A land of complexity by its own decree
With bountiful green and shimmering sea.
A charm of ruggedness in places abound,
The beast of burden still there to be found.
Pastures grazed tell of the Irish hare
And ancient chestnuts, forever rare.
Giants traverse the rock and stone,
O’Kelly’s orchid, pure and grown.
Blackbird song greets the morn with acclaim,
A cinnabar fleeting, redden with flame.
Both robin and wren awaken the dawn,
Low in the lands of the mountains of mourne.
Natural mystique lies in the avenue of beech,
Faeries there lurking the shadowy reach.
Both red deer and wheatear further beguiled,
An island of beauty, brimming with wild.
In the time past since my last post I have journeyed the Northern Irish coast, traversed down the West Atlantic Way and crossed back across the heart of Ireland before venturing north to Belfast for the return ferry home. I’d be lying if I claimed that the main motivation for the trip was just the nature, as it was undeniably part Guinness also.
Whilst both were equally as exceptional, it is the Irish nature that I will focus on here. Undoubtedly the most surprising element of the trip was the fact that not only did it never rain, we barely even witnessed a cloud, with temperatures consistently hovering around the high twenties. As a lady in Galway calmly stated “It isn’t usually like this you know, everyone is in a good mood with this weather. They’re usually all fecking miserable.”
The Giant’s Causeway on the edge of the Antrim plateau.
Rambling through the northern coastline was special. More dramatic and awe-inspiring than I could have anticipated. Iridescent waters as clear as the clichéd Caribbean with a rugged backdrop of imposing rock face and the salt-loving flora of coastal meadows.
A visit to the Giant’s Causeway was a must as it features around 40,000 huge basalt columns protruding out of the sea which has inspired the folkloric legend of the giant Finn McCool who with the help of Benandonner (a Scottish giant) moved these huge rocks in order to cross the sea to fight one another. Geological studies however have shown that this unique landscape was caused by volcanic activity some 50–60 million years ago. Whichever may be the truth regarding this wonder, that is up to you to decide.
Stop-offs at Mussenden Temple, the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, White Park Bay and Murlough Bay brought some particularly credible highlights of orchid-rich meadows, scarlet pimpernel blanketing sandy loam, burnet rose adorning the sand dunes, the comical ‘aah-woo’ sound of common eider and sea gooseberries washed up on the shore.
Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. The name, from the Gaelic 'Carraig-a-Rade', means 'The Rock in the Road'. Rathlin island can be seen in the background.
Burnet rose (Rosa pimpinellifolia).
Orchids at Mussenden.
The jelly-like, transparent body of a sea gooseberry. A voracious predator that will even cannibalise.
A shag airing out its wings.
Keeping a close eye on my movements.
Common eider male and a perfectly camouflaged female.
Liophloeus tessulatus, a type of weevil on the beach at White Park Bay.
Moving on against the grain temporarily eastwards to the small village of Cushendun, with more remarkable coastal meadows on the horizon; bursting with yellow rattle, ox-eye daisies and southern marsh orchids with foxgloves and yellow iris decorating the perimeters. I’m always drawn in by a little local folklore and on the outskirts of Cushendun lies the Loughareema or ‘the vanishing lake.’ It is so called as one day it is full of brown peat water and the next day it is a desolate dry wilderness of cracked mud. Some call it the ‘enchanted’ lake. At midnight it is said to be haunted by a coach-man and horses, recalling some 150 years ago a coach loaded with passengers galloped into a watery grave when the lake was in full flood.
Perhaps the pinnacle of Northern Ireland for me was a much-hyped and probably now world famous avenue of beech trees, planted in the 18th century by James Stewart to line the entrance to his home at Gracehill House. Little did he know just how famous these 150 or so tree saplings would become.
Thanks to the Game of Thrones series, Na Fálta Dorcha - The Dark Hedges on the Bregagh road has gained massive popularity in recent years, posing as the Kings Road in the show. With all the hype I had dumbed down the whole thing before I even got there, preparing myself for disappointment. I need not have bothered. Passing through in the evening just as the light was beginning to change, it was quiet, peaceful and utterly spectacular.
The Dark Hedges. A dramatic beech-lined avenue in the Northern Irish countryside.
Continuing westward passing through Derry/Londonderry and crossing the border into the Republic of Ireland, County Donegal was next on the map and brought more soul-stirring coastland with the added bonus of staying in a converted shipping container over a pond full of dragons and damsels.
Room with a view.
Large red damsefly on a uncomplimentary pink chair.
Trawenagh Bay, Co. Donegal.
The usually nocturnal black snail beetle Phosphuga atrata at Dooey Beach, Donegal.
A walk up to Slieve League, an imposing mountain on the Atlantic coast of County Donegal gifted an animated display of northern wheatears. Large numbers of them flitted in and out of the crags, calling out to one another from their rock-strewn perches. Many of which were carrying caterpillars in their bills, providing me with a peek at my first ever juvenile wheatear.
A patient juvenile waiting for a food delivery.
Male wheatear with supplies.
Charming coastal habitats were definitely the theme of this trip and after a couple of days in the wonderful county of Sligo, it was Achill island in County Mayo that epitomised this with some of the most pristine scenery I have come across. But passing further inland through the rolling hills of Connemara and down to the south-western edge of County Galway, the sprawling countryside was overflowing with wildlife. Brown hares, red deer, the sound of cuckoos reverberating in the distance, countless wildflower meadows - orchids galore, resounding numbers of willow warblers, soprano pipistrelle bats, cinnabar moths and even a beautiful common darter dragonfly.
Achill Island, Co. Mayo.
Keem Beach, Achill Island.
Wildflower meadow in Kinvara, Co. Galway.
Eyebright.
The snow-white appearance of O’Kelly’s orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii var. okellyi) on the Burren, an area of limestone pavement in the south west of Ireland.
Cinnabar moth (Tyria jacobaeae).
The unmistakeable bee orchid (Ophrys apifera), Co. Galway, Ireland.
Red deer hind, Connemara, Co. Galway.
Common darter (Sympetrum striolatum).
Connemara National Park.
Meadow rook.
Ox-eye daisies aplenty.
The final leg of the journey brought us further inland, away from the Wild Atlantic Coast through the lake county of Westmeath, where I indulged in a visit to my ancestral villages of Castlepollard, Collinstown and the town of Kilbeggan, whose near 300 year old whiskey distillery is still powered to this day by its original mill on the River Brosna.
Leaving behind the picturesque Lough Derravaragh for County Down and Northern Ireland, one last outing was on the cards, this time in the foothills of the Mourne mountains.
Castle Ward, the home of Winterfell hosts some irreplaceable ancient and veteran trees and the nearby Tollymore forest provided a wondrously atmospheric stroll through mixed woodland, past rivers bustling with brown trout and glimpses of secretive jays, majestic giant redwoods and deodar cedars.
Jay at Tollymore Forest, Co. Down.
A warning.
Ancient sweet chestnut at Castle Ward.
Water avens (Geum rivale) at Pollnagollum Cave.
Tollymore Forest river shot.
The vast amount of wildlife and panoramic topography on display throughout this passage through the upper half of Oileán na héireann - the island of Ireland was nothing short of magnificent. Plans for next year’s crossing are already bubbling.
Until next time, thank you Ireland. You have been outrageously good.