September 4-9, 1998

September 4-9, 1998

This morning we visit Aimee’s oldest uncle. He is a bachelor and lives alone on a cattle farm. He hasn’t let progress alter his lifestyle. He still has no indoor plumbing and heats his small farmhouse by burning turf (peat) in the large cooking fireplace. His only nod to modernity is a telephone and electricity for his tiny TV. It is early morning and he serves me a shot of whiskey for breakfast. We talk around his kitchen table but I have no idea what he is saying. I can’t understand his brogue so I just smile and nod. After an hour we take him for a ride to the local “big city” of Ballina. It sits at the mouth of the River Moy famous for salmon fishing. Instead of touring (or fishing) we stop at a pub for another shot of whiskey. I am thinking I got to take this guy home while I can still drive.

The next couple days we stay with Aimee’s cousin in Castlebar. She graciously takes us around to see some of the sights in county Mayo. We drive north to the coast to Downpatrick Head to see the sheer rocky ocean cliffs. They are tall with crashing ocean waves far below. Somehow sheep manage to crawl partway down to nibble on grass ledges. I wonder how many end up falling into the sea. A hundred yards off shore is a lone sea stack. It used to be connected to the mainland until the adjoining land fell away some 700 years ago. Nearby is a sinkhole. When I peer into it I can see the sea far below. I suddenly get very nervous knowing the ocean undermines this whole area. Not wanting to go for a sudden swim I carefully tiptoe back to where Aimee and her cousin are waiting.

A short drive to the west is the Ceide Fields. This is an area of peat bogs. Archeological digs have unearthed ancient farms, stone walls, houses and tombs. The Visitor Center explains that Ireland was heavily pine forested at the end of the last Ice Age when men first arrived. These Neolithic immigrants cleared the trees for sheep and cattle pastures. The loss of trees caused greater rainfall turning much of Ireland into unproductive bogs. As bogs age the accumulated organic material decays into peat (called ‘turf’ by the locals), a predecessor to coal. The Irish have traditionally dug up brick-shaped pieces of turf, let it dry in the sun, and burned it in their fireplaces for heat and cooking as we might use firewood. Aimee’s uncle still does.

The next day we drive west toward the town of Westport. It is a cute touristy town that overlooks Clew Bay, a pretty ocean inlet choked with thousands of small islets. We drive west to Croagh Patrick, the tallest mountain in the area. St. Patrick, who brought Christianity to Ireland, supposedly fasted and prayed atop it for forty days. Climbing it is a pilgrimage for many the Irish. We start to hike up it but change our minds after we notice storm clouds at the peak. We stop high enough to get a good view of Clew Bay before returning to Westport for dinner.

The next day we drive south to Ballintubber Abbey and stroll its ruins. From there we go to Cong, a village made famous as the film location for John Wayne’s “The Quiet Man”. We walk from the ruins of Cong Abbey, across a small river, and through a thick forest where we come across a single tower hidden in the canopy. It is a tight climb to the top of Leonard’s Tower. Many medieval abbeys had this tall narrow tower. They were a place of refuge for monks during Viking raids. Further along we emerge at Ashford Castle. First a fortification, and later a country house for the Guinness family, it is now a high-priced grand castle-hotel with manicured lawns. We stroll the grounds and walk the castle walls. It is very picturesque.

Another day we drive out to the northwest corner of County Mayo and across the bridge to Achill Island. There we stroll the beach, which is littered with giant kelp. Nearby is Achill Island Golf Course. I want to play some golf while in Ireland, but I have to laugh. This coastal Links course is perfectly flat with nary a tree or bush. The only hazards I see are sheep! There are dozens on the course to keep the fairways trimmed. I stop in the pro-shop to check out the cost, but I am waylaid by a group of older lady golfers who force me to join them for a drink. Aimee and her cousin, wondering where I am, eventually come in laughing at this scene.

On Sunday, we attend church at the modest local Catholic Church. A few blocks down is the much nicer stone church I learn is Anglican. I guess when the English ruled Ireland they must have converted all the best churches to Anglican (Church of England) and left the Catholic Irish to fend for themselves.