light veil of cloud.
Windstoppers zipped up, gloves on, we decide to descend - we have a long drive ahead of us still. Around the northern side of the mountain the wind is fiercely cold and we pause only a short while to take in the view north to the Dooey peninsula before heading down.
Errigal is the highest mountain in Donegal and from a distance the sloping grey sides look like huge granite slabs, which would be great to climb. They aren't. The grey slopes are loose scree, which is almost as fun to scramble up as the boggy approach is to squelch through. We wear gaiters so keep most of the bog out - even when knee deep !
Lured by the almost clear summit, we make it nearly to the top before strong winds blow cloud over us. The small ridge to the peak of the mountain is invisible now so we stop and have a snack on the false summit, looking out over the Derryveagh mountains to the south, the cliffs of the Poisoned Glen almost directly before us, all seen through a light veil of cloud.
Windstoppers zipped up, gloves on, we decide to descend - we have a long drive ahead of us still. Around the northern side of the mountain the wind is fiercely cold and we pause only a short while to take in the view north to the Dooey peninsula before heading down.
Driving east toward Letterkenny we pass over an invisible border where brown hills suddenly become green and pastures replace bog and heather. Across Northern Ireland, through Omagh and then onto Monaghan and the Republic again, road works all the way.
We have now visited every one of the original 32 counties.
We have now visited every one of the original 32 counties.
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| Errigal Mountain (An Earagail) with powerlines |
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| Gabby heading up the scree (there is a path, of sorts), cloud still covering the upper slopes |
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| Neil looking over to the Poisoned Glen (Cró Nimhe) |
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| Errigal Mountain (An Earagail) - boggy lower slopes leading to scree :) |
Saturday
A very late sleep in, breakfast in bed, then mounds of washing...
