Mediterranean Blue Seas and a bird for Cornwall

During the 15 days of our holiday in south-west Ireland we had just one day of rain. Considering the Emerald Isle's reputation for wet weather, we counted ourselves blessed indeed. Wednesday 5th September (the day before it rained) was exceptional – 27° in the shade and hardly a breath of wind. We drove up to the Kerry Ring then headed round to Derrynane Bay, for an interesting 8km (5 mile) walk, featured in a book we bought before setting out for Ireland – Ireland's Wild Atlantic Way.  

This is Derrynane Bay, viewed from high on the Kerry Ring.

Turning the camera to the left brings Abbey Island into full view, with its sandy beach. On the skyline are the mountains of the Beara Peninsula, somewhat lost in the heat haze. 

The next three photos feature part of the ruined abbey of Abbey Island, said to have been founded by St Finian. Wikipedia lists three St Finians who are associated with Ireland. I think this one must have been Crooked St Finian (St Finian Cam), so named because he either stooped or had a squint. As I clambered around his island, I found myself irreverently singing the song about the crooked little man who, with his entourage, lived in a crooked little house.

From the abbey a track known as the Mass Path weaves its way along the coastline, towards a little harbour.  This is the route devout worshippers in centuries gone by would have taken in order to celebrate Mass in the abbey. As we walked along, the calm sea to our left looked even more blue and inviting that before. Why ever did I not bring a swimming costume?

Back near our starting point I was in for a treat – two large black birds hopping about in the short grass. A pair of crows, perhaps? No, these had red beaks, which could mean only one thing – they were choughs. Their distinctive chawk confirmed it.

I've only ever seen choughs once before, and that was about 10 years ago near Lands End. For many years they were all but extinct in Cornwall, which was a great, great pity since they are our national bird, depicted on Cornish crests and coats of arms.

More recently, numbers have been rising again, so I'm hopeful that I'll live to see more Cornish Choughs.  Until that day, though, I'm delighted to have seen a couple of their Irish cousins and been close enough to photograph them.

Torc Mountain

Torc Mountain rises some 500 metres above the waters of Muckross Lake, near Killarney. The trek to the summit is a popular one and fairly easy, as mountain climbs go. Wishing to avoid the crowds and enjoy a peaceful picnic lunch on the summit, we set out early from our holiday cottage. 

That's Torc Mountain up on the skyline. To a couple of hardened hill walkers like us it looked easy enough... and indeed it was, thanks in no small part to the provision of boardwalks (make of old railway sleepers) over the boggy bits. I do look a bit tired though, don't I. In truth, I was by now wondering why I'd bothered to bring along that thick green cardigan.

As we neared the summit we met two groups of people descending, who encouraged us to go on. "The views are amazing," they told us.

And they were.  That's lovely Lough Leane spred out before me, with its many small islands, and the houses of Killarney on the far side of the lough.

Torc Mountain (Gaelic: Sliabh Torc) means 'Mountain of the Wild Boar'. I am reliably informed that one unfortunate hill walker who fell foul of the Devil was required to spend his nights up here, transformed into a boar. Later, due to an unfortunate encounter with a hill farmer, he burst into flames and was never seen on Torc Mountain again.  I think the moral of the story is that one should avoid staying on the mountain after nightfall – a warning that I was happy to heed.

If

In the photo below you can just see Muckross Lake and the narrow peninsula of land that separates it from Lough Leane. If you look closely, you might be able to make out Brickeen Bridge and Dinis Island (with what looks like a river on its left side), that I mentioned in my last Irish post.

Muckross House is in the centre of this photo, and Muckross Lake in the foreground.

Finally, having passed on the pleasures during our walk around Muckross Lake of climbing up to Torc Waterfall via the infamous Cardiac Steps, we climbed down to it on our way back from the mountain.

Travertine Dams and a lovely coincidence

Steve and El have been filming in the Forest of Dean, helping to build a case for the Forest to be designated a UNESCO Biosphere, in recognition of its unique landscape and biodiversity. If successful, this will hopefully form a catalyst for organisations to work together in protecting this rich heritage from the ravages of over-commercialisation and over-extraction of precious resources.

Steve and El were lodging for a few nights with my good friend Bridget and mentioned their interest in the Travertine Dams of Slade Brook, and in particular a post written about the dams in a blog called About Angie. “I know Angie!” says Bridget.

Now how's that for an amazing coincidence? After an excited phone call from Bridget, it was settled;  I would take Steve and El to film the dams.

A little bit of science... Travertine Dams are formed when underground water absorbs limestone from the rocks through which it flows. When this water springs to the surface it inevitably splashes over stones and fallen twigs, causing carbon dioxide to be released and the limestone to come out of solution and be deposited on the obstructions. In time these deposits grow to form small dams and waterfalls. The Travertine Dams of Slade Brook are among the best in the world and are already a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) – truly a jewel of the Forest of Dean.

As we made our way to St Briavels, I learned that I wasn't just going to be navigator and guide for the day.  

"Are you willing to be recorded?" they asked. 

"That's fine," said I, "so long as you don't ask me any awkward questions."

"Okay, Angie.  What gave you the idea of writing a blog?"  That was easy – a move from Corwall eight years ago and a whole new forest to explore, together with the glorious Wye Valley and the distant hills of Wales.

How were these Travertine Dams formed?"  I knew the answer to that one (see above) and did my best to explain it 'live'.  This girl was on a roll. "Next question, please."

"What can you tell me about the dangers to the ecology and environment of the Forest of Dean?"

"Um... errr..."

In truth, though, it all went pretty smoothly and I was treated to an hour or so of watching a couple of professionals at work.

 

 

Not only is El a skilled sound recordist, but she's also an accomplished acrobat – a talent that Steve was keen to make use of in his film.  Exactly how acrobatics relate to UNESCO biospheres, I know not, but I've been promised a 'pre-release' look at the film we worked on and feel sure that it will be brilliant. 

Finally, acrobat El and guide Angie posed for a selfie.

Muckross

Muckross House and its extensive estate on the shores of Lough Leane were presented to the Irish nation in 1932, becoming their first National Park. It's grown a bit since then and is a popular destination for visitors from far and wide. During our week's holiday near Killarney we visited it no less than three times – once to see the Traditional Farms, once to walk beside the Lough and around Muckross Lake and once to buy ice creams and rest a while after an exhausting ascent of Torc Mountain. This post describes the lakeside walk; in the next I'll take you up the mountain.

From the large free car park it took a while for us to get our bearings, but we eventually found our way to the ruins of Muckross Friary. Like friaries and monasteries throughout Great Britain and Ireland, this one was dissolved by order of Henry VIII. It then re-established itself 71 years later, only to be finally snuffed out by Oliver Cromwell's lot in 1652.

This Yew tree in the courtyard, surrounded by well-preserved cloisters, must have been a baby when the abbey was in use. I wonder what the abbot would make of it now?

A short walk from the abbey brought us to the shores of lovely Lough Leane.

 

We were now walking along Muckross Peninsula – an ever-narrowing spit of land that separated Muckross Lake from Lough Leane.  The oak woodlands here are important remnants of forests that once dominated the Irish landscape. The writer of our Kerry Walks book, Kevin Corcoran, makes clear his enthusiasm for them:  It is hard to imagine today what a wondrous country Ireland must have originally been. Thus, it is a great delight to learn that a tiny fraction of this forest system has survived, where one can experience to some small degree the glories of the past.

Here I am beside Muckross Lake – a spot that turned out to be perfect for a picnic. Torc Mountain rises behind me.  In the next photo you can seen Brickeen Bridge, with its unusual Gothic arch spanning the meeting of lake and lough.  Crossing that takes one onto Dinish (or Dinis) Island.

 

A little further around Muckross Lake is Dinis Cottage, where they serve tasty but rather expensive refreshments. I made the mistake of not checking prices before ordering two coffees and two small slices of carrot cake, and paid €17 for my folly. That'll teach me to be content with a picnic! 

Unlike the quite footpath that we had been following, this spot was well populated with sightseers, many of whom had arrived by boat from the other end of the lake. Hardy souls that we are, we spurned the boats and continued our trek around the lake.

There are two routes back to Muckross House. One includes a near-vertical ascent of the Torc Mountain foothills on what locals call The Cardiac Steps – not, it would seem, without reason. According to our Kerry Walks book, those who survive are rewarded with spectacular views across Lough Leane before arriving at Torc Waterfall. Neither of us took much persuading to defer these pleasures to another day, when we planned to climb the mountain itself. 

And so back to Muckross House. The name intrigued me as it's hardly a pretty one.  I did my best to impart some dignity by pronouncing it Mer-cross, but the locals I spoked to were happy with Muck-ross. 

In Galic it's Mhucrois, which looks nearer to my pronunciation and means 'Peninsula of the Pigs'.  So muck might be quite near the truth after all!

 

The Gift of The Gab

In my youth (quite recently, that is) I imagined the Blarney Stone to be a lump of rock, conveniently sited on a hillside, which one might easily walk up to and embrace. It isn't. It's actually a block of limestone, built into a rather inaccessible part of Blarney Castle's ancient battlements, 85 feet above ground level.

In the good old days, one kissed it by leaning out into thin air beneath the battlement, while a trusted friend took a firm grip of ones ankles. Not a manoeuvrer for the faint hearted. Thankfully, these days there are protective rails to reduce the risk to life and limb.

As is well known, kissing the Blarney Stone bestows The Gift of the Gab, which, according to one John O'Connor Power, “is something more than mere flattery. It is flattery sweetened by humour and flavoured by wit.” Who would not desire such a gift? How much more progress might I have made in life, free from the social impediment of an underdeveloped wit? Sadly, I shall never know, but the time had come to make good the deficiency.

 

Yes, that's the Blarney Stone at the base of the battlements.

On busy days the queue of folk waiting their turn to kiss the Blarney Stone can snake around the battlements and down the steps to the bottom – a wait of at least an hour. However, at 9.15 on a sunny Saturday morning we had time to treat ourselves to coffee and a sticky bun before ascending to the battlements with no queue at all.

“Be sure to get a good photo!” I said to S-- before projecting myself into thin air – ably assisted, it must be said, by a guy with a reassuringly firm grip on my torso. 

 I gave the stone two quick kisses before being hauled back to safety.  Mission accomplished.