One of these rings is not like the other

view from Caherdaniel, Ring of Kerry

Shortly after our drive around the Ring of Beara, I started talking about our upcoming trip to the Ring of Kerry. “What?” asked Marcus. “We’ve already done one ring. Why do we need to do another?” I knew where this was coming from: the nerve-wracking driving was beginning to take its toll. If we are going to see what this Ring of Kerry is all about, I’d better keep it short and sweet. I’ll pick a few sights that most appeal to us, and I’ll let the driver pick the roads.

There were a couple of Bronze-Age stone forts I wanted to see, and I thought Marcus would appreciated the design and construction. There was an arts centre I wanted to check out, and Marcus picked out a short hike with a view of the Skelligs (two islands ten miles off the coast of Kerry). The cliffs of Kerry, the Bridge Bar in Portmagee for lunch. Then across the bridge to Valentia Island for the views. (I had a sneaking suspicion Valentia was going to be the hit of the day, but perhaps that was just my views-from-the-edge-of-anywhere obsession.) Then the ferry back to the mainland and back home. It was only half the Ring, and perhaps a quarter of the sights, but sometimes less is more. Marcus approved the roads and driving time. Done.

We chose to travel the ring clockwise because the tour buses travel anti-clockwise, as they say here. (If a tour bus leaves Killarney at 10:00 traveling west on the Ring of Kerry at 80 mph, and a car leaves Kenmare, 20 miles to the south of Killarney, at 11:00 traveling at 10 mph…. Sounds like one of those annoying math word problem, doesn’t it?) My devious plan worked though: not getting stuck behind buses in traffic reduced our travel time, and encountering only a few oncoming buses on those narrow roads drastically reduced our collective stress level.

To sum up our experience: the stone forts were cool, the arts centre closed, the trailhead too difficult to find, the cliffs crawling with tourists, the Bridge Bar fantastic, and I was right about Valentia Island. If you only do one thing on the Ring of Kerry, drive straight to the island, drive up Geokaun Mountain, and walk the loop trail for 360° views from the edge of Ireland. And Mother Nature gave us an additional treat: From our vantage point 600 feet above sea level, we watched the most impressive curtain of rain sweeping in from the North Atlantic, dousing the Skelligs, and marching across Valentia Island.

Beara may have been beautiful in its quiet, endearing way, but Kerry is unabashedly breathtaking! Something I have to keep reminding myself: Travel is not about bragging rights to accomplishing a destination; it’s about choosing what’s important to you and allowing yourself time to savor it.

Killarney National Park, Part II

on the shores of Muckross Lake

The north end of Killarney National Park is distinguishable from the town of Killarney only by the wrought iron fence that surrounds it. Its open pedestrian gates and unrestricted entry give it more the feel of a town park than the sprawling 25,000-acre national park that it is. The park is comprised of two formerly privately owned 19th-century estates. The 11,000-acre Muckross estate was donated to the Free State of Ireland (the Republic, in its infancy) in 1932, creating the first national park in Ireland. A large portion of the almost-adjacent Killarney House estate was sold to the Republic in 1978 under the condition that it would be incorporated into the national park.

the rhodies are just starting to bloom

Today the park is dedicated to the conservation of several distinctive ecosystems: bogs, lakes, moors, mountains, rivers, woodlands, parks, and gardens. Of primary interest are the oak and yew woodlands. Two-thirds of the oak woodlands have been consumed by rhododendrons brought in from the Near East in the early 19th century to provide protective shelter for wild game. One flower can produce 3000-7000 seeds, and the branches take root wherever they touch soil. They absolutely thrive in the acid soil and mild, Gulf Stream climate of the park. The yews are being threatened by over-grazing.

The park has the most extensive covering of native (old growth) forest remaining in Ireland, and it’s home to the only red deer herd on the mainland.

Today we captured it all (minus the red deer) on one eight-mile hike around Muckross Lake, the middle of the three lakes of Killarney. Here’s a selection of what we saw.

Killarney National Park, Part I

southern entrance to Killarney National Park

Killarney National Park, more than 25,000 acres of lakes, woodlands, and mountains…. What’s not to love? There was so much I wanted to do in this park, I had to give it two days. 

First priority: Get out in it. The southern approach, from where we’re staying in Kenmare, took us through an incredible glacier-cut valley filled to the brim with spectacular scenery. And, as you can imagine, rollercoaster roads throughout as we rose and fell, dipped and swerved through the terrain.

the three lakes of Killarney

The primary attraction in this neck of the woods is the three lakes of Killarney. From Ladies View (so named because Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting swooned as they took in the view on a visit with Her Majesty in 1861) you can see all three interconnected lakes as they stretch from south to north: Upper Lake, the smallest but highest in altitude; Muckross Lake, the deepest of the three; and way in the distance Lough Leane, by far the largest and the one that graces Killarney town. These three lakes comprise one quarter of the national park by area, and they are definitely swoon-worthy.

MacGillycuddy’s Reeks, Ireland’s tallest mountains, flank the west side of the park

Drowned rivers

the drowned Kenmare River

In my blog about the Beara Peninsula, I mentioned that what is referred to as the Kenmare River, the body of water between the Beara Peninsula and the Iveragh Peninsula, looks more like a bay–not only because of its width, but because there is no sense of it running into the sea as you would expect of a river. It looks more like, well, the sea itself.

I just learned that the Kenmare River is what is called a “drowned river.” During the last Ice Age, glaciers cut gorges between the harder rock of what are now the mountainous peninsulas. When the glaciers melted, water began to run off the land through these gorges into the sea, becoming rivers. But eventually the rivers deepened the gorges to the point where the level of the river was lower than sea level. Sea water began to backfill the gorges, “drowning” the rivers. What amazing geography!

Cliff walk

Ardmore, County Waterford

It was a gloriously sunny day, and I wanted to be outside. I had read about a cliff walk in the nearby town of Ardmore. There are no two words in the English language more compelling together than “cliff” and “walk,” are there?

kayakers in Ardmore Bay

We stopped in the town of Lismore first, walked around a bit and had lunch. Then we drove on to Ardmore. It was 3:30 in the afternoon by the time we got there. We drove to the spot that Google Maps identifies as the trailhead. A hotel? We drove into the long, narrow car park, but couldn’t find an available spot. Obviously we were not the only ones wanting to get outside on this beautiful day. We wiggled our way back out and snagged a spot on the street where a car was just pulling out. Score!

and other sun seekers

We were walking back toward the hotel when I spotted a sign pointing up the hill that read “Cliff Walk.” How fortuitous! We trudged up the hill.

As is typical, we’ve found, there were no further signs. We saw a local woman walking her dog and asked if we were on the path to the cliff walk. She looked at us, confused for a second, then said, Yes, they’ve plowed up a field, but you can take the next street.

Kinda vague: Field? Street? Maybe it will be obvious when we get there. We walked on.

at world’s end?

We spotted several plowed fields, multiple streets, and a castle-looking building that appeared to be at world’s end. Perhaps it’s on a cliff! We tried to get to it, but every street led to a plowed field that blocked our path. “If the next street doesn’t lead to a cliff walk,” I told Marcus, “we’re giving up.” Twenty minutes later we were returning to the car.

As we came back down the hill, I had a thought. “I’m just going over to the hotel for a minute.” I had seen something at the end of the car park that I want to check out. There was a path marked “St. Declan’s Hermitage.” No mention of a cliff walk, but maybe… I started down the path, and, sure enough, it led beyond the hermitage to some cliffs overlooking the Celtic Sea.

I ran back to get Marcus. It was 4:30 by this time. We had no idea how long the path was. Should we just call it a day? Of course not! Have I taught you nothing? [Backtracking in the Wicklow Mountains]

cliff diving

I would like to say that, confident in our decision, we walked with abandon, but that’s not us. At every bend in the path we stopped to reassess: What time is it? Should we turn back now? Is it getting dark? (We have an obsession with time, and a tendency toward overthinking.)

just to the next ridge…

Fortunately, every bend revealed something intriguing that propelled us to the next one until we had completed the entire walk. It took us 35 minutes to walk out, but only 15 to return. And we still had hours of daylight ahead of us.

Love at first sight

St. Colman’s Cathedral

What is it about tall church spires that make me weak in the knees? When I first saw the Salisbury Cathedral spire in England six years ago, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had the eeriest feeling that I had seen (dreamt of?) it before. It inspired me to read The Spire, a dark little novel by William Golding about the building of the cathedral—not the uplifting paean to Early English architecture I was hoping for, but then again he also wrote Lord of the Flies.… 

The day we arrived in Cobh, we crested a hill, descended into the heart of the town, and there it was: the ridiculously tall and blatantly gothic spire of St. Colman’s Cathedral, perfectly framed by the buildings on either side of the street and the water of Cork Harbor as a backdrop. As luck would have it, our apartment is right around the corner, with a balcony and double French doors that look out over the cathedral and harbor.

Salisbury’s spire rises 404 feet above flat marshland. The vertical rise is astonishing, but you get that perspective best from a distance.

In Cobh, the spire is a mere 325 feet high, but the cathedral is built on the side of a hill. Its foundation is another 121 feet above sea level. So the spire looms 446 feet above the harbor just beyond it.

And (did I mention?) it’s right outside my window!

St. Colman’s is the first thing I look for each morning—even before my first sip of coffee (there’s not much I look for before coffee)—and the last thing I gaze upon each night. We leave the lights off in our apartment at night and watch the sky darken and the cathedral illuminate itself. What is handsome and regal by daylight becomes drop-dead gorgeous at night. I’m besotted!

Cóbh

view of Cork Harbour from our apartment

For our third week in Ireland, I wanted to stay in Cork: second largest city in the Republic of Ireland, seat of the largest county, culinary capital of the country, vibrant university town, active pub scene, and home to many fine craft breweries. But Airbnb wasn’t coming up with anything I was willing to rent. There was, however, a very fine self-catering apartment in a hotel in nearby Cóbh….

Victorian gazebo on the waterfront in Cóbh

Cobb? Never heard of it. My Fodor’s guidebook doesn’t even have it. It wasn’t until we were watching a documentary on Ireland several months ago that I heard the name said aloud; it’s pronounced Cove. And it wasn’t until a couple of days ago that I learned that Fodor’s does have it, but they call it Cork Harbour. It is, indeed, at the mouth of the River Lee, about 10 miles downriver from Cork.

crescent houses on the hillside

Cóbh went by several different Irish names before the British started calling it Cove, short for Cove of Cork. When Queen Victoria visited in 1849 to check in on the famine victims, Cove was renamed Queenstown, which I find ironic. She didn’t even get off the royal yacht while she was here, but chose to stay on board so she could sketch and paint. 

the Titanic tender carried passengers from this pier to the ship just outside the harbor

If you’ve ever read any books about Irish emigration, you’ve probably heard of Queenstown. Many ships, even if they originated in other Irish cities, called in at Queenstown as the last port of call before heading out to North and South America or Australia. Queenstown was the final port of call for the Titanic, too, in 1912. When the Free State of Ireland was created in 1918, the Irish went back to using the name Cove, although with the Irish spelling. The word cóbh has no meaning in Irish.

Belvelly Castle

This city has so many aliases, it’s amazing we found it at all! But we are glad we did. It is a beautiful little seaside resort, and we have a spectacular view of the harbor from our apartment up here on Spy Hill. And should we feel the need, Cork is only a 20-minute drive away.

The new kids on the block

We’ve been very impressed with the new craft beers that have exploded onto the Irish pub scene in the last year or so. Some are starting to threaten the mainstay, Guinness. Once considered THE Irish beer, Guinness has been dethroned in some pubs here, as in not available. We understand that some regulars have walked out of pubs in protest. But we say, move over Guinness. These guys are true contenders!

The Vikings have landed

Reginald’s Tower, the original Viking settlement in Waterford (courtesy of TripAdvisor)

There’s much talk of the British occupation of Ireland. It did, after all, last for 800 years, nearly wipe out the Irish race, and end only a century ago. Less devastating, and also less well known, was the Viking occupation of Ireland (okay, mostly the south and east) just prior to the British occupation. The Vikings were here for over 1000 years, and were generally well received.

A brief history and geography lesson: Ireland was never part of the Roman Empire, although England was. Only 47 miles, the width of the Irish Sea, separate the two countries, yet the Romans never bothered to make the trip over to take Ireland. Maybe it was because Ireland was too remote from the rest of Europe, adrift on its own in the Atlantic, or maybe the stories of the crazed Irish warriors who rode naked and screaming into battle was a bit too much for their civilized sensibilities. Regardless, Ireland was, for the most part, left to its own devices, which means the Irish were free to tend their cattle, enjoy a good céilí (shindig) now and then, and take in as much craic (fun) as they could handle. Apart from the occasional cattle raid or dethroning a king or two, they led a fairly peaceful existence. Which left them wide open to invasion by Vikings.

inside Reginald’s tower, an excellent Viking museum

The Vikings were quite accomplished sailors and were bound to want to explore (i.e. pillage and plunder) the vast Atlantic coastline sooner or later. They started popping in on their Irish neighbors to the south in the 8th century, and quickly discovered that the Irish monasteries held a wealth of treasures: beautifully illuminated manuscripts, objects made of Irish gold, and other glorious things. By the 10th century, the Vikings began contemplating permanent settlement on this emerald island with so many natural, deep-water harbors. In 914 they chose a location on the southern coast and named it Wetherfjord (literally “rams fjord,” later anglicized to Waterford), built a round tower fortress with an enclosed camp, and settled in for a long and happy life. The Vikings accepted the local Christian religion, intermarried with the local people, and established the first cities, or commercial centers, in Ireland, a concept foreign to the native cattle farmers.

They were quite content for over 1000 years, until one of the Irish kings who was deposed of his kingdom, which included Waterford, by the High King of Ireland decided to take it back. In 1170, Diarmait Mac Murchada and a Welsh mercenary, Richard de Clare (aka Strongbow), took Waterford from the Vikings. Mac Murchada died shortly afterward and his holdings, and daughter, went to Strongbow as promised in return for his help. Henry II, king of England, a little concerned that this upstart Welsh mercenary was taking lands that he felt rightly belonged to England, decided to pay a visit to Ireland. Thus began the official British occupation.

odd-looking Viking we encountered in Waterford

Sun!

In the car, on our drive into County Tipperary, we were debating which we should visit first: the Rock of Cashel or the Glen of Aherlow. We may not be able to fit both into our day, so which was the higher priority? As we approached Cashel, we decided we would let location be our guide. Rock of Cashel it was!

We rounded a curve in the road. The Rock (stay tuned for a future broadcast) loomed high on the horizon and the clouds pulled back to reveal the sun after two of the longest, wettest, windiest, chilliest, dreariest days I have experienced since, hmm, Oregon in December. 

🎶 Ahhh-AHHH! 🎶 Were those angels singing? Obviously, we had made the right decision.

We came across this sculpture at the Rock’s visitor center. I know just how they feel!