Achill Island, County Mayo

During a visit to western Ireland a few years ago, I marveled at how our tour bus maneuvered around the narrow, winding lanes and steep cliff roads of Achill, Ireland’s largest offshore island. The tour had limited stops, but I saw enough to want to go back, especially since I was writing The Rosewood Whistle, a story partially set in this remote but gorgeous place. The name Achill is thought to stem from eccuill, the Irish word for eagle. Sadly, eagles haven’t been seen there since 1912.

In the summer of 2012, we returned to Achill. My husband drove those high cliff roads, and we stopped wherever we liked. Our drive from Westport took us north, around Clew Bay and through Newport and Mulranny, quaint little Mayo towns with lots of scenic views. We reached the island by crossing the Michael Davitt Bridge, which resembles a big white rib cage.

The scenery soon became a blend of desolate and spectacular. We passed stretches of bogs strewn with stooks, stacked sods of cut turf drying in the sun or beneath sheets of white plastic. Since we had the sun for the moment, we headed west, all the way to Keem Bay. From a lofty vantage point shared with sheep, we admired the horseshoe-shaped beach, one of the prettiest I've seen.

Danger High Cliffs

Most of the road signs were written in Irish, as most of Achill is in the Gaeltacht, an area dedicated to the preservation of the Irish language. When we stopped for lunch at a restaurant claiming to be the westernmost pub in Europe, I overheard a woman speaking in Irish to her young daughters, who answered in English, though they clearly understood what she said. We struck up a conversation (in English), and she explained that she and the kids were attending an Irish language school, something they did every summer.

After lunch, we went hunting for tombs. According to the archaeologists, people have lived on Achill since Neolithic times. Megalithic tombs on the southern slope of Slievemore, the island’s second highest mountain, date to around 4000BC, and we managed to track down the 5,000-year-old Keel East Court Tomb. (A court tomb is one with an open "court" area thought to have had a ceremonial purpose.) This one was a good hike up a steep path, but well worth the trek. We enjoyed fantastic views of Keel Lough and Clew Bay.

Why did the Neolithic people who lived here place their tombs so high on the mountainside? One theory states that heavy forests covered Achill Island when the tombs were erected, and the people chose to inter their dead above the tree line. For more information on this and other ancient Irish tombs, stop by Philip Powell’s wonderful site, Megalithic Monuments of Ireland.

Our next stop was Kildavnet (Kildownet) Cemetery. The tour bus had stopped here years before, and the place has haunted me since. The graveyard is the final resting place of thirty-two young people who drowned in the Clew Bay sailing disaster of 1894. The train that brought their coffins from Westport to Achill fulfilled a prophecy made by 17th century Irish seer, Brian Rua Uí Cearabháin (Red Brian Carabine). Brian Rua foretold that carriages on iron wheels blowing smoke and fire would carry corpses on their first and last journeys to Achill.

 

Sheep wandered through parts of the cemetery, some rubbing their flanks and butting their heads against timeworn tombstones, others munching the grass around the ruins of an ancient church named for St. Dymphna (Damhnait).

A little farther down the road is Kildavnet Castle, one of many medieval tower houses around Clew Bay used as a base of operations by Pirate Queen Grace O’Malley.

We followed part of the Atlantic Drive and viewed more breathtaking cliffs that looked out over Clew Bay and the shimmering ocean beyond, and then we returned, quite contentedly, to Westport.

Heavenly Howth

View of Howth Head
from the East Pier

Ten miles north of the City of Dublin, the fishing village of Howth occupies a neck of land that juts into the Irish Sea. The rugged southern side of this peninsula overlooks Dublin Bay. On the gentler northern side, Howth Harbor provides shelter for fishing trawlers and private yachts. Beyond the small lighthouse on the East Pier, Ireland’s Eye and Lambay Island loom in the distance like sleeping sea monsters. Fancy boutiques and trendy restaurants line Howth’s main street. Splendid homes dot the rolling hillsides right to the top of Howth Head. Foremost among these grand abodes is Garrymuir, a majestic estate that had been in the Boru family for generations.*

View of Howth Harbor
from Howth Head

Okay, I made up that last sentence. Garrymuir only exists in my novels. Still, Howth is the right place for a majestic estate. I blogged about our hurried visit to this charming fishing village late last summer, but this time we stayed longer and had better weather: we did the glorious cliff walk again.

View of the Irish Sea

The Irish name for Howth is Binn Éadair, the "Hill of Edar." Edar, a chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, is supposedly buried on Howth Hill. The modern name of Howth emerged during the medieval influx of Vikings to the Dublin area. It comes from höfuth, the Norse word for headland.

Part of the Cliff Walk

As well as providing a well-set stage for my recently completed YA fantasy, Glancing Through the Glimmer, Howth has served as a venue for many events in Irish myth and history. Finn MacCool and his Fianna (the watchers of the coast, the guardians of the shore) reportedly had one of their many outposts up on the cliffs. Sixteenth century Pirate Queen Grace O’Malley paid Howth an outrageous and memorable visit in 1576 (see my previous post, Howth Therapy). And in 1914, author and Irish patriot Robert Erskine Childers smuggled rifles and ammunition for the Irish Volunteers into Howth Harbor aboard his famous yacht, the Asgard.

Heather Blooming
During a Previous Visit

Our latest visit to Howth took place on an early autumn weekday, and so we nearly had the cliff walk to ourselves. The glorious mounds of purple heather and yellow gorse we recalled from our first visit had faded by late September, though the lack of color hardly spoiled our enjoyment of the sweeping scenery. We trekked to the Bailey Lighthouse, climbed the summit to a wind-whipped stand of palm trees, and finished our hike with a stroll to the harbor to visit the seals.

*From Glancing Through the Glimmer by Pat McDermott



But So Pretty!



Enjoying the View

A Most Feminine Sea Captain

Statue of Grace O'Malley at Westport House

The Town of Westport (Cathair na Mart in Irish: the City of the Beeves) is nestled on the Atlantic coast of western County Mayo, the heart of Pirate Queen Grace O'Malley's territory. Westport is one of Ireland’s few planned towns. In the eighteenth century, the Browne family, owners of the magnificent Westport House, commissioned James Wyatt to design the town to accommodate their workers and tenants. The Brownes are direct descendants of Grace O’Malley, and Westport House stands atop the remains of one of her many castles. Her dungeons are still beneath the house, and we viewed them as part of the self-guided tour we recently enjoyed for the second time.


Dungeons of Westport House





Entrance to Westport House

 

Before visiting Westport House, we spent a pleasant morning strolling the flower decorated stone bridges crossing the Carrowbeg River, the lovely tree-lined Mall, and the town’s inviting streets. We reacquainted ourselves with favorite shops and pubs before stopping into the Tourist Office for a schedule of the ferries that ran to our destination for the next day: Clare Island, the onetime headquarters of Grace “Granuaile” O’Malley. That evening, we attended a Sean-nós dance presentation called Granuaile, loosely based on the life of—you guessed it—Grace O’Malley.



Clare Island Harbor

The next morning, we drove to Roonagh Quay and caught the ferry for a twenty minute ride across Clew Bay. A rainbow shot over the sea as we approached the hills and cliffs of Clare Island, whose most famous resident was sixteenth century chieftain Grace O’Malley. We went ashore and headed straight to the remains of her castle. The square tower wasn’t as big as I expected, but it was still spectacular to see.



View from Clare Island



Grace O'Malley's Castle
Clare Island




Born around 1530, Grace O'Malley was the only child of Dudara “Black Oak” and Margaret O'Malley. The O'Malley clan had ruled over the Clew Bay area for centuries, making their living as seafaring merchants. Even as a young girl, Grace wanted to follow her father to sea. Her parents tried to dissuade her, stating as one of their arguments that her hair would become ensnared in the ship’s rigging. Undaunted, Grace cut off her hair, earning her the nickname Grainne Mhaol, or Grace the Bald, later shortened to Granuaile. She sailed with her father, and legend has it that on one voyage, pirates boarded their ship. Grace saved her father’s life by jumping on the back of a pirate who threatened him. Her refusal to accept English rule eventually landed her at the court of Queen Elizabeth I, where she was received as a queen in her own right. Grace and Elizabeth died in the same year, 1603.



Ruins of Cottage on Clare Island







Clare Island Abbey



Soaking up the history around us, we hiked along roads bordered by buzzing hedges of brilliant red fuchsia, coming at last to the Clare Island Abbey, which houses a canopied tomb in which Granuaile is supposedly interred. The ancient church was locked, but we explored the grounds and hiked some more before returning to the harbor. Too late for the early ferry and much too early for the last ferry, we thought to find a pub or restaurant, but tourist season was past and the restaurants were closed. We met a couple from Dublin in the same proverbial boat, and together we prevailed upon a local hotelier to open up for us. Drinks in hand, we shortened the rest of the afternoon by exchanging delightful tales with our new friends.

Another rainbow arched across the sky when we returned to Westport, a good omen for the next day’s jaunt to Connemara.