368 Miles To The Summer Solstice

The solstice weekend has now become something of a biking tradition; it is usually the perfect time to head away on the bikes – the height of summer. However, so far this year I have yet to witness a summer and unlike 2014, we would be lucky to see the solstice sun. There would be three of us on this run, with Kivi and I leaving Belfast on Friday and Dee joining the merry gang on Saturday, “somewhere near Enniskillen” (I liked the vagueness!). Leaving relatively late on Friday means that we inevitably stay at Meelmore Lodge, nestled at the foot of Slieve Meelmore in the Mourne Mountains. The journey there was in the humidity of a late summer evening, although on the outskirts of Newcastle I noticed that the mountain tops were hidden beneath low cloud that appeared to be tumbling down the sides towards the town, like a whitish grey wave. The campsite makes an ideal base, although the stony ground at the top field makes getting the tent pegs into the ground something of a challenge, and I had pitched my tent at a near 90 degree angle to the slope, almost guaranteeing an uncomfortable night’s sleep – you’d have thought by now I’d have learnt! The next morning began the low clouds were still present, only now mists also rolled ominously down the brown and beige slopes, so it seemed appropriate to have the linings in my Dianese jacket – this would be a decision I would later regret!

The Explorer at Meelmore

I enjoyed the fresh coolness of the morning air with my visor open as we drove to Castlewellan for breakfast at Urban Coffee; another frequent haunt when away on the bikes, although a full fry was probably the last thing my body needed considering we had had an Indian curry the night before! From here we travelled on the more twisty A50 roughly north-west through small villages such as Moneyslane and Katesbridge (outside the latter the River Bann flanks the left [western] side of the road), before heading south to Newry. By this stage the mists had cleared to be replaced by near clear skies, the bike confidently stated the air temperature was 20.5 degrees Celsius, the beads of sweat now starting to roll down my brow seemed to confirm that, at least, the bike’s systems were accurate and working well even if my internal thermostat was going into overdrive! I couldn’t get enough air around me though, no matter how many vents I opened; the lining was not such a bright idea! When we stopped in traffic in Newry the bike’s fans came on, a fitting metaphor for how decidedly uncomfortable I was, so it was with some relief that the A28 to Armagh opened up and the breeze provided relief.

(Top) Navan Fort (Below) Interior of Armagh Cathedral

Armagh has recently become something of a revelation to me, it is a genuinely beautiful town, steeped in history. It was outside Armagh that I directed an archaeological excavation at Emain Macha (Navan Fort) - according to Irish mythology, it was one of the great royal sites of pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland and the capital of the Ulaidh. Excavation showed that beneath the mound had been a huge structure of concentric rings of posts which had been filled with a cairn of boulders. There were also traces of houses, rebuilt on the same spot several times. However, the town of Armagh is also beautiful; the name comes from the Irish Ard Mhacha, meaning ‘Macha's height’ (after the goddess Macha) and this name was later anglicised as Ardmagh eventually becoming Armagh.

Armagh rose to prominence in the 5th Century during the spread of Christianity through Ireland, there was a monastery here raided in the mid-9th Century but most famously this monastery produced the ‘Book of Armagh’ now housed in Trinity College. Brian Bóruma (Brian Boru – a High King of Ireland) is thought to be buried in the grounds of St. Patrick’s (Church of Ireland) Cathedral. Our destination, though, was St. Patrick’s (Roman Catholic) Cathedral. Built in the 1840’s there is, to my eye, something of a Gothic Revival style to the building, although even in the blazing sunshine the twin spires were imposing. My thoughts soon left the architecture and turned to how quickly I could remove the thermal lining in both my jacket and trousers, so I found a spot at the rear of the church and got everything off as quickly as I could (I will not go into detail as to how good the air felt when my trousers came off!). Now more comfortable, I was able to marvel at the church’s decorative and stunning interior, the tiled floors and the high vaulted ceilings imitating the rib-vaultng of splendid Medieval cathedrals. We were there at the same time as a wedding was due to commence, so our visit was, alas, fleeting, but still awe-inspiring. The tiered grounds were exquisitely manicured and gave superb views to St. Patricks (Church of Ireland) Cathedral and the town of Armagh itself - an ideal location then to sit for several minutes basking in the sunshine and the inner peace that riding the bike seems to afford me. 

Our next stop was Enniskillen where we were due to meet Dee; I was glad to leave the traffic behind in Armagh, travelling west on the A5 towards Aughnacloy and Ballygawley. These small towns and villages tend to 'meld' together, the long road seemingly punctuated by these similar little urban clusters. We had been through Aughnacloy on our last bike trip in May, and I remember remarking about how the town seems to have lost its lustre, it seemed like it was 'dying' somehow, and I'm afraid to say this drive-through only seemed to reinforce that earlier impression. Outside Ballygawley, we turned south-east on the A4, passing Colebrooke Estate and Park: the estate is the seat of Viscount and Viscountess Brookeborough, the centrepiece of the 1000 acre estate being the 19th Century neo-Classical country house.

Enniskillen Castle

We met Dee on the banks of the Erne River opposite Enniskillen Castle. The castle has a long past, built in the early 15th century by the Maguires (Mag Uidhir) in a strategic position on the River Erne. Their rule lasted for over 300 years from the end of the thirteenth century to the beginning of the seventeenth century. In the early fifteenth century, one of the junior branch of the Maguires, Hugh 'the Hospitable' Maguire, established a second stronghold at Enniskillen. Hugh Maguire died in 1428 therefore the castle must have been built before then, sometime during the 1420s. The Annals of Ulster record the castle at Enniskillen (or Inis-Ceithlenn) in 1439: “Mag Uidhir was taken prisoner this year (namely, about the feast of St. Patrick) by Domnall Mag Uidhir the Freckled, in the castle of Mag Uidhir himself and Philip was liberated the same day by Domnall. Afterwards, when Henry Ua Neill heard that Mag Uidhir was in custody, he mustered many forces and went to Port-abla-Faelain against Philip and Domnall, with whom Mag Uidhir was in custody. Mag Uidhir was liberated that day and hostages were given for him….and the castle of Inis-Ceithlenn (namely, Inis-Sgeillen) was given to Domnall Mag Uidhir the Freckled.” (Balé et al, 2010, U1439).

The original structure was originally built as a small square tower house surrounded by a curtain wall which frequently came under attack. Following the castle’s destruction in 1508 it was rebuilt, this time much larger and in a rectangular shape. Between 1508 and 1602 the castle was besieged, taken and returned to the Maguire’s no less than six times before it was totally destroyed. Captain William Cole was responsible for the rebuilding of the castle in 1607, during the 18th century the castle was remodelled again to become a military barracks. 

The water-powered saw mill at Florence Court

Now a party of three, we were travelling almost due west on the A4 for Belcoo, I was leading when at a set of traffic lights Kivi pulled up alongside and suggested revisiting the superb National Trust estate of Florence Court. We had visited the estate last year during our 'National Trust tour' and had been impressed with the house and grounds. This time, though, we decided to amble in the grounds rather than re-take the house tour. We discovered the water powered saw mill, something we had missed in 2014, it was fascinating to see the large, and presumably original, water wheel still powering the gears and ban-saw. . Alas we also saw the remains (now unfortunately a mere footprint) of the listed thatched summer house that was burnt down by local 'hoods' in August of 2014.

We were soon at Belcoo which is sited at the meeting point between Lough Macnean Lower and Lough Macnean Upper, the road then seamlessly becomes the N16 towards Sligo and the west. Outside Glenfarne, the road is flanked to the north by the breathtaking Dough / Thur Mountains which are a Natural Heritage Area and further west by the Crockauns / Keelogyboy Bogs Natural Heritage Areas, the Dartry Mountains also lie north towards the coast. We had pulled over on the roadside and I simply looked at awe at the Glencar Lough valley and mountains; they were like a painting, rather than a real landscape before me. Our eventual destination was Strandhill, a camping area and surfing town in which we have begun to stay more and more. We feasted that evening on the burgers in The Draft House (along with a few pints of Guinness!) before I flopped into my tent for a sound and deep sleep (quite in contrast to the previous night in Meelmore). 

On board still shot

Another tradition has become breakfast in Shells Cafe that overlooks the Strandhill beach and shore, this was Dee's first taste of Shells' breakfasts and I don't think he was disappointed! We wanted to travel north towards Drumcliff (the resting place of W.B Yeats) before some brief road time west to Lissadell House. The house has a deep history, probably most famous as the home of Constance Markievicz (née Gore-Booth), better known as the Countess Markievicz - a national hero, symbol, Sinn Féin and Fianna Fáil politician, revolutionary, suffragette and socialist. However, the tour (and I use the term very loosely) cost 12 Euros and all that is open to the public are 4 or 5 rooms (several of which are the basement servants rooms): the house was bought by barristers from Dublin and since their purchase, there has been a rather fraught relationship with the local Council and the wider public, including court cases etc. I think there are over seventy rooms in the house, seventy-two if my memory is correct, so to have just over 6% of the house open and to charge so heavily for the privilege is a little cheeky in my opinion - it works out at just over two Euros per room to view what is allowed! We weren't deflated though, I think each of us was riding high on the camaraderie that biking offers, but more than that we were travelling through some of the most stunning, bucolic, and seductive countryside there is and the bike made us at one with our environment, but the very act of riding the bikes had also given spiritual peace, to me at least.

Outside Drumcliff, we turned east off the N16 following the signs for Manorhamilton, these were the 'back roads' and I can honestly say, they were some of the most beautiful I have ever ridden. The road sits in a valley of sorts, with almost sheer and dynamic hills and mountains almost right beside, they loomed over us. Eventually, the area opens out to the right to Glencar Lough, our destination was the spectacular Glencar Waterfall. Glencar comes from the Irish Ghleann an Chairthe meaning 'lake/glen of the pillar/standing stone'.

The lads shooting the breeze by Glencar Lough / Lake

Glencar Valley lies between the Dartry Mountains to the north and the mountain range including Cope's Mountain to the south. Historically Glencar Valley was known as Glenn-Dallain and was part of the Kingdom of Bréifne. The Kingdom was the territory for an early tribal group known as the Uí Briúin Bréifne. The Bréifne territory included the counties of Leitrim and Cavan, along with parts of County Sligo. At its height in the 12th century, when Tigernán Ua Ruairc was king of Bréifne, it extended from Kells to Drumcliff. The lough contains two crannogs (habited islands) that are mentioned in the Annals of the Four Masters, specifically the eastern crannog. In 1029 there was a reference to: "Hugh O’Ruairc, Lord of Dartry; and the Lord of Carbury; and Aengus O’Hennessy, airinech of Drumcliff; and three core persons along with them, were burned in Innis-na-lainne in Carbury Mor. Innis-na-lainne (i.e., the Sword Island) is certainly the eastern crannoge in that expansion of Glencar River, which is now called Glencar Lake or Lough-na-Glena.” (O’Rorke, 2014). It seems likely that another reference refers to the same event of the burning of noblemen on the crannog: "The eastern Cranoge on the lake of Glen-Dallain was taken by the sons of Donal, son of Donogh O’Rourke, from Donogh. Sometime after the sons of Donogh O’Rourke, namely, Donal and Ferganainm, made an attack on the Cranoge, and privately set fire to the fortress; that act was perceived and detected, and they were pursued on the lake, the son of Donogh was slain, and drowned by them, and Donal having been taken prisoner, was hanged.” (O’Clery, 2003, 418).

Glencar Waterfall

Beside the lough is a walking route seemingly into the forest that is the way to Glencar Waterfall. As we made the approach the sounds of the waterfall is audible before it is visible, and initially it is something of a 'roar'. But as I rounded the corner, the scene that greeted me was so beautiful, it was almost unreal. The falls are approximately 50ft (just over 15metres) in height and the sheer volume and diversity of the plant life around it is like a picture from a rainforest. It seemed impossible, surely, that we were still in Ireland?!

Whilst at the viewing platform, Kivi noticed a Grey Wagtail fluttering near the water surface, presumably feeding 'on the wing'. By following its trajectory we were able to trace where its nest was located. I stood struggling to take in my surroundings, and the talk, inevitably, turned to the next biking trip! It was at this stage, I think, that we all realised the riding now was homeward. We joked as we ate ice-creams in the car park that we could just hop on a ferry and continue the journey (who knows...maybe to Scotland? Europe was also talked about!). But the reality is that jobs have to be worked to pay for the bikes, the equipment and the short trips away. These weekends are like short dreams, a taste of pleasure that is undiluted and pure - the journey home was emotionally now like the weather, grey and overcast.

The journey back towards Belfast was primarily via the main roads, although we did stop in Enniskillen for one last 'pig-out'. It had started to rain periodically and a tirdness had come over all three of us. I don't like motorways; to me they are uninteresting and soulless, grey swathes of dreariness that are there simply to get from A to B as fast as possible. Even larger 'A' roads are preferable, but you see nothing of a country on a motorway, just the dust and pollution stained trees that sit sadly by the hard shoulder.

We have talked about at least one of these trips a month over the summer months, I sincerely hope that they come to pass...I need them, more importantly my soul and spirit needs them.

El Puertito (Diving at 'Turtle Bay')

Ermits Virgen del Carmen in 1949 (Rodriguez Delgado, 2014)

El Puertito means 'small harbour' and is a derivative of the Spanish word 'puerto' meaning port; the whole bay is sheltered by the protruding landscape and steep hills that surround it, it is a natural cove hewed from the volcanic rock that makes up the island. The village is rustic and charming (its original industry was as a small fishing settlement), away from the main tourist trails in Tenerife and not much visited by holiday-makers. It is a little like a hidden gem, used mainly by the locals. The Spanish style buildings are built right against the narrow beach, unsullied by modern development and the somewhat bucolic and pastoral atmosphere is heightened by the presence on the track to the beach by Ermita Virgen del Carmen - a church built in the vernacular style. The Virgen del Carmen is an image found in Matrix Church of Our Lady of the Rock of France in Puerto de la Cruz - it is a venerated image of the Canary Islands. The old image of Carmen was deconsecrated and replaced by a carving by the sculptor Acosta Angel Martin. As I took in my surrounds, however, I was glad to be away from the tourist throngs, even though there were transit vans used by divers parked by the track side, and behind the church were the beginnings of a favela-type settlement. 

The cove is, though, famous for another reason: turtles. This is the reason I had come (an anathema to my own fawning view of the rustic surrounds as I was a tourist, and a conspicuous one in my dive suit!). The waters were entered from the shore, as we were not to be diving to any great depths (I think the maximum depth was 8.2metres). The rocky shore gave way to a mainly sandy seabed, punctuated by occasional outcrops of volcanic rock, out of which all sorts of creatures were curiously trying to see what aliens had landed in their habitat. Then, out of the hazy blue came the first of the turtles. I had forgotten how large they were, but also how graceful they were in the water, initially I simply watched in amazement as it swam right up to me. I am led to believe that during the summer months they are hand-fed by divers - which would also explain their relative tame natures - and hence their curiousness. Their expressions, even though fixed, have always seemed to have human qualities; sometimes frowning and a little forlorn, but their large dark eyes do seem to possess a soul. I could touch the marvellously coloured shells, its only form of protection in a hostile environment. 

Perhaps they act as symbols more than fish do (a bit like whales or dolphins) of the fragility of the ocean environment, with this in mind I became acutely aware of the detritus on the seafloor; beer tins, strands of plastic etc. It was with great relief that I saw Giedre (the dive leader) don a pair of gardening gloves and start collecting the rubbish. Perhaps because the turtles are so seemingly gentle, they acted as a stark reminder of the effects we are having on our environment, I felt a great sense of shame at what we, as a species, had done to this idyllic location. The turtles swam with us until they realised we had no sardines to feed them, so they then made their way out into more open waters. However, as soon as one had done this, another would come in to see if there was any food to be had (I noticed that one had a radio receiver on its shell - clearly the local conservation societies / organisations are keen to track their movements).

This was to be my last dive of this brief stay on the island, it is becoming harder to leave, and as we are frequent visitors it is inevitable that discussions have commenced on a post-retirement plan to move there permanently!

Diving the 'Horse Shoe' Volcanic Formations

Approaching the 'Horse Shoe' formations

My return to Tenerife coincides with diving, it's all I seem to think about when I'm there. It acts as a relaxation method and the serenity when underwater is both unusual and unique; the only similar experience is when riding my motorbike, and these two activities are what give me spiritual peace - although biking is the marginal winner! I took the earliest opportunity to contact Enrique at Sa Caleta Dive Centre, a warm hug and handshake the usual greeting. I booked the dives for Tuesday and was out on the boat by 10:00am. The weather was overcast, and the usual sunlit seascapes would be duller and more shadow(y) as a result, but this has its own advantages as sometimes creatures that would stay hidden during brighter conditions come out. The location was to be the 'horse shoe' volcanic rock formations off the coast of Palm Mar. Palm Mar is a 'resort' (I use the term very loosely) situated away from the mainstream tourist locations, and it therefore more quiet, people who buy properties here want peace and quiet and a more Spanish idyllic lifestyle. The 'horse shoe' formations are pretty much as their name suggests, large 'U' shaped volcanic rock formations under the water, they run in a line and are are steep sided and popular with divers. I have noticed that there are many formations are similar to the Giant's Causeway back home, itself a result of volcanic activity, and the situations that caused its formation must have been similar, if not identical to the Canary Islands; that is rapid cooling of volcanic lava by sea water to form 'columns' of rock.  

An octopus (centre of picture) makes its escape

At first the dive was somewhat uneventful, nothing but a few Bream swimming about curiously to look at, but after leaving the 6-7m depth (where I had knelt on a Sea Urchin lodging 4 spines into my left kneecap) over 20m there was more activity to see. There were Damsel Fish, brilliantly coloured, guarding their individual sites, darting towards anything (including me) that got within a dangerous range. They seem fearless and are clearly devoted to their cause! The 'knooks' and 'crannies' usually provide a wealth of sea life, and there was a large eel, complete with spiked teeth, turning its head sideways to enable its large eye to keep watch on us, in the distance a young Sting Ray swam obliviously around, disturbing the sandy patches of the sea floor in its search for food. I have noticed that the Sea Urchin population seems to be increasing rapidly; large sections of the (rock) sea floor seem to be covered in this black spiked 'carpet'. I have fallen victim to their spines on more than one occasion, but I am unsure whether this is a good or bad sign for the island's ecology.

Wrasse and Bream feast upon Sea Urchin[s]

Overall, though, the waters seemed relatively lifeless; there were shoals of fish, but there were no significant numbers of Rays, Turtles or Dolphins, perhaps as a result of the currents or the cooler temperatures, but the variety of sea life here was stark by its absence. By now I was approaching 50bar in my tank, and the swim back to the anchor line commenced. But it was on this return journey that we encountered an octopus, quite large (approximately 50-60 centimetres in length) perched on top of a rock. At first it kept quite still, observing the divers around it in reciprocated curiosity before darting off in a puff of ink away from prying eyes. At the anchor location, there was a feeding frenzy; mainly of Ornate Wrasse and Striped Bream, feasting on Sea Urchins. They swarmed to the food, now not caring about the divers in their midst! It felt like revenge for my stinging left knee (not exactly good Karma, but I couldn't help but think it!). The skies had cleared on my return to the surface and the sun felt good on my salt covered skin. Once back in the dive centre and with the equipment cleaned, I immediately booked two further dives - for Friday 12th and Saturday 13th June, alas after that it will be too close to my flight home to go diving again (I have had mild Bend on a plane home, it is an experience I never wish to repeat). The locations are uncertain, a lot depends on the weather, currents, number of divers etc, s this vagueness adds to the excitement - there's nothing like not knowing where you are going to add to a sense of adventure!