tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81155883353061277142024-03-14T00:01:38.438+00:00Alternate RoadA blog about travel including motorbike overlanding, history, diving, photography, documentary film making, writing and archaeology. Specializing in Irish travel and history. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-5518447232180728892023-09-25T16:30:00.002+01:002023-09-25T16:46:02.679+01:00Journey to the Hill of the Witch<p style="text-align: justify;">As the somewhat enigmatic title suggests, there was a focal point for this particular journey - the first in over a year on a bike for me, the Triumph trickle charging in the garage, unloved, for all that time since the highs of the Wales adventure. Life has a peculiar way of just steamrolling on and trips away are becoming more and more infrequent as jobs, parenthood, old[er] age continue - time truly waits for no man! I think I had said in another post that I thought - naively - that I would have more time when I got to middle age; the truth is I have much less. The bike had no MOT - so when a plan to see Loughcrew megalithic complex formed, it was the ideal opportunity to kill many birds with one stone. I booked an MOT in Derry for the same day of leaving (a bit of a risk, but the Triumph is serviced regularly and garaged, so I was confident there were no defects) - sure enough she sailed through. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">But shortly after this joy the weather began to close in from the west - angry clouds combined with early Autumn dusk translated to a very wet and windy journey south to the camping spot for that evening - Strandhill. I don't mind riding in the dark, but combine that with, at times, vicious cross-winds and heavy rain through the <i>Tamhnaigh an Mhullaigh</i> mountains (and <i>An Bearnas Mór</i> [Barnesmore] Gap) it was interesting to say the least. However, even in those conditions, the way the road plunges through those peaks is something to behold; they rise like great shadows to the immediate right and left, dwarfing you in the process. Absolute blind trust has to be placed in your machinery in such conditions. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>An Leathros</b></u></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It had been a long time since I had been in Strandhill; the place has a very agreeable vibe to it - maybe it's due to it primary 'function' as a surfing destination, maybe it's the presence of <i>Cnoc na Riabh</i> and <i>Binn Ghulbain</i> that seem to surround the settlement or a combination of many factors, but there is a sense of being in the present when there. It was dark when we arrived and the immediate priority was to pitch the tents in what feels like an extension of the dune systems right next to the shoreline. </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXH4YXNwTvFmTs7qJHDjhKeMAFOWOaUJrU5-fm9rU_FuB3sfbeadXvXpDzKiU8QTgrW0_VNNQ3OSxx6Fq1vEwfuMRC04KjXtvzTApffHmkPQTwun-8aYxt3lXl2ovWAfe73guy8wxSummW3r-BI54N1matmdbz25kdwE1EI-8EvCMJVFqm2EIQVHpJS4/s4032/SH.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXH4YXNwTvFmTs7qJHDjhKeMAFOWOaUJrU5-fm9rU_FuB3sfbeadXvXpDzKiU8QTgrW0_VNNQ3OSxx6Fq1vEwfuMRC04KjXtvzTApffHmkPQTwun-8aYxt3lXl2ovWAfe73guy8wxSummW3r-BI54N1matmdbz25kdwE1EI-8EvCMJVFqm2EIQVHpJS4/w400-h225/SH.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The camp site in the Dunes at Strandhill<br /></i><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">The noise of the ocean has always had an affect on me, I need to be near water - always have done. Rolling countryside is beautiful, but water is - literally and metaphorically - essential for me. Once camp was set up, we meandered to the Strand Bar for pints of Guinness and craic. I had in my head that it was a Friday, so had to remind myself that it was a Wednesday on entering to find it more quiet that last visits. A Trad trio playing agreeably in the corner added to the atmosphere. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">That night I fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach - the noise become hypnotic in a way, but has a very grounding effect. The tents hunkered within the dune system that provides some shelter from the wind. I was surprised to see other campers there, I had thought around this time of year it would be empty, but then again why wouldn't others also have the same idea as us? It was only interrupted by Kivi struggling in the dark to get out of his tent, zips can be a nightmare! As is tradition, the morning is completed with breakfast in Shells before breaking camp and travelling towards <i>Binn Ghulbain</i> - which faces the road out of Strandhill. In the daylight, its sheer rocky top sits above the grassy lower slopes and it is symbolic of being in 'Yeats' Country'. But it is significant in myth that far predates Yeats; it was the hunting ground for the <i>Fianna, </i>it is also the setting for the setting for the story of '<i>The Pursuit of Diarmuid and Gráinne</i>'. St Columba is also said to have fought a battle on the plain beneath at <i>Cúl Dreimhne </i>in the mid-6th Century.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>Turas Thoir</u></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Initially eastwards on the R292, we turned southwards skirting Lough Gill on the R287 crossing over into <i>Liatroma</i> (Leitrim). The Leitrim countryside is noticeably more rugged than some of the other surrounding counties, at times the roads became little more than surfaced tracks complete with grass in the middle, a contrast to sweeping turns of 'R' roads but adding variety to the biking. Our destination was a stop at <i>Mainistir na Craoibhe Léithe</i> (Creevelea Abbey) located in the ancient kingdom of <i>Bréifne Ua Ruairc </i>(West Bréifne) that existed from 1256 - 1605. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4qX7fZLQ80xKIsI_ttbqcPwjY7Ld8yWrST0uGPDDmePiuYZ2ZmxFUK8YcY4s0uqo5bXlzOM7fJDRM7KcWJwgvtheDuNgSZIHP25A-HPzm9eaKpGqZ0DVy7ODHA48dlov4F4PXyGG0oNhauvwo3aptW7eoNeUKhua2OSqOUnYxuWV_5CnRZcrYC_C8jI/s4032/4B03FA99-C1E9-4255-9CD1-E0E558574A9F_1_201_a.heic" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4qX7fZLQ80xKIsI_ttbqcPwjY7Ld8yWrST0uGPDDmePiuYZ2ZmxFUK8YcY4s0uqo5bXlzOM7fJDRM7KcWJwgvtheDuNgSZIHP25A-HPzm9eaKpGqZ0DVy7ODHA48dlov4F4PXyGG0oNhauvwo3aptW7eoNeUKhua2OSqOUnYxuWV_5CnRZcrYC_C8jI/w400-h225/4B03FA99-C1E9-4255-9CD1-E0E558574A9F_1_201_a.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Creevelea Franciscan Abbey</i><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">The abbey is of the 3rd order of the Franciscans and is one of the last founded/built in Ireland prior to the dissolution of the monasteries by the King of England (Henry VIII). It was founded in 1508 by Eóghan O'Rourke, Lord of West Bréifne, and - probably due to its position off the beaten track - is not only in superb condition, but also quiet (we were the only visitors there). There are extant remains left including the church (nave, chancel, transept and choir), chapter house, cloister and domestic buildings. When I flew the drone over I noticed that the tower had later chimneys inserted. I thought it odd at the time, but post-trip research has shown that the bell tower was converted into lodgings/living quarters in the 17th Century (hence the chimneys) and the church was covered with a thatched roof. The Franciscans were driven out by the Cromwellian Army in the 1650s. After the Restoration, the abbey remained in use until 1837. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The site feels perched alone within the landscape - close to the Bonet River on a high ridge, overlooking the historic village of <i style="text-align: left;">Droim Dhá Thiar</i><span style="text-align: left;"> (Dromahair). The name roughly translates to</span> '<a href="https://www.logainm.ie/ga/1166041" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">ridge of (the) two demons</span></a>'. These ridges were clearly significant sites - the village side of the river the site of the important early church site of Drumlease, a Patrician foundation of the fifth century AD. The O'Rourke's had their castle within Dromahair - the ruins of the castle (supposedly built in <i>c</i>.950 AD, although the national monuments guide [LE014-009] records a likely 13th Century date) and banqueting hall were present in the village - highlighted by the street names around an area next to the river (Castle Street, Castlefields etc), although on the site are now fourteen holiday cottages. The remains of a (17th Century) fortified house and bawn still remain and can be accessed - referred to as <a href="https://dromahairheritage.wordpress.com/plantation/" target="_blank">Villier's Castle</a>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><u>Loch Craobh</u></b></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">We continued southward on the R289/R280 flanking the western shores of Lough Allen on the Leitrim/Roscommon border. I recognised some of these roads and we had definitely been around Lough Allen before on another trip. The R299 morphs into the N4 near Drumsna and the twists that preceded it give way to long straights which gives you time to become more of a spectator in the landscape. At Newtown Forbes the route is due east onto the L100. We stopped to take stock in Granard and had I known what I now know would have pressed to linger longer. Granard is an ancient town able to trace roots back to the 3rd Century AD. It is mentioned in the <i>Táin Bó Cuailgne</i>, as being one of the places where Queen Medb and her army stopped on their journey to take the <i>Donn Cuailnge</i>. But it is also home to one of the most impressive motte and bailey castles in Ireland, built by by Risteárd de Tiúit in 1199. I cannot believe I forgot about the Granard motte and bailey - Tom McNeill would be disappointed! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnwx4IUOAB83OEgcJeekkNjGqx1IyEV-_frHJv-qmOST6g1KCtj9oyYstvCFKn4RrzXWHBlfRKpKkjwvaKZaByXAS0bBk7VsfN_u4VM4ygsgR13pUMtA3y-HV1Wz-EOgQfXS1gV9P-1dpPoGpmPE-wtDMQ52m8RdZCii6EspwvI04bg5WTx1_Eo1UK1I/s4000/0FCC4855-361E-4781-BCAA-BFB74D352828.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="4000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnwx4IUOAB83OEgcJeekkNjGqx1IyEV-_frHJv-qmOST6g1KCtj9oyYstvCFKn4RrzXWHBlfRKpKkjwvaKZaByXAS0bBk7VsfN_u4VM4ygsgR13pUMtA3y-HV1Wz-EOgQfXS1gV9P-1dpPoGpmPE-wtDMQ52m8RdZCii6EspwvI04bg5WTx1_Eo1UK1I/w400-h225/0FCC4855-361E-4781-BCAA-BFB74D352828.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Drone image of Loughcrew Cairns (Cairns S, T [centre] and U)</i></td></tr></tbody></table>We again found ourselves hugging the shore of a Lough - this time the western and northern shores of Lough Shellin before stopping in Mount Nugent for one of the tastiest 99's ever before crossing over into Meath <i>c</i>.2km north-west of Oldcastle. Our destination was the megalithic complex of Loughcrew. I had never been to this magnificent site before, but can now tick off all of the great Neolithic cemetery sites that seem, to me, to run as an east-west line across Ireland: Carrowmore, Carrowkeel, Loughcrew and into the Brú na Bóinne sites of Newgrange, Dowth, Knowth and the myriad of smaller satellite sites such as Townley Hall. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Loughcrew is a complex of over 30 mounds, cairns and passage tombs sprawled across two hills - Carnbane East and Carnbane West - the latter on private land and closed to the public. Carnbane is an anglicisation of <i>Carn Bán</i> meaning 'white cairn' - and it is believed that the great cairn[s] were covered in white quartz - the same as Newgrange and, interestingly, other Neolithic monuments such as the Giant's Ring Henge (just outside Belfast). The most famous structure at Loughcrew is <span style="text-align: left;">Cairn T which has the Irish cruciform layout with a large central chamber and side chambers, also similar to the mounds at the Boyne Valley complex. </span><span style="text-align: left;">Is has been hypothesised that they also had a dual calendar type function with alignment to the spring and autumn equinoxes, which light different carvings towards the rear of the tombs; for the Spring Equinox (around 21st March), this rectangle of sunlight highlights the solar symbol on the top left of the backstone in Cairn T slowly descending to the solar symbol at the bottom of the stone as the sun rises. It is no accident that as more of these sites are studied, alignments with equinoxes, solstices and other events are uncovered/recorded; </span><span style="text-align: left;">(i.e., as well as 'larger' events such as winter and summer solstices, along with the equinoxes, </span><i style="text-align: left;">Dumha na nGiall</i><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;">[mound of the Hostages at Tara] is aligned with </span><span style="text-align: left;">cross-quarter days of Samhain and Imbolc). </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Evidence also suggests that Loughcrew predates Newgrange (albeit not by much), built around 3,200 BC (but the potential inference is that this site was of ritual significance prior to or at least in parallel to more famous sites. Loughcrew's appeal is widening and there seems, to me, to be a rise in people trying to connect with ancestors, ancient traditions and culture and connecting to what these monuments seems to focus on which is the passage of time, celestial/astronomical events </span> <span style="text-align: left;">and seasons (the 'universe' generally), and this is their appeal to me - alongside nerding out on the archaeology - there is a spiritual element to visiting them. However, the site retains a more wild feel when compared to sister Brú na Bóinne monuments; cultural tourism, though, will remain and likely grow so care must be taken of these sites; there have been reports recently of great monuments</span> - <i>Cnoc na Riabh</i> (Knowcknarea), <i>Lia Fáil </i>(Stone of Destiny at Tara) and others, being either vandalised or damaged by people walking on top/over them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><b><u>Múghdhorna</u></b></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The following day (Friday) brought with it a band of rain that was of biblical proportions; we took respite in the new Brú na Bóinne heritage/visitors centre before having little choice but to put our heads down and drive through the rain. Outside Newry, around the Ring of Gullion, the visibility was genuinely amongst the worst I have ever experienced on a bike. We ploughed on through the Mournes Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty to Meelmore Lodge to camp. We were utterly drenched and grateful that a local takeout was able to deliver to the site! Thank God for small mercies. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I always write that I hope it won't be long until the next run...but this time I mean it!!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="298" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oCzPvhyczP4" width="470" youtube-src-id="oCzPvhyczP4"></iframe></div></div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-75914211867249039922022-09-13T20:32:00.003+01:002022-11-30T15:46:38.328+00:00A Long Unexpected Journey<div style="text-align: justify;">When we were younger, we were time-rich but cash-poor (at least by rose-tinted recollection); whilst by no means being rich financially now, time - it seems - is increasingly harder to come by. Trips away seem to take an age to plan and notice required for everyone grows exponentially. I thought life would somehow get easier as I got older, but the reverse is true and responsibilities have simply increased. I think it was with hope, more than anything, that I was informed of (at that point an unconfirmed) trip to (north) Wales, but the great overseer had aligned everything to enable me to go. Tickets from Dublin to Holyhead were swiftly purchased, after which the sense of excitement only grew daily. It was strange standing in north Belfast at 5:00am nearly sweating in late summer/early autumn heat, conditions that felt completely counter-intuitive. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">No-one had had much sleep the night before - an almost child-like sense of excitement had kept everyone awake, but on that adrenaline we were alert. The road to Dublin would be mainly motorway work, and somewhat frenetic given the need to check-in at the port 30mins prior to sailing. As we passed Newry and the Ring of Gullion the sun was rising to our left, a purple streak on the horizon that we all couldn't help but be amazed by. The air here was cooler than the rest of the journey, coming down off the mountains. We hit the outskirts of Dublin just as the early morning commuter traffic was building - a strange concept since Covid. We arrived with 2mins to spare! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The crossing was aboard the Ulysses Ferry - agreeably empty for the early morning crossing on a Thursday. The ship was in a class of its own when launched in 2000 now, though, it feels a little tired and like the set of a made-for-TV movie. The crossing was just over three hours, and we would dock in Holyhead with enough time to have a worthwhile day exploring. The weather was clear and warm as we met up the rest of our troop at The Edinburgh Castle Pub. We set off east - leaving Anglesey - initially on the A55 before turning northwards on the A5025 and B5109. These latter roads were through beautiful rolling countryside, superbly surfaced and with a myriad of twists and turns that were glorious on the bike - a sense of utter freedom.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Day One - Beaumaris and Bryn Celli Ddu</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As we entered Beaumaris via Wexham Street, the streetscape tightens, presumably following the medieval layout of the town; many of the period buildings remain and the the town feels (on what was a beautiful sunny day...which always helps) picture-postcard in its quaintness and slightly 'French' in a strange way. We passed St. Mary's & St. Nicholas's medieval church (which we visited and will describe later), but our destination was the Edward I Beaumaris Castle (begun in the late 13th Century but never quite finished). For me, this was something of an epiphany moment - I had studied castles at university and the Welsh examples were lauded (rightly so), to finally see one in the flesh was memorising. <span style="text-align: left;">The castle was the last stronghold built by 'Longshanks' as part of his 'iron-ring' in Wales.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRQ_joD35kE60gtZrXBp3rG20o9HyQI8TRzaCxQQduNX1h26oAfhI-TP1TATBePrAQt37xCm5X1lGWW4Fu7Y6WWKchGNEQIFQFsaDYyMWxWAyIdT1S7INik4p-VAhImBgHj1nlnnamVxLP6PznghafkcvD9wF0QLHQuN88FaHa4EeJweWLsx7pMuZ/s4032/B17C4496-715A-469B-9150-F66DC1930329.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRQ_joD35kE60gtZrXBp3rG20o9HyQI8TRzaCxQQduNX1h26oAfhI-TP1TATBePrAQt37xCm5X1lGWW4Fu7Y6WWKchGNEQIFQFsaDYyMWxWAyIdT1S7INik4p-VAhImBgHj1nlnnamVxLP6PznghafkcvD9wF0QLHQuN88FaHa4EeJweWLsx7pMuZ/w400-h300/B17C4496-715A-469B-9150-F66DC1930329.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beaumaris Castle</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The castle was one of near-perfect symmetry; four concentric rings of formidable defences included a water-filled moat with its very own dock. The outer walls alone bristled with 300 arrow loops. However, the project had hit financial difficulty by the early 14th Century - the south gatehouse and the six great towers in the inner ward never reached their intended height. The <i>Llanfaes</i> gate was barely started before being abandoned. The name is ‘beau mareys’ or ‘beautiful/fair marsh’, the town developed as a Viking settlement known as <i>Porth y Wygyr</i> ('Port of the Vikings'), but it was the arrival of Edward that the town began its period of recognisable development <i>c.</i>1295. The ancient village of <i>Llanfaes</i>, a mile to the north of Beaumaris, had been occupied by Anglo-Saxons in 818 but had been regained by <i>Merfyn Frych, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kingdom_of_Gwynedd">King of Gwynedd</a></i>. What Edward did was typical of the way he stamped his authority on his newly conquered territories in Wales and, it has to be said, Kings and Queens of England did across these islands.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #666666; font-family: georgia;">"The island of Anglesey, or <i>Ynys Môn</i>, held a special place in Welsh hearts long before Beaumaris was ever thought of. It was celebrated as ‘<i>Môn mam Cymru</i>’ (‘Mona, mother of Wales’) because of its mild climate and fertile fields. The so-called ‘bread basket of Wales’ helped to sustain the nation and support its independence."</span> (Cadw, 2022). We feasted on freshly baked pies and goodies from Tredici Butchers and Deli before walking back up Church Street to St. Mary's and St. Nicholas's medieval Church. The building is evocative, representing what your imagination believes to be an old church; slate headstones and fine architectural details. It is a 14th Century building with a (14th-century) decorated nave with four-bay arcades, the chancel was rebuilt around c.1500 in Perpendicular (Gothic) style. The church retains some earlier artefacts; namely two stone coffins; inside the church is the tomb of William Bulkeley, deputy constable of Beaumaris Castle and his wife (Ellen) which the sign on-site dates to 1260-1307, but other information states died in 1490 (quite the time difference!). In the church entrance is also the coffin and lid of Joan, wife of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Llywelyn_the_Great"><i>Llywelyn ab Iorwerth</i></a>, married at the age of 15, and illegitimate daughter (died 1237) of King John. Its location feels a little sad - it was 'rescued' from being used as a horse watering trough and feels like a metaphor for the entire story as to how the 'illegitimate daughter' was likely treated. </div></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvaWGmxHaXoY-R7IYEqMOIWJgr7eqkRI6hEKFHB2WPUZBl-tSo8zAE8rrdD984epJKeOX4wX2FsRvjpHpNZA6haTHUHCm7DbmcyapRgemlCbgSf5WKTqoBr1KBkgbP_Jr1pWWbYPDh9kFM0LAEqEfbLYeEgGmT1gCB674pN0VkqoM2e2O0bFHUZ9e/s3508/BCD.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3508" data-original-width="2480" height="565" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRvaWGmxHaXoY-R7IYEqMOIWJgr7eqkRI6hEKFHB2WPUZBl-tSo8zAE8rrdD984epJKeOX4wX2FsRvjpHpNZA6haTHUHCm7DbmcyapRgemlCbgSf5WKTqoBr1KBkgbP_Jr1pWWbYPDh9kFM0LAEqEfbLYeEgGmT1gCB674pN0VkqoM2e2O0bFHUZ9e/w400-h565/BCD.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bryn Celli Ddu Passage Tomb</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We travelled south on the A545 hugging the coast, to the A4080 (<i>Ffordd Brynsiencyn</i>), the heat now rising from the road in the hot sunshine; I could feel the bike's engine temperature radiating out. Some of the roads were little more than tarmacked lanes, but in stark contrast to what we were used to, relatively pothole-less and a joy to ride. Our destination was the famed passage tomb of <i>Bryn Celli Ddu</i>; Anglicized to the ‘Mound in the Dark Grove’. We parked and meandered the 1/4 mile walk to the site beside the <i>Afon Braint </i>river even nibbling a few blackberries that grow plentifully along the route. What greets you is what in Ireland is referred to as a passage tomb. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">However, the site is earlier than the mounded tomb; the earliest identified remains at the site are a row of five postholes, radiocarbon dated to around 4000BC, putting them at the end of the Mesolithic, 1,000 years before the next phase of use. The next (Neolithic) phase consisted of a henge (bank and ditch) enclosing a stone circle, it consisted of a bank (now lost) around an inner ditch, which enclosed a circle of upright stones. The ditch originally measured 21 meters in diameter. The outer edge can still be seen and several stones from the inner stone circle also survive. <span style="color: #666666; font-family: georgia;">"1000 years after the henge was built, all but one of the standing stones were intentionally damaged, some were knocked over and six were smashed with heavy stones."</span> (Park, 2014). In its place a passage grave was built; consisting of a long passage that leads to a polygonal stone chamber. Human bones, both burnt and unburnt, were found in the passage, other finds included quartz, two flint arrowheads, a stone bead, and limpet and mussel shells - a decorated pattern stone, carved with sinuous serpentine designs, has also been found.</div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">The passage at Bryn Celli Ddu is aligned with the summer solstice sunrise, the alignment links Bryn Celli Ddu with a handful of other famous sites such as Maes Howe (Orkney) and Newgrange (Pitts, 2006). Describing the solstice event recorded in 2006, Burrow said: <span style="color: #666666; font-family: georgia;">"the rays light up a quartz-rich stone at the back of the tomb." </span>We left Anglesey via the Port Britannia Bridge joining the A5 south-east; the road is one of the most phenomenal I have ever ridden, the landscape and mountains rise up with <i>Carnedd Llewelyn </i>on the left and<i> Glyder Fawr</i> on the right appearing like a painted backdrop, a sense that they weren't 'real' they are so spectacular. The road flows, with multiple twists: <i>Tregarth</i> to <i>Bethesda</i> to <i>Braichmelyn</i> the road carving through the gorges in an act of engineering defiance. We passed <i>Llyn Ogwen</i> - a shallow lake with a maximum depth of only a little over 3 metres in which it is said after the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Camlann">Battle of Camlann</a> (King Arthur's final battle), <i>Bedwyr Bedrydant</i> (Sir Bedivere) cast the sword Excalibur where it was caught by the Lady of the Lake. The road mirrors the path of the <i>Afon Llugwy</i> river to Betws-y-Coed before we turned south on the B4406 to our accommodation for the trip in Penmachno. </div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><b>Day Two - Conwy Castle, Harlech Castle and Dyffryn Ardudwy</b><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We were up early on Friday morning, greeted by another day of clear warm sunshine; combined with further excitement. We had amazed at the condition of the roads and how good the biking had been, today was to incorporate some more of Wales' phenomenal sites and sounds. We travelled northwards on the A470 to the picturesque town of <i>Llanrwst</i> with its beautiful arched <i>Pont Fawr Bridge</i> over the River Conwy. At <i>Tal-y-Cafn</i> we crossed over the River Conwy west onto the B5279 and then to the B5106 northwards to take these smaller (and more exhilarating roads) into Conwy. It made the arrival into the town (from the south-west) picturesque.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZODUf0c7M75OAOk5UVEpFNJXyZob2bBuPVY-HaKIg6BzS71je_bms_pZeGiPH3RUql6g_w6B86KwkdPjS4hxn5TbfhxJwO1PjGjkN-T7X94hCugX3Qh_id7JKDC64u8DF_Jmsi5M5SlRvDi-hZGp_FsabNmj_zcBELMGf8a-RQNh6ZyyF7p6EJxM/s3401/Conwy.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3401" data-original-width="2480" height="553" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ZODUf0c7M75OAOk5UVEpFNJXyZob2bBuPVY-HaKIg6BzS71je_bms_pZeGiPH3RUql6g_w6B86KwkdPjS4hxn5TbfhxJwO1PjGjkN-T7X94hCugX3Qh_id7JKDC64u8DF_Jmsi5M5SlRvDi-hZGp_FsabNmj_zcBELMGf8a-RQNh6ZyyF7p6EJxM/w401-h553/Conwy.jpg" width="401" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Conwy Castle and Castle Plan</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />As we came round a corner, Conwy Castle looms over you, bold and impressive atop its bedrock 'perch'. Even more imposing when you consider it was originally gleaming white! The scale of the place is bewildering and the castle and intact town walls (an unbroken 1,400-yard [1.3km] ring of walls) were completed in just four years from 1283-1287. What must it have done to the spirit of Welsh opposition to Edward I? The castle played an important part in several wars. It withstood the siege of <i>Madog ap Llywelyn</i> in the winter of 1294–95, acted as a temporary haven for Richard II in 1399 and was held for several months by forces loyal to <i>Owain Glyndŵr</i> in 1401. UNESCO considers Conwy to be one of; <span style="color: #666666; font-family: georgia;">"...the finest examples of late 13th century and early 14th century military architecture in Europe"</span>, and it is classed as a World Heritage Site along with the other great Edwardian castles of Harlech, Beaumaris and Caernarfon. Divided into an Inner and an Outer Ward, it is defended by eight large towers and two barbicans, with a postern gate leading down to the river, allowing the castle to be resupplied from the sea. In keeping with other Edwardian castles in North Wales, the architecture of Conwy has close links to that found in the Kingdom of Savoy, an architecture that itself was imitated in Irish castles such as Northburgh/Greencastle (Donegal) among others.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We meandered round the maze of towers and rooms marvelling at what was in front of us, all the while overheating in what had now become a very hot day. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We spent the majority of the morning at Conwy, before starting the bikes up to head south and south-west to Harlech. We doubled back on ourselves towards Betws-y-Coed although there taking the A470 south-west past <i>Dolwyddelan Castle</i> that is on a hilltop overlooking the road. Once through a series of mountainous peaks, the road descends into the other-worldly landscape of <i>Blaenau Ffestiniog</i> slate mines; to either side of the road what look like mountains of slate seem to bring a gloom with their grey hues, they are almost oppressive and it feels like a relief when you leave them behind into greener surroundings - I've no doubt they'd make a great film set. We turned onto the A496 flowing past bodies of water before the B4573 - an even narrower road through dense woodland (<i>Stryd Fawr</i>) in Harlech. What surprised me about the journey into Harlech was its proximity to large sandy expanses and the sea - I don't know why, it just wasn't what I imagined.</div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0E9tnKfqKEVAi6SkNE4mCaqdivPF4MKgpjf6QXEdhm5UZVZohNUiwS0-H5XznLYZLftHXJhLaHkj0LpdxaCLKXDqGNHXP85ttuQJH4_-KncgY_zl473AnDe0j1GYTCorXOqkVwxtQc4vXmcGSWkrP9V0D4mkkbE-pVdd4zDVOCOm1iB64gqqH1Ul/s4032/62203FC3-0EE4-4501-922A-193C88164396.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR0E9tnKfqKEVAi6SkNE4mCaqdivPF4MKgpjf6QXEdhm5UZVZohNUiwS0-H5XznLYZLftHXJhLaHkj0LpdxaCLKXDqGNHXP85ttuQJH4_-KncgY_zl473AnDe0j1GYTCorXOqkVwxtQc4vXmcGSWkrP9V0D4mkkbE-pVdd4zDVOCOm1iB64gqqH1Ul/w400-h300/62203FC3-0EE4-4501-922A-193C88164396.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Harlech Castle (Gwynedd)</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Whilst Conwy takes your breath away, Harlech is more modest in scale (albeit still massive!). I can remember being taught how the 'D-Shaped' great gatehouse - the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tonbridge_Castle" target="_blank">Tonbridge-style</a>, that became increasingly popular during the 13th century, with two massive "D-shaped" defensive towers flanking the entrance - was copied in later castles as it enabled both a defensive configuration and also the ability to house luxurious accommodation and chambers in the upper levels. Harlech Castle was built between 1282 and 1289 but actually encompasses a much larger site than the 'main' castle walls (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harlech_Castle#/media/File:Harlech_Castle_Plan.jpg" target="_blank">see plan here</a>) with walls enclosing the entire 'castle rock' to the shore. Harlech was significant, withstanding the siege of <i>Madog ap Llywelyn</i> between 1294–95 and falling to <i>Owain Glyndŵr</i> in 1404 in the wider Welsh revolt. It then became Glyndŵr's residence and military headquarters for the remainder of the uprising until being recaptured by English forces in 1409. In local mythology, the site of Harlech Castle is associated with the legend of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Branwen">Branwen</a>, a Welsh princess. Harlech town is small and quite quiet - the castle itself wasn't busy and there was a peacefulness that was tangible as we sat and shot the breeze on Twtil (street) beside the great walls. The clouds were starting to get darker, and there was the smell of thunderstorms in the air, and with it a humidity that was uncomfortable. So we decided to hit the road again - what I didn't realise is that on our way out we drove past the 'world's steepest street' - <i>Ffordd Pen Llech</i>. </div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38GJJ61WjavYf5QrIHRuS530au-Lvu7FTNEF4XQ-17TypA-EXkPd8v84JBfFKnDpJkcbIxSAx_jzhMVwq-5tQPTuECYvU2VjJwaywfc1xfol5K_Q6lvdjgAXPdub4r9EV3GH3Qyb02THGqz4Vj6UZmLnTYOUtsDrIhCpdvhcKJF5aZsgY922gDc1A/s4032/90226AA5-EB5C-41A5-8E7B-5E786A180D8F.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38GJJ61WjavYf5QrIHRuS530au-Lvu7FTNEF4XQ-17TypA-EXkPd8v84JBfFKnDpJkcbIxSAx_jzhMVwq-5tQPTuECYvU2VjJwaywfc1xfol5K_Q6lvdjgAXPdub4r9EV3GH3Qyb02THGqz4Vj6UZmLnTYOUtsDrIhCpdvhcKJF5aZsgY922gDc1A/w400-h300/90226AA5-EB5C-41A5-8E7B-5E786A180D8F.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;">Dyffryn Ardudwy</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Just six miles almost due south of Harlech on the A496 is <span style="text-align: left;"><i>Dyffryn Ardudwy</i> Burial Chamber; there is little parking, so we had to 'hoik' the bikes onto the pavement; the surrounding area felt somewhat 'tired', but as we walked up through the grove to the site clearing you could have been 1000 miles away. What greets you is an elongated oval of stones on the ground (remnants, presumably, of the cairns that would have once covered the tombs) and two dolmen (<i>cromlech</i>) structures. The site </span>is a two-period Neolithic site comprising an earlier, small portal-dolmen on the west side set within a small oval cairn - when excavated a pit containing fragments of five Neolithic pottery vessels was found sealed by the cairn in front of the tomb. The second tomb was built to the east and set within a large cairn which incorporated the earlier tomb. This later tomb produced both Neolithic and Bronze Age pottery.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was at this point the clouds overhead became really dark, and the slight spots of rain became a heavy deluge. We took refuge in the trees that are on the site, mighty oaks providing more than adequate shelter. The rain, though, soon passed and with the heat of the preceding days, the road dried quickly. The road back to Penmachno was as unexpected as it was amazing - climbing high into open moor and heathland we turned onto the B4391, a ribbon or tarmac draped over the peaks that weaves through phenomenal bends - although we had to be cautious due to the roaming sheep. To the east of <i>Cwm Penmachno</i> the road becomes a paved track that plunges downslope, the landscape changes in front of you to pine forests of <i>Gwydyr</i> Forest Park (<i>Parc Coedwig</i> - part of the Snowdonia National Park). We were approaching Penmachno from the south for the first time. It was that night that we ate and drank in The Eagles pub - our ears became tuned to the Welsh being spoken as first language in casual conversation between locals; which was lovely to hear. For me, pale ale and for the rest of the lads Guinness went down with alarming ease - the first time I've sat and had pints in a pub in may years. The 'craic was ninety' and I'm sure we could be heard in the neighbouring houses! </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Day Three - Erddig and the Roads West</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The third day began overcast but cleared very quickly with the day gradually becoming warmer and warmer; clouds lingered at times giving a muggy feel, and as a precautionary measure (which turned out to be unnecessary) I had donned my Dainese textile gear - which transpired into a decision rued. But nothing would detract from another perfect biking day as we toured almost due east to <i>Erddig</i> National Trust property on the outskirts of Wrexham. Just beyond where the road from Penmachno joins the A5 it is a delight with left, right, left sweeping turns to Clan Conwy. But thereafter the road straightens out and becomes much more of a main arterial route. At <i>Tyn-y-cefn</i> we veered onto the A5104 which is policed at 50mph by average speed cameras. At first there is a tendency to groan, but it soon became apparent that this day was a meander and the slower pace allowed us to look around and take in the beauty of the Welsh landscape - even if there was a frenetic search for a petrol station! </div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfLD-Ed1TilJtz38QQIdR6YJUqRYdDY9d3BVLByqFHks0BrenlCUIrGy6FRChcy6XHCeyhJcc5RLztDpMR27bzNUX7N3QvHXABeRgtKO07ow4Q-DrDhRuU4pkgrY4MnVqFf9MPZjxk369CFYl6DP4RaVRTf2SP373LjJWdZCDjg0I0wqoxuQMeE0R/s4032/36861632-5F21-4469-A270-0C572C6F0DC1.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfLD-Ed1TilJtz38QQIdR6YJUqRYdDY9d3BVLByqFHks0BrenlCUIrGy6FRChcy6XHCeyhJcc5RLztDpMR27bzNUX7N3QvHXABeRgtKO07ow4Q-DrDhRuU4pkgrY4MnVqFf9MPZjxk369CFYl6DP4RaVRTf2SP373LjJWdZCDjg0I0wqoxuQMeE0R/w400-h300/36861632-5F21-4469-A270-0C572C6F0DC1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>East façade of Erddig facing onto the gardens</i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">At <i>Tyn-y-cefn</i> we could, as it transpired, have carried on due east on the A5 to <i>Plas Newydd</i> Historic House (14th Century house remodelled in the Victorian era), or <i>Tomen y Rhodwydd</i> (a mighty ditched motte and bailey), or <i>Castell Dinas Brân</i> (the hilltop ruins of a 13th century castle built on the site of an earlier Iron Age hillfort). But, perhaps a sign of age, there is nothing quite like a slow day wandering around a National Trust great house. Work commenced at Erddig in 1684 by Joshua Edisbury, who had been appointed High Sheriff of Denbighshire in 1682, but by 1709 he was bankrupt. <span style="color: #666666; font-family: georgia;">John Meller, a successful London lawyer, bought up the debts of Joshua Edisbury. Once he had purchased Erddig he set about furnishing his new house with the very best furniture and fabrics. He began extending it to the north and south by the addition of two-storey wings, his '<i>rooms of parade</i>'.</span> But with no heirs he passed the estate to his sister's son, Simon Yorke, in 1733. Erddig was owned by the Yorke family for 240 years; each successive owner being called either Simon or Philip. The house is fantastic and is dimly lit - for the conservation and curatorial needs of many of the artefacts. But it adds to the atmosphere and, if nothing else, is likely a closer approximation to the lighting when it was first built and inhabited. As seems to be the way at a lot of National Trust sites, there was an army of elderly lady volunteers guiding us through the house and full of information about its contents. The road back to Penmachno was the same route we had taken, to be followed by another night in the pub with pints-a-plenty before most fell asleep in front of the wood-burning stove back at the accommodation....rock 'n' roll!!</div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The journey home was, for me, a solo run back to Holyhead in glorious sunshine to an over packed ferry (due to the cancellation of an earlier sailing) and a motorway blast home. However, there have been several 'take aways' from this trip: 1) ferry hops to Wales and Scotland for biking trips are the way forward - the fastest sailing to Wales from Dublin is just over 2hrs and a similar time from Belfast to Scotland so, surely, this is the way forward? 2) My spirit needed this trip, partly due to a few years of pent up travel frustration due to Covid and also as a break. My thanks to Caoimhin, Dee and Kivi.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="437" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nUjMVTKoCM8" width="626" youtube-src-id="nUjMVTKoCM8"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-66541948893800787732020-09-15T10:40:00.131+01:002022-09-12T12:00:24.623+01:00Down & Louth in Late Summer Heat and C-19<p style="text-align: justify;">It has been quite some time since I have posted anything on this blog, mainly because it has been quite some time since I have been anywhere! - a situation compounded by the world-wide <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coronavirus"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">pandemic of C-19</span></a>. A new reality faces us all and this is especially pertinent to far-flung travel; will it ever be the same again? My own opinion is that travel has been irreversibly affected, which means seeing what's on our own doorstep hones into closer view; the term '<i>staycation</i>' is bandied about, but that's what we've been doing for years on the bikes - we must have been ahead of the curve! It is, though, slightly wistfully that I write this piece, I can't help but wonder the frequency with which I/we will get to go anywhere, every passing week it seems there are new restrictions in place (something I am not opposed to), but combined with time marching on in terms of my own life I find myself looking back at 2014, 2015 and the amount of time we spent on the bikes and think that that must now represent the zenith of our biking adventures. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">This trip represented the first time I had had my leg over the bike since France last year (for the 75th anniversary of D-Day). The weather was set fair, and it there were just two of us on this particular weekend; albeit we wouldn't be travelling huge distances, rather 'day trips' on the bikes. We chose South (County) Down as the location, mainly because the coastal roads and the scenery is nothing short of spectacular, throw in some summer weather and it is genuinely hard to beat. The roads can become clogged with people going to Newcastle, Murlough or the Mournes, but now more than ever I am content to amble behind for a bit, rather than immediately reaching to twist the throttle and overtake. A point that I seem to have visited a lot on bike trips is St. John's Point lighthouse (near Killough). But I had always wanted to see the little <span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://apps.communities-ni.gov.uk/NISMR-PUBLIC/docs/DOW/DOW_045/DOW_045_013/Public/SM7-DOW-045-013-03.pdf" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">early Medieval church</span></a> </span>that one passes en route to the lighthouse. In truth, though, it is archaeologically important as an early stone church, but other than that a tad uninspiring. The road to it is tight and at times the hedgerows completely enclose you, and after nearly being hit by a large Range Rover on a preceding bend, stopping at the site is difficult. </p><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6avHQ79AtzbLtJD3moglY9ma0KerB3ZLWvVR3hdbBFxMDch3fEfC97nA_y71Q8we1rRvxXwwaMH20MVnDAMf-rZhaWq1b5-6OIhc4raO98T4p3iVQ_Ws8ZXWAFBp3E78gNLMR0IZXHI/s640/701289_d54f66d9.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="640" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6avHQ79AtzbLtJD3moglY9ma0KerB3ZLWvVR3hdbBFxMDch3fEfC97nA_y71Q8we1rRvxXwwaMH20MVnDAMf-rZhaWq1b5-6OIhc4raO98T4p3iVQ_Ws8ZXWAFBp3E78gNLMR0IZXHI/w400-h236/701289_d54f66d9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St. John's Church</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">There are three walls remaining (although Harris writing in the mid-18th Century described it as intact), it is a pre-romanesque church, almost certainly on site of earlier wooden church, with sloping jambs and <i>antae</i> (were originally used to support wooden roofs on large churches, but this structure had a stone roof - the use of these is what furthers the suggestion that it replaced an earlier wooden church; Adomnán, 2012). <span style="text-align: justify;">Whilst maybe not architecturally spectacular, it is nevertheless enigmatic. It is associated with <i>Eoan</i> (John), son of <i>Cairlánd</i>. In 1977 an excavation was carried out that recovered early Christian burials - many children and adolescents - approximately 23 in total. The style of the building is what is used to date it and it is unlikely to be earlier that 8th Century and unlikely to be later than 10th Century (ASCD, 1966, 295-296), so built between </span><i style="text-align: justify;">c</i><span style="text-align: justify;">.700AD - 900AD. We were, though, slightly hot in the heat of the day and drove past the church towards the southern tip of the peninsular and the lighthouse. The lighthouse is intriguing; like a host of man-made infrastructure was air-lifted onto this natural setting. <a href="https://www.greatlighthouses.com/lighthouses/st-johns-point/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The lighthouse</span></a> still contains its mercury light (upgrading to modern tech is being fought by those around the site). Much of the ancillaries also remain with what looks like a giant fog-horn type mechanism, with lots of rusted metal and engines lying around it. There is a cottage (still lived in, so if visiting please be respectful that this is still someone's home), complete with a goat wandering on top of the walls that at one point seemed to be staring us out! </span></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>The Road Leads South</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIroFtNf9jY48FtjGsrUk6usNmE648qIPhXQjxVhnJRZdUEyGqntMkPEMidYlr5BvzsgKcp_OaSzTsm4alMifYkoY_OcyozW4OMJ3o6DL-uF2P0kBGVQgbwXT0HFm3q_dwaJfQiyTujoM/s960/A0854197-C79D-461D-A9F3-D775132C447D.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIroFtNf9jY48FtjGsrUk6usNmE648qIPhXQjxVhnJRZdUEyGqntMkPEMidYlr5BvzsgKcp_OaSzTsm4alMifYkoY_OcyozW4OMJ3o6DL-uF2P0kBGVQgbwXT0HFm3q_dwaJfQiyTujoM/w402-h302/A0854197-C79D-461D-A9F3-D775132C447D.jpeg" width="402" /></a></div>We hugged the coast road south towards Newry (the last time I was here on a bike, it was also exceptionally warm), I don't know what mindset I was in, but I was exceptionally chilled and happy to simply 'be' on the bike - maybe a product of not having been on the bike in a while or maybe I was just glad to be out and about during the pandemic. Just south of Newry, the R173 / R176 road hugs the Carlingford Lough coastline, perched high above it to give fantastic views over the water and the rising mountains to each side. The mountain at Glenmore rises to the right hand side and there is a feeling of being cocooned between the water and it, but not in an oppressive way, it is strangely comforting. The traffic began to intensify as everyone had had the same idea as us, albeit not on bikes. I was glad I had worn my RST leather jacket, rather than the heavier (and warmer Dainese textiles). As we approached Carlingford (a location we always seem to either pass through or stop at) the sheer number of people became apparent. Cars were parked everywhere and every little bit of kerb and potential space had been taken - the advantage of a bike is that it can be 'hoofed' up onto the pavement without taking much room. There is also always a head-turning moment as people seem to want to see the bikes - usually this is more the case with the classic BMW's as they are evocative and much more what people think of as a bike rather than the more angular (and frankly less attractive) Triumph Explorer; but there were still some people going up close to 'the wraith'. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>Carlingford in all its Glory</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;">You don't even have to be a big fan of medieval buildings or architecture to enjoy Carlingford, it is exceptionally quaint and (as it still largely follows the medieval town footprint) is easy to navigate. However, I have always marvelled at the plethora of medieval buildings that still remain - a credit to those that may have rejected planning permissions for any modernity. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbw13IPkIW9ZMXzvsZs_RlCgUy2g_6XbViwKz1i0S09woixxAZxpHFJnIVe1-1IquG8SsVO0u2sO2hR7Gxaub501-3HuzMcQwuOwvKf0JvuaHxWNYWLHXK5cyRobgLOIElJ9vUyFrdg4/s960/F482B14D-34EE-43EA-8F47-65B195616FBA.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbw13IPkIW9ZMXzvsZs_RlCgUy2g_6XbViwKz1i0S09woixxAZxpHFJnIVe1-1IquG8SsVO0u2sO2hR7Gxaub501-3HuzMcQwuOwvKf0JvuaHxWNYWLHXK5cyRobgLOIElJ9vUyFrdg4/w402-h302/F482B14D-34EE-43EA-8F47-65B195616FBA.jpeg" width="402" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span>We soon found that we just wanted to sit and watch the world go by - initially on the harbour wall and then on a little patch of grass that looked onto the beach, the bay and the impressive St. John's Castle. The castle is late 12th century building (initially the great D-shaped enclosure castle with the east wing added in <i>c.</i>1261). It was likely built by Hugh de Lacey but acquired its name due to the belief that King John stayed there for several days in 1210 when he came to Ireland to apprehend de Lacey (1st Earl of Ulster). I've never been into the castle, so it remains firmly on the 'to do' list as I think it would be akin to visiting Trim Castle (well worth the visit - followed by something in Ruby Ellen's Tea Rooms if people are ever allowed back into such places!). It was on this 'grassy knoll' that existential conversations took place, always something that is to be relished on trips away. I had recently read Schr</span><span style="text-align: left;">öeder's theories that as we all essentially came from the Big Bang, we are therefore all connected - physically, biologically and, therefore, consciously. If you're interested read:<span style="color: #2b00fe;"> <span>'<i><a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/40970963" target="_blank">We are all Aspects of One Single Being: An Introduction to Erwin </a></i></span></span></span><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><i><a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/40970963" target="_blank">Schr</a></i></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/40970963" target="_blank"><i>öeder</i>'</a>,</span> 1984, <i>pp</i>809-835. Social Research, Vol 1, No. 3. We must have sat (and maybe dozed) for an hour or so before we decided to head northwards - or rather due east - to Greencastle (not to be confused with the splendid castle in Donegal of the same name, in fact there seem to be a few Greencastle[s] in Ireland). The road north differed from our journey south in that we, this time, took the road the hugs the east side of Carlingford Lough - the A2. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><b><u>A Mighty Norman Castle</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Greencastle is another site I have always wanted to visit - alas currently closed due to C-19. But nevertheless well worth visiting just to see what remains. It is well signposted and surrounded by other monuments (e.g., raths) that pepper the Irish landscape. Greencastle (Co. Down) occupies a [high] tip of land protruding into Carlingford Lough and its strategic and defensive position is easy to see. </span></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhfC9HfquDajPicPpoqdlpql2hSo6gmLWrl4pKfMt7Awo4aiQrfzUcHSYsBeGQrLUOaD7jIwwmIBsuXGs7FHHltqyUNNQn1UN2s-p9RtL5zqTtUR_5cL55yvyBxf9GXI0sF9E0xubCDA/s960/A2851FCA-BABF-4408-94B0-75D1C798141F.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIhfC9HfquDajPicPpoqdlpql2hSo6gmLWrl4pKfMt7Awo4aiQrfzUcHSYsBeGQrLUOaD7jIwwmIBsuXGs7FHHltqyUNNQn1UN2s-p9RtL5zqTtUR_5cL55yvyBxf9GXI0sF9E0xubCDA/w406-h304/A2851FCA-BABF-4408-94B0-75D1C798141F.jpeg" width="406" /></a></div>It is likely to have been built by Hugh de Lacy, along with Carlingford Castle on the opposite side of Carlingford Lough, to guard the narrow entry channel to the Lough, and the ferry crossing between the two. The motte from the earlier Norman, wooden, Motte and Bailey Castle (possibly built by John de Courcey) is still on the seaward side nearer the point. According to one legend John de Courcy was married at Greencastle Castle, but this may have been at the original motte & bailey castle. According to the information boards at the site it was held for the English Crown by Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster, from 1264–1333. It was attacked and taken by Edward Bruce in 1316, attacked at least twice by native Irish in the later 14th century but still maintained as a garrison for Elizabeth in the 1590s. It is approached across a rock-cut ditch. Although the castle dates mainly from the 13th century, there are substantial 15th and 16th century alterations. The skies were clear and a deep blue and this (along with the whole trip) had done wonders for my soul, slightly fatigued and jaded from the whole lockdown experience. </div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can't help but wonder when we will next get some time on the bikes (I have come to accept that long weekends away will likely be few and far between), but even for a day out. It is now September (usually a great month to go away on bikes as the weather is usually better than June/July!). But darker nights and colder, wetter weather is on its way in, so the next time will likely be 2021....I wonder what state the world will be in then?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Yelverton Ln, Newry BT34 3AE, UK54.067878 -6.154238454.047723714379345 -6.1885706753906247 54.088032285620656 -6.1199061246093747tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-81911920643661810242019-06-20T15:58:00.004+01:002022-09-12T12:02:00.523+01:00France for D-Day 75th Anniversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The trip had been long in the making - a change from our usual long weekends away in Ireland and, for me, the first time riding a bike in mainland Europe. The trip took place over the second week in June and coincided with the 75th anniversary of the D-Day landings of WWII, enough to see in itself nevermind when added to the scenery of Normandy. The ferry crossing from Dublin Port takes around 18 hours and left more than enough time to get suitably excited! We drove from Armagh on the main roads through torrential downpours to be left standing waiting on the Irish Ferries' W.B. Yeats in hot sunshine for several hours; the advantage of being on a bike is that you are first on, followed as we were by a couple on a loaded scooter who looked like they couldn't be happier, even if this thing belched smoke and fumes in the faces of anyone following it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The bikes ready to board at Dublin Port</i></td></tr>
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The first adventure took place before we had even docked, with the huge vessel redirected by the French Harbour Masters to check on a small yacht that was struggling in high seas off the French coast; apparently all was well - to the amazement of the crowds that had gathered on the decks to watch. The little craft bobbed violently in the swells and whoever was skippering it had bigger cahones than I! At best it looked precarious, at worst damn terrifying!<br />
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We docked and disembarked in Cherbourg, cutting our way through the
queued car traffic to the Gendarmerie manning passport control and we
were through. No reason to panic over the anticipated checks for
high-vis vests and other items that one is told one must have to journey
in France. Immediately apparent is that the surroundings are not
exactly picturesque; Cherbourg is a large industrial port and has the
associated infrastructure around it, mainly large industrial estates and
Route Nationale[s] that we soon found ourselves on. Leaden skies and
chilly temperatures did not help the aesthetic. We had to have our wits
about us, firstly due to other bikers (a contingent on Harleys) who
pulled out immediately in front of me from a standing start for them at
the side of the road, forcing me to swerve, to an errant bus driver who
thought he would weave in lanes to stop bikes overtaking him (which must
have been somewhat concerning for his passengers nevermind us!).Our
plan was to head for the accommodation as quickly as possible, just
south of St. Martin-de-Cenilly. We passed Valognes and then Carentan and Saint-Lô before heading south-west on the D38 through small hamlets of
Canisy, Quibou, Dangy and finally St. Martin-de-Cenilly.</div>
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<b><u>Good Coffee in Gavray and the Start of the Trip Proper</u></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwm94fxsGfKs04mKL9WohtwdpMHz4pHg5mhL_Ixc7AYKbxU3nh9sJHF7TST7SuuLkGrzaqddWsMl3pNAyUyswW0WPaTQrYykOXqMzHU5DP0m0KT_Tp0xJDu4EkGVSTQ7CfHyz1AHtJNtI/s1600/20190608_102856.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwm94fxsGfKs04mKL9WohtwdpMHz4pHg5mhL_Ixc7AYKbxU3nh9sJHF7TST7SuuLkGrzaqddWsMl3pNAyUyswW0WPaTQrYykOXqMzHU5DP0m0KT_Tp0xJDu4EkGVSTQ7CfHyz1AHtJNtI/s400/20190608_102856.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Heading for coffee in Gavray</i></td></tr>
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What looks like a relatively small distance on a map of France is, in fact, rather large - we were just south of the peninnsula of land on which Cherbourg tops, showing in tangible terms the vastness of France. By the time we arrived at the Gite, we were drenched - this was compounded by the need to withdraw money for the deposit; so a further journey 7.5km south to Gavray and an ATM was required. Gavray became, though, a town we would travel to most mornings for coffee prior to heading north for the D-Day sites. By this stage we had already seen and passed hundreds of period vehicles (Willis Jeeps, personnel carriers, motorbikes etc) and was a sign of things to come. The next morning we grabbed some of the most phenomenal coffee I've ever tasted in Gavray, now bustling with the Saturday market full of fresh French produce.<br />
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Our route northwards was to the Airborne Museum in the famous Sainte-Mère-Église; the sat-nav took us on the D7 towards Contances before the arrow-straight (Roman?) road D971 through Raids and Sainteny. Period vehicles were everywhere and, in truth, we had completely underestimated the scale of the celebrations, perhaps naively thinking that as it was after the 6th (the actual anniversary), things would have dwindled - if anything they had ramped up for the weekend! All the villages we passed through were of similar postcard perfect architecture, like stepping back in time and, with the jeeps driving about complete with those in the in period uniforms, it was akin to post-liberation, it genuinely felt like a snap-shot of that time.<br />
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<u><b>Sainte-Mère-Église and D-Day Anniversary</b></u><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sainte-Mère-Église</i></td></tr>
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Sainte-Mère-Église was a hive of activity; the streets were thronged with people including elements of the current Airborne U.S regiment - all there to see a parade (that we didn't know was taking place!). The Sainte-Mère-Église (Church of St. Mary) has a dummy paratrooper hanging from the spire, a reference to the events of 1944 when John Steele of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment landed on the roof and his parachute was caught; he could only watch the fighting below, pretending to be dead for two hours before being captured - he later escaped and rejoined his division which retook the town from the Germans (the story is portrayed in the film '<i>The Longest Day</i>'). It is also one for the first settlement centres liberated after the D-Day landings. The town is thought to have been founded in the 11th Century, and retains the pretty architecture and narrow streets off the main thoroughfares that seems to characterise this part of France; the earliest records from <i>c.</i>1080 refer to it as <i>Sancte Marie Ecclesia</i> (Church of St. Mary). The current name has also been translated as <i>Holy Mother Church</i>.<br />
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The Airborne Museum is one of the main destinations in the town (with much of its tourism based around WWII), and is spread across a flat field with several buildings housing separate exhibits. As with the streets, it was packed - at times uncomfortably so - there were a lot of Americans there, presumably representing their Grandfathers who had fought as part of the landings. There was also a current German military contingent, which I thought was nice to see; perhaps a representation of the loss of life on both sides and ultimate futility of war - my mind cast back to the ending of the film '<i>The Memphis Belle</i>' that pays tribute to bravery on both sides. After passing a Sherman Tank, we made for a building that houses a glider, complete with dummy paratroopers. The exhibit also houses a collection of photographs, some harrowing, of the landings and the inevitable aftermath. There are also a fascinating collection of used objects such as undetectable glass mines, knives, radios and, most poignantly, helmets complete with bullet holes; bringing home the fact that it was on someone's head when the bullet entered, a loss of life that even behind the glass screen suddenly becomes very tangible and very real.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dakota at the Airborne Museum</i></td></tr>
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The second exhibit houses a complete Dakota (there are used aeroplane propellers at the entrance and a symbolic Olive tree) alongside a collection of arms from all sides of the war, uniforms and yet more photographs of the landings. The scale of the plane is huge, and one can only imagine the skies full of them. There is a collection of field medical equipment that resembles a torture kit, rather than something that could offer relief and succour. The third exhibit was a sensory experience; you enter what seems like the side of a plane to be faced with more dummy paratroopers, except you are in the moment - the plane is vibrating, its dark and outside are flashes and bangs representing flak. There are radio comms going on around you....it is the moment before the jump. After a few moments decompressing on the grass, we exited the museum to immediately be caught up in a large parade, so opted to sit down and have a drink to let it pass; the small bars and brasseries were buzzing with activity and people. We travelled south on the D14 and then D514, again passing numerous jeeps and other WWII vehicles, to Grandcamp-Maisy and due east to Omaha Beach at Vierville-sur-Mer. Omaha was the code name for one of the five sectors of the Allied invasion and specifically refers to a stretch of coastline 8km long from east of Sainte-Honorine-des-Pertes to west of Vierville-sur-Mer. The objective was to secure the beachhead thus linking with the British landings east at Gold Beach and VII Corps landing west at Utah Beach.<br />
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<u><b>Omaha Beach and Pointe de Hoc - the Force they Exude</b></u><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the Omaha Beach memorials atop a German gun position</i></td></tr>
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The site is perhaps made famous through its depiction in film and TV; <i>Band of Brothers</i> and <i>Saving Private Ryan</i> to name but a few. As with those depictions, nothing really went to plan with the landings, despite it forming part of the largest armada ever assembled in human history. Even though it was a clear and sunny day, for me there was a dark undercurrent that pervaded the place - you are in a place that witnessed death on an epic scale - the presence of the monuments act as moments for sombre reverie. On the beach itself were some families playing and building sand castles and, for me, it seemed incongruous; immediately behind them are sealed but complete German concrete gun emplacements (<i>Widerstandsnests</i>) with the gun loops still <i>in situ. </i>I couldn't help wondering what still lies beneath the sands - yet conversely maybe their leisure time on the beach is a very real representation of the very thing that was being fought for? For me, though, there was an internal conflict that was broken by the low-pass of two Black Hawk Helicopters. With it being (apparently) high summer, the nights were long and we had lost track of time, leaving Omaha around 6.30 for the hour-long journey back to the accommodation. The roads were, in the main, a joy to ride on, riding on the right-side of the road soon became natural and second-nature; indeed it seemed intuitive rather than something to worry about.<br />
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Omaha Beach also incorporates more sites and monuments than the beach itself; one of these is the infamous Pointe du Hoc that we visited the following day, taking the same route that flanked Saint-Lô in moist and exceptionally humid conditions. The first thing that struck me about Point du Hoc is the poc-marked and cratered ground that surrounds it; remnants of the artillery shell craters that formed the sea and air bombardment of the site. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The artillery craters at Pointe du Hoc</i></td></tr>
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Pointe du Hoc formed part of the Atlantic Wall defences - originally built in 1943 to house captured WWI French guns, the site was augmented in 1944 with H671 concrete casements, H636 observation bunker and L409a mounts for 20mm Flak 30 anti-aircraft guns. The location was bombed in April 1944, after which the Germans removed the 155mm guns. Although the Germans had removed the main armament from Pointe du Hoc, the beachheads were shelled by field artillery from the nearby Maisy battery, on the fire support plan of heavy cruiser HMS Hawkins, during the assualt by the US Rangers shelling was provided by the battleship USS Texas, and destroyers USS Satterlee and HMS Talybont.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Concrete fortified position at Pointe du Hoc</i></td></tr>
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"<span><span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif">The assault force was carried in ten landing craft, with another two carrying supplies and four DUKW amphibious trucks carrying the 100-foot (30 m) ladders requisitioned from the London Fire Brigade. One landing craft carrying troops sank, drowning all but one of its occupants; another was swamped. One supply craft sank and the other put the stores overboard to stay afloat. German fire sank one of the DUKWs. Once within a mile of the shore, German mortars and machine guns fired on the craft. These initial setbacks resulted in a 40-minute delay in landing at the base of the cliffs, but British landing craft carrying the Rangers finally reached the base of the cliffs at 7:10am with approximately half the force it started out with. The landing craft were fitted with rocket launchers to fire grapnels and ropes up the cliffs. As the Rangers scaled the cliffs, the Allied ships provided them with fire support and ensured that the German defenders above could not fire down on the assaulting troops. The cliffs proved to be higher than the ladders could reach</span></span>.</span>"</span><br />
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The main sites have been left, thankfully, intact and provide a stark reminder of the fighting that took place - the timbers on the interior roof lines are still charred from either flamethrowers or grenades that were used against the German position, the walls are also riddled with multiple bullet hole scars. Again, there was much to take in and absorb, and again this was disturbed by several low flyovers by three Chinook Helicopters and then a large [Hercules?] type plane. <br />
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<u><b>The American Military Cemetery</b></u><br />
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Even on motorbikes, we could do little about the mile long queues of traffic on exceptionally narrow roads trying to approach the Normandy American Cemetery (Cimetière Américain de Colleville-sur-Mer), the air-head BMW's - parched from the non-movement - began to exhibit some displeasure! We parked some distance away and walked the rest of the distance with a sizeable crowd. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The American Cemetery (Normandy)</i></td></tr>
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The cemetery covers some 172.5 acres overlooking Omaha Beach and contains the remains of a little under 10,000 dead. The burials are marked by white Lasa marble headstones, 9,238 of which are Latin crosses and 151 are Stars of David. The cemetery contains the graves of 45 pairs of brothers (30 of which buried side by side), a father and his son, an uncle and his nephew, 2 pairs of cousins, 3 generals, 4 chaplains, 4 civilians, 4 women, 147 African Americans and 20 Native Americans. 307 unknown soldiers are buried among the other service members. Their headstones read '<i>Here Rests In Honored Glory A Comrade In Arms Known But To God</i>'. The Wall of the Missing has inscribed the names of 1,557 service members declared missing in action during Operation Overlord; 19 of these names bear a bronze rosette, meaning that their body was found and identified since the cemetery's dedication. As with most things now becoming apparent on this trip, the scale hits hard; it is literally a sea of white headstones as far as the eye can see and another genuinely tangible reminder of what happened here. </div>
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<u><b>Saint-Lô - The 'Capital of Ruins'</b></u></div>
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The journey back to the accommodation passed through the small village of Formigny, complete with its 15th Century church that paid more than a passing nod to earlier Romanesque styling (with chevron carved decorations and rounded arches). There was soon torrential rain via the D29 for a stop off in Saint-Lô; it's fair to say that we didn't see this town at its best - it was exceptionally dark and dreary and there are better days to see it. However, walking through the centre towards a shop for supplies, the rising bedrock outcrop atop which stands ancient looking walls and the shell of a cathedral immediately stood out. The city came from the name <i>Briovère</i> between the confluences of the Vire, Dolée and Torteron Rivers. This original name comes from '<i>Bridge on the Vire River</i>' in Gaulish, unsurprisingly the town was built on and around ramparts. The town started life as a Gallic fortified settlement, occupied by the tribe of the <i>Unelli of Cotentin</i>. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Saint-Lô ramparts and cathedral</i></td></tr>
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The town was conquered by the Romans led by <i>Quintus Titurius Sabinus</i> in 56 BC, the town was subsequent beset by invasions throughout history: the region was the scene of various Saxon invasions during the 3rd Century. The Franks didn't establish an administrative power there, although Briovera was nevertheless entitled to hammer coinage. Historian Claude Fauchet claimed that <span style="color: #666666; font-family: georgia;">"<span><span>the <i>Coutentin</i>, at the same time as our <i>Merovingian</i> kings, was inhabited by the <i>Sesnes</i> (Saxons), pirates, and seems to have been abandoned by <i>Carolingians</i>, as variable and too remote for correction by our kings, to the Normans and other plunderers of sea...</span></span>"</span>. Sainte-Croix Church was consecrated in 1204, this Romanesque building is the oldest in Saint-Lô and believed to be on the ruins of a temple of Ceres, it has undergone many modifications over the centuries. Only the gate and the first bays remain from the Norman period. Christianity grew quite late - there were only four bishops of Coutances before 511. A pilgrimage was conducted and the city took the name of <i>Saint-Laud</i>, and then the name <i>Saint-Lô</i> which has been known since the 8th century. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Saint-Lô in 1944 and present day 'The Capital of Ruins'</i></td></tr>
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During the Liberation, Saint-Lô suffered two series of air attacks during the Battle of Normandy; the first was the bombardment of the city by the Americans during the night of D-Day 1944. The first American air strike killed almost eight hundred civilians. Allied planes continued to attack the power plant and rail facilities daily for a week. A second series of air attacks began on 17th July during the <i>Battle of Saint-Lô</i> - one of the three conflicts in the <i>Battle of the Hedgerows</i>, which took place between 7th -19th July 1944, just before <i>Operation Cobra</i> - only on this second occasion it was bombed by the Germans, giving rise to its description by Samuel Beckett as the 'Capital of Ruins'. I knew I had heard of Saint-Lô, but it is only post-trip that its significance has been brought to the fore. Another site that if one had time, would be worthwhile exploring - like so much of Normandy and, I suspect France in general, you could spend months just in one area and be constantly finding new things and being generally beguiled by what the area has to offer. </div>
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<u><b>Bayeux (so much more than a tapestry)</b></u><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">
Our final day again commenced in driving rain, by this stage, though, no-one cared. We had seen a lot and there was more to see. Our journey was almost due north-east initially on the D38 which then turns outside Saint-Lô to morph to the D972 that becomes the D572, again arrow-straight, and plunging through Cerisy-la-Forét (the Cerisy Forest). At this stage I was struggling to see with a mixture of the rain, a fogging visor and, as if that wasn't enough, rain on my glasses from when I had opened the visor in a vain attempt to let air in to de-mist it. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Walking in search of coffee in Bayeux</i></td></tr>
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I had memories of Bayeux from my youth, I remembered it being profoundly pretty, and it remains so. Founded as a Gallo-Roman settlement in the 1st century BC under the name <i>Augustodurum</i>, Bayeux is the capital of the former territory of the <i>Baiocasses people of Gaul</i>, whose name appears in <i>Pliny's Natural History</i> (iv.107). Evidence of earlier human occupation of the territory comes from fortified Celtic camps, but there is no evidence of any major pre-existing Celtic town before the organisation of Gaul in Roman civitates. The town is mentioned by <i>Ptolemy</i>, writing in the reign of <i>Antoninus Pius</i>, under the name <i>Noemagus Biducassium</i> and remained so until the time of the Roman Empire. The main street was already the heart of the city. Two baths, under the Church of St. Lawrence and the post office in rue Laitière, and a sculpted head of the goddess Minerva have been found, attesting to the adoption of Roman culture. The city was largely destroyed during the Viking raids of the late 9th Century but was rebuilt in the early 10th Century under the reign of <i>Bothon</i>. In the middle of the 10th Century Bayeux was controlled by <i>Hagrold</i>, a pagan Viking, who defended the city against the Franks. The 12th-century poet <i>Benoît de Saint-Maure</i>, in his verse history of the dukes of Normandy, remarked on the Danish commonly spoken at Bayeux. </div>
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The 11th century saw the creation of five villages beyond the walls to the north east evidence of its growth during Ducal Normandy. William the Conqueror's half brother Odo, Earl of Kent, completed the cathedral in the city and it was dedicated in 1077. However the city began to lose prominence when William placed his capital at Caen. The term 'Normans' used to define William, his court and the invasion of 1066 is a derivative of 'North Men' / 'Norsemen' referring to the Viking settlement and lineage of the Norman Knights. We, of course, visited the Bayeux Tapestry which is an exceptionally ornate and superbly executed embroidered cloth nearly 70 metres (230 ft) long and 50 centimetres tall, depicting the events leading up to the Norman conquest of England culminating in the Battle of Hastings. It is thought to date to the 11th Century, within a few years after the Battle of Hastings. It tells the story from the point of view of the conquering Normans, but is now agreed to have been made in England - not Bayeux. It is likely that it was commissioned by Bishop Odo, William's half-brother (although there are a plethora of other theories and ideas as to who may have commissioned it). In 1729 the hanging was rediscovered by scholars at a time when it was being displayed annually in Bayeux Cathedral.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The interior of Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Bayeux</i></td></tr>
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After coffee (and for Dee the best tarte tatin I have ever seen), it was like an excited child that we made our way to the imposing and exceptionally impressive cathedral (<i>Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Bayeux</i> - 'Cathedral of Our Lady of Bayeux'). Early medieval architecture is something I cannot help by 'geek out' on and this is one of the best examples of a Norman-Romanesque building. The site is an ancient one and was once occupied by Roman sanctuaries. The present cathedral was consecrated on 14 July 1077 and although following serious damage to the Cathedral in the 12th Century the Cathedral was rebuilt in the Gothic style which is most notable in the crossing tower, transepts and east end, it retains many Romanesque features such as the crypt and decorative elements that clearly are a reference to what went before. As with all medieval cathedrals, the height is both impressive and symbolic and for me there was a sharp intake of breadth at the scale of the building. They are meant to impost and meant to instil some sort of reaction spiritually - for me whilst not necessarily a religious experience, they are nevertheless spiritual. We could have wandered Bayeux's pretty streets for days, but the trip was now drawing to a close, we were soon on the road southward to the accommodation to pack for an early start the next day back northwards to Cherbourg and the ferry home. </div>
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I cannot recommend highly enough a trip to France; the people were exceptionally friendly and helpful, despite my [very] broken French. The roads were agreeable, the towns pretty and even in damp weather, there is little to dampen spirits. France....you were phenomenal! </div>
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<u><b>France Trip Videologue </b></u><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0Normandy, France48.879870399999987 0.171252918.591063180632229 -34.9849971 79.168677619367742 35.3275029tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-78903616612332411032018-11-23T16:34:00.003+00:002021-09-23T12:44:47.341+01:00Sí an Bhrú (Newgrange)<div style="text-align: justify;">
A visit this week to the World Heritage Site has got my proverbial juices flowing. It has aroused not-so-dormant curiosities in all things archaeological! Newgrange is known as <i>Sí an Bhrú</i> with the latter word sometimes spelt
<i>brugh </i>or <i>brú</i>, (the same word as <i>Brú</i> in <i>Brú na Bóinne</i>). This word is
sometimes translated as ‘palace’ or ‘mansion’ and therefore Newrange is
often referred to as the ‘palace of the Boyne’. However, the old Irish
word for womb is Brú and so <i>Brú na Bóinne</i> may actually be more correctly
translated as Womb of the Bóinne/Boyne, rather than palace or the
mansion of the Boyne.
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The term <i>Sí</i> (sometimes <i>síd</i> or <i>sídh</i>) is usually associated with mounds and fairy mounds. Probably the oldest meaning of <i>Sí</i> relates to “(the) Otherworld”: that is the subterranean world of the <i>Tuatha Dé Danann</i> and <i>Aos Sí</i> in the literary traditions of Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. The second – and later – definition of <i>Sí</i> is “Otherworld Residence, Territory” (pl. <i>Síthe</i>). The majority of <i>Síthe</i> were equated with the ancient burial mounds and graves that dotted the landscapes of Ireland, though the term was sometimes applied to other areas associated with the supernatural like notable hilltops, caves, springs, lakes and certain wilderness locations (<i>An Sionnach Fionn</i>, 2009). </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The entrance, entrance stone and passage at Newgrange</i></td></tr>
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If the alternative translation is applicable, it perhaps gives even more significance to the sites in terms of their ritual function, that is to say, if these monuments are/were referred to or thought of as ‘wombs’. One is perhaps hesitant to use the term because of ‘new-age’ connotations, but ‘mother earth’ springs to mind; returning the ancestors to an other-worldly and comforting realm. It would also further the significance of the solstice as an experience given this great ‘womb’ along with Dowth is aligned with the winter event (an alignment of Knowth is conjectural, but hypothesised to align with the Equinox – akin to the Loughcrew complex). In days that now seem so long ago I studied the Boyne Valley and its archaeological significance (memories of Waddell’s ‘<i>The Prehistoric Archaeology of Ireland</i>’), learning facts such as; the Beaker People's influence, it predated Stonehenge, it predated the Great Pyramids and so on. But facts and figures offer little substitute for experiencing these places, although one fact I will hold onto is that there is a smaller mound that predates Newgrange on top of which it was built. <br />
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With the Bóinne cultural landscape a World Heritage Site since 1993, a wider appreciation of heritage sites in the public psyche and the inexorable rise in cultural tourism, it is no surprise that such sites attract visitors. Infrastructure associated with guiding people to these places is now ever-visible, as are attempts (understandably) for businesses to somehow associate themselves with it and take advantage of the passing trade. Newgrange (alongside Knowth and other similar monuments - I wrote about a trip to Knowth in '<span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><a href="https://alternate-road.blogspot.com/2015/07/biking-through-bru-na-boinne.html" target="_blank">Biking Through the Brú na Bóinne</a></span></span></span>') never fails to impress once standing in front of them. It’s easy to see them in splendid isolation, but of course they were and are surrounded by other associated structures and sites, indeed there are a collection of standing stones to the front of Newgrange as well as numerous other smaller satellite passage tombs, a series of henge sites, cursous, ancillaries and a later Bronze Age woodhenge. There was, just this summer, the spectacular discovery of other monuments and another sizable henge. It begs the question '<i>just what were they doing here?</i>'.<br />
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For me it is tempting, and would almost be easier, to write an archaeological critique and analysis of the site, and make it quite dry for the reader; something I have been guilty of in the past, but something I just can't help - the old academic in me will never quite die! Instead I thought I would focus on visiting the monument, peppering it with some facts, and concentrate on how it made me feel.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The incised decoration and stone bowl in the western chamber</i></td></tr>
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The approach to the site is dominated by the white quartz fa<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->çade that is, I'm reliably informed, reconstructed based on archaeological evidence from Prof. O'Kelly's excavations in the 1960's. I remember being told when excavating Ballynahatty that the Giant's Ring henge in Belfast would originally have gleamed with white quartz as well, excavations of cremation burials often also had quartz stones associated with them, sometimes placed at the compass points next to the urn. These sites would have, therefore, literally been beacons within the landscape. However, the façade reconstruction has and did cause some consternation and debate amongst archaeologists. The standing stones to the front almost act as guides to funnel one towards the entrance that is, in itself, imposing to say the least. You are greeted by the great decorated curb stone and two passages (the upper is the light box for the winter solstice sun atop which sits a great chevron decorated lintel).<br />
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<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->To enter, a stoop is necessary, minding the protruding capstone that looks like it could do some damage - and nearly did to my head on exit! The passage is lit, but even so the gloom seems to enclose you both literally and metaphorically; maybe it is like entering a womb or a warm embrace of the earth? In places the orthastat[s] lean in and this means if claustrophobic, this would be somewhat unsettling. Then the great corbelled chamber opens out and there is a sense of space; the height of the ceiling is as equally surprising as the complexity of the construction. Immediately the sheer amount of different decorations on stones becomes apparent, they are everywhere - spirals, circles, chevrons, lozenges and triangles. The designs on many stones continue on surfaces now hidden and excavations revealed that many stones are carved on their undersides and on the sides turned inwards to the cairns. Therefore it may not always have been important for the whole design to be visible which would suggest that the design and perhaps the decorated stone itself was significant, rather than the viewer or their interpretation.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The famous triskele at the back (north) chamber</i></td></tr>
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<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->I had to keep reminding myself that the place was over 5,000 years old! The art intrigues me; what was it's purpose and what did it mean? There has been, of course, much conjecture with the spirals and circles postulated to represent the sun and movement of the sun's course across the calender year. The chevrons have been interpreted as darkness and there is no doubt in my mind, remembering the solstice alignment, that light and dark and the celestial movements were significant. It is hard to argue against the famous ‘r’s in terms of purpose; ritual or religious significance. The purpose behind these monuments is theoretical, some have argued either as a place of worship for a ‘cult of the dead’ or ancestor worship (anyone familiar with Time Team will know of Francis Pryor’s fascination with ancestor worship), or for an astronomically-based faith. Prof. O'Kelly believed, rightly in my view, that the monument had to be seen in relation to the nearby Knowth, Dowth and the wider landscape, and that the building of Newgrange "<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #666666;">…cannot be regarded as other than the expression of some kind of powerful force or motivation, brought to the extremes of aggrandizement in these three monuments, the cathedrals of the megalithic religion</span></span>.</span>" (O’Kelly, 1982). O'Kelly argued that Newgrange, alongside the hundreds of other passage tombs built in Ireland during the Neolithic, showed evidence for a religion that venerated the dead as one of its core principles (<i>Ibid</i>).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Townley Hall - Little Grange - Summer Solstice (Ken Williams)</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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At one point, the interior lights were switched off and standing in the darkness fundamentally changed the space and its impact. After this a 'fake' winter solstice effect is created to show what the chamber is like when lit by the shaft of sunlight that hits the back (north chamber wall) and illuminates the famous triskele on one of the orthastat uprights. It was only recently that I discovered a nearby small passage tomb called Townley Hall, not often visited, but it also has an alignment with the summer solstice as imaged by Ken Williams of <span style="color: blue;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.shadowsandstone.com/" target="_blank">Shadows and Stone</a></span></span>. In his image you can clearly see the alignment; excavated by Prof. Eoghan prior to his long term excavation at Knowth, the sockets for the missing passage and chamber stones were located and can be seen by the concrete placement slabs.<br />
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The point is that within this cultural landscape there are almost too many monuments, many very large and significant, to count, all of which required thought, engineering and exceptional will to complete; many are aligned to celestial events (including winter and summer solstices [proven] and equinox events [proposed] alongside others that might yet be discovered). Therefore, the laws of probability would conclude that these monuments acted together throughout the year. They were special then, they remain special now. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-56140548556563139602018-08-31T09:45:00.002+01:002018-08-31T09:45:48.653+01:00Into The Lakelands<script charset="utf-8" data-zindex="1000000" id="asp-embed-script" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page-embed.js" type="text/javascript"></script><a class="asp-embed-link" href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/c5XXrpjH3mAdM/" target="_blank"><img alt="Into The Lakelands" border="0" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page/c5XXrpjH3mAdM/embed.jpg?buster=1535705066463" style="width: 100%;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-88721450790894102402018-08-23T16:48:00.003+01:002021-09-23T12:53:35.584+01:00Leitrim's Payback<div style="border-image: none 100% / 1 / 0 stretch; clear: both; text-align: justify;">
As I write this, Leitrim’s payback has been hard felt; for the first time in my biking ‘career’ I have come back from a biking weekend full of aches – especially in my legs and back – as well as a rather painful mouth ulcer….I must have been more tired and rundown than I thought! The alternative narrative is that the part of the ride on the Saturday in the most torrential rain I have ever ridden in has had an impact on my ever-ageing body. The weekend had been planned after the last July trip to roads as yet unexplored which had been something of a revelation; we have visited the main hotspots extensively previously, but we thirst to see places that are new to us. This ethos inevitably leads to more remote locations and more challenging roads – this weekend was perhaps the zenith of this approach. </div>
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We had booked a cottage near Killashandra, a small town in Co. Cavan; Cavan is one of those counties that people think has not a lot within it, a poor neighbour to the likes of Meath and Sligo, but it is ancient and charming because it isn't visited as much, it therefore has the feeling of being undiscovered and relatively untouched. Killashandra is derived from the Irish <em>Cill na Seanrátha</em> meaning ‘Church of the Old Rath’ and is in the middle of the Cavan lakelands – an area popular with those that enjoy fishing. In decreasing light the initial journey on the Friday night involved some motorway work to get out of Belfast’s urban sprawl; the days of daylight after 9pm are now long gone. After forming our group outside Keady, the journey was west south-west on the N2 to Clontibret then to Monaghan and the N54 to the ‘twisties’ outside Castlesaunderson and the R201 to Milltown. </div>
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<strong><u>Into the Lakes</u></strong></div>
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To the immediate north of Town Lough, we turned off the R201 to a narrow side road, the glow of the sat-nav was being blindly followed and I am happy to admit a complete reliance on it, the road soon forms a causeway over the Lough before turning west on the R199. This latter part of the journey was interesting to say the least; the road is narrow, overhung by large trees that seem to make the night even darker and with a grass centre dividing the two tarmac 'strips' that means that, in essence, the bikes can only use a quarter of the road width. In night and with rain falling this made it exceptionally challenging – at one point I must have hit the grass and the back end slid out to my right side, there was a momentary thought - "I'm going down" before instinctively I put on opposite lock and applied some power, allowing the traction control to take over. Thankfully the bike corrected itself and I was again on the narrow strip of tarmac. A close call! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Map of the Saturday route to Parke's and Ballindoon</em></td></tr>
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The cottage, only 2km from the Leitrim border, was a welcome sight; seemingly on its own, it was actually one of a number of gate lodges for the nearby large manorial site and was perfect for the occasion. We soon lit the large wood burning stove, a pleasing hiss as the last of the moisture from the logs was driven off before catching light, it is amazing how such a thing adds to the sense of homeliness. Within minutes, the craic was mighty and it seemed like it hadn't been so long since we had all been together. There was a variety of spirits brought and the revelation of the night were the delectable 'Dark & Stormy' cocktails - a mixture using ginger beer, lime, dark rum (in this case Gosling's Black Seal Rum) and a few dashes of bitters; a perfect sipping drink if ever there was one! My best laid plans for some quality White Russians was immediately thwarted when I gazed, disappointed, into my creation to see that it resembled something that had left a body in a hurry, rather than something that should go into the body in a hurry! The plan for the following day was firmly set; Parke's Castle on the Leitrim / Sligo border on the northern shore of Lough Gill - a decent journey west. We awoke early on Saturday morning, determined to get a full day on the bikes, initial concerns, though, were all about empty stomachs and where we could get a good breakfast. We were again soon on the R199 north of Garadice Lough in search of this!
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<strong><u>The Wetlands to Parke's</u></strong><br />
The first town we came across was Ballinamore, proudly displaying banners for the Ballinamore Family Festival. We, though, simply wanted a full Irish breakfast and duly stopped at a hotel in the town centre. We entered to find a group sinking pints and the atmosphere wasn't exactly conducive to a relaxed breakfast so, with a degree of haste, we decided somewhere else would be a better bet. Fortunately the appropriately named 'The Corner' situated on the corner of Main Street provided one of the most delicious full breakfasts I've had in quite a while. The little café overlooks the Yellow River (modernly referred to as the Ballinamore-Ballyconnell Canal). It is from this river and its importance that the town gets its name, Anglicized from <em>Béal Átha Móir</em> ('mouth of the big ford').
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Stopping for a break near Parke's Castle</em></td></tr>
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We travelled west on the R208 that is seemingly flanked my numerous loughs and lakes; these bodies of water are everywhere - St. John's Lough, Lough Nacarriga, Corrachoosaun Lough before passing much larger bodies of water like Lough Scur which had Mesolithic flint flakes found around its banks (<a href="http://www.lithicsireland.ie/driscoll_killian_2006_the_early_prehistory_in_the_west_of_ireland_web.pdf#page=243" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Driscoll, 2006, 229</span></a>). The countryside is of flowing drumlins and there was a serenity that came over me when riding in this sort of landscape, the road[s] seem to flow with the land around rather than 'fighting' it. Perhaps it's the joy of having these large areas of fresh water - the road builders had little choice but to work in sympathy with the terrain. Around the Roscommon / Leitrim border we turned northwards flanking the western shore of Lough Allen on what is now the R280 - I remember parts of this road from a previous trip to Sligo in July 2017, the drumlins seem to give way to areas that are much more densely wooded and feel more 'wild' as a result. Following signs from Dromahair we turned due west onto the R289 before entering the village proper. The centre felt quaint and compact and the village is ancient in origin. It is named from the Irish <em>Droim dhá Ethair</em> ('ridge of two demons') which is so named after a ridge of high ground above the Bonnet River. This ridge was the site for the foundation of a 5th Century Christian site of Drumlease. The village was also the seat of the O'Rourkes and the capital of a medieval <em><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kingdom_of_Breifne" target="_blank">Briefne</a></em>. Only now did I realise that immediately outside the village lies the remains of Creevelea Friary and within it [the village] is a 13th Century hall-castle and later fortified house associated with the O'Rourkes. My research must be slipping! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Main entrance (east façade) of Parke's Castle</em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>The original gatehouse (white block) with later manor house attached</em></td></tr>
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The road (now the R286) hugs the western shore of Lough Gill, with plenty of twists and turns; it was a joy to again be 'throwing' a bike left, right, left then right again, applying a little counter-steer to tip the bike into the direction of the corner. Then, gradually revealing itself, was the outline of Parke's Castle. When someone mentions a castle to me, my mind initially thinks of Anglo-Norman fortresses, the ones I studied many years ago: Dundrum, Trim, Ballintober, King John's (Limerick and Carlingford) etc. Parke's seems more delicate, for want of a better word. It is later and with a heavier slant towards domestication rather than the pre-dating military fortresses. But it seems more inviting perched on the lough shore. The site is undergoing some internal works (thatching the old forge), and was free in as a result. But it was pleasingly quiet with only a few small groups inside. From a visitor experience point of view, for me, this is key as a cluttered busy site is one I seem to naturally shy away from.</div>
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We took the excellent tour to learn that Parke's is the later name for the site, previously known as Newtown or O'Rourke's Castle. The courtyard excavations revealed the foundations of an earlier 16th century tower house - the original O'Rourke stronghold - with a pentagonal bawn wall surrounding it. Conveniently differentiated by its colour (white), the original gatehouse was subsumed by the later additional manor house. It was in this original tower house the O'Rourke entertained the shipwrecked Spanish Armada Officer <i>Francisco de Cuellar</i>, an act that no doubt helped his ultimately execution for treason in 1591. It was after the O'Rourke era, in the early 1600's, that the castle was gifted to Sir Roger Parke, an English planter and captain, and it is from this family line that the castle is now known/named. They domesticated the arrangements, using the stone from the tower house to construct the manor house that became their main residence. We walked the castle walls, and your eye is immediately trying to take in the scenery, the views over the lough and neighbouring countryside genuinely breathtaking. It was here that the OPW Guide informed us of the rumours of an impending downpour later that evening....how right she would be! On my list of sites in the area one stood out; Ballindoon Friary. We had time to visit this and then get something to eat in Carrick-on-Shannon before heading back to the accommodation, so with this plan in mind we headed due south towards the friary - it was, though, on these roads constantly flitting between Leitrim and Sligo that we had to pull over to give our bodies a break. <br />
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<strong><u>Who Needs Waterproofs?</u></strong><br />
The journey to Ballindoon is on the R284, at times nothing more than a track between seemingly baron fields or solemn trees, the surface was rutted and challenging; in many areas I had to stand on the pegs not only for my own sanity, but to give the suspension a break! The distance from Parke's to Ballindoon is only approximately 30km, but it definitely felt much longer. The road is within inches of Lough Bo and that particular area feels feral, like we were genuinely stepping back . At Killadoon Crossroads, literally a meeting of roads and tracks, we simply had to stop; my arms were shaken off me and I have no doubt that everyone else's were too, but were only 2km away from the friary and we continued. Then, seemingly rising out of the landscape, was the remains of Ballindoon Friary. My immediate impressions were that the land seems to be slowly reclaiming and enveloping the site; it has long been abandoned (the friary was dissolved in around 1585), but this reclamation process looks almost like an act of predation by the trees and ivy.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Ballindoon (Baile an Dúin) Friary</em></td></tr>
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The site is a Dominican priory within an earlier ecclesiastical enclosure, built in one architectural style - 'Middle English Gothic'. The church (now comprising the nave, chancel, tower and transept) was founded in 1507. Although it is easy to view it in splendid isolation perched 6m above the shores of Lough Arrow, it has to be looked at within the context of the larger holy site (that also includes a font, ritual holy well, the ecclesiastical enclosure) as well as the nearby Ballindoon House which itself contains a large early ringfort/rath. As we soon observed by the freshly dug graves, the site is still used today and for that reason still exudes a reverence, despite its decay. It was in one of the dark interior rooms that the lads, presumably through a sudden change in light conditions, noticed that one of the earlier headstone carvings aesthetically changed to a relief formation. To be there at that specific time, change of light etc was a million to one shot! Chance or design....now there's the great debate! By this stage the breakfast sustenance had worn off and hunger was setting in, an Indian in Carrick-on-Shannon was widely agreed on, and we duly set off south towards the town dominated by that great river. It was with more than a little relief that we turned off the R1013 just north of Lough Key onto the N4....smooth roads again....bliss! We were able to ride past the backed up traffic just west of the town to Shamrat (Spice) Indian Restaurant. By the time we had finished the clouds had gathered and they were dark and heavy. <br />
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The rain commenced in anger, and it was a deluge. We had no choice but to ride through it and as we set off east it became apparent very quickly that even with the best of gear, we were not going to stay dry. Water was lying in deep pools on the road such was the sheer volume of rain and as it splashed up onto my trousers and boots I realised that I was struggling to see. Even a slight lift of the visor did little to help with vision. I was somewhat surprised (and relieved) by how well the big Triumph gripped and handled. As soon as I felt the water running down my chest, though, I could only laugh and accept just how drenched I would be by the journeys end. More than one time I saw frogs hopping across the roads, this is no exaggeration, it was <u>that</u> wet! It was with more than a little relief that we all arrived safely back at the cottage; the floors soon like the shallow end of a swimming pool as the water dripped off all the gear. The fire was again lit, a genuine necessity, and I will attempt to claim that the rum was purely for warmth! <br />
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There is something that happens on trips away on the bike, a head space and zen-like state that seems to be inevitable. But getting diaries that sync is getting ever harder. There remains so much to see on this isle, the question is always; 'where to next?'.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-12773190276850656862018-06-15T12:56:00.001+01:002021-09-23T12:55:35.151+01:00The Tropical Midlands<div style="text-align: justify;">
An Irish summer, it seems to me, can be hotter than traditional holidays to 'suntraps' abroad. I don't know why but the sun seems stronger somehow, more ferocious and I have a tendency to more readily burn in its intensity. The last few weeks have been thus and we were due to take a biking weekend away - the first in a year - at the tail end of this tropical bake. Cavan is an under-visited county, seemingly the poor neighbour to the likes of Meath and Sligo, but this also has the advantage of lowering prices for accommodation. When I researched what there was to see and do there were a surprising amount of little sites in close proximity such as Drumlane, Aughrim wedge tomb and even Abbeylara, but for larger attractions (Louchcrew, Parke's Castle, Strokestown <i>et al</i>) there is a bit of a drive involved. That was fine though, as with so little saddle time between us over the last 12 months, a drive was what was desired.
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With it fast approaching the Summer Solstice the nights are short, with streaks of pale daylight still visible around midnight; it seems hard to believe that in little over a week's time the days will start getting shorter! The times seems easy with so much light, it adds an 'airiness' to one's psyche. Little wonder, then, that in ancient times it was the Winter Solstice that seemed to be more revered - a plea for the short days and long nights to cease. For a biking trip the summer adds flexibility and a more sedate pace as even if late, there'll be plenty of light and therefore time to arrive somewhere and settle in. The Friday night drive down, for me, was in leathers and jeans although I feared at one point as large thundery drops started bouncing off my helmet that I would regret that decision, but the rain didn't amount to much. In clear humid air, we initially travelled west from Keady towards Clontibret (famous for the Battle of Clontibret), to Castleshane and then Monaghan town before turning south west through Clones. Clones (from the Irish <em>Cluain Eois</em> - Eos's Meadow) is a historic town which originated as a monastic settlement founded by Tigernach [mac Coirpri] in the 6th Century within the 'kingdom' of <em>Dartraige Con-innisi. </em>The<em> Dartraige </em>were an Irish<em> túath </em>(a túath was a Medieval Irish polity smaller than a Kingdom, the word is from the old Irish which can be translated as 'people' or 'nation' and is cognate with the Welsh and Breton <em>tud </em>also meaning 'people'). <em>Dartraige Con-innisi</em> translates as Dartraige (Dartry) of the Island Chief. The ruins of a 12th Century abbey and a round tower can still be seen in the town alongside a stone shrine to St. Tigernach.
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<strong><u>Bollinger Friday</u></strong><br />
The road south-west was pleasing, lots of twists and turns with the occasional straight thrown in for good measure, although in placed the road surface was worn and rough before we turned south-east at Lough Sarah onto the L1503. We passed through Redhills and onto our accommodation just south of Killybandrick Lough. I had noticed on the journey down that whilst the rear end was gripping really well, the bike felt heavier than usual to thrown into the corners. I had had to pump the tyre earlier and the realisation came that I had a slow puncture. Bugger! The accommodation, however, was an idyll of stillness - there wasn't a sound other than an owl's call in the night as the mist formed after yet another hot day.
It helped that Kivi had brought a bottle of Bollinger, in true Bond-esque style. What a revelation!
We awoke the next morning to a completely flat tyre on the Explorer; it was interesting, though, that on previous trips and in previous years this might have constituted some sort of drama, a faff and fuss. Perhaps with the patience a few more years under the belt gives you we simply borrowed a compressor from the owners, pumped the tyre up and drove ten minutes north to a tyre centre to get it changed. My God it felt good to be riding the bike again. We made pit stop at the nearby Clogher Variety Market, itself located just north of Drummully church and graveyard ruins, where we devoured a hefty fry before heading south to Belvedere House and Gardens.
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Just south of Finnea and Lough Kinale & Derragh Lough Natural Heritage Area, the R394 cuts through peat bogs in a 6km stretch of arrow straight road that enabled a twist of the throttle and the rising burble from the Explorer's triple engine....glorious! The undulations of the road ensured it was an interesting ride! With hindsight, we should have stopped at the impressive ruins of Abbeylara Cistercian Monastery just 3km west off our southern R394 / N55 route, but we were enjoying our time on the bikes and in what read as 27<span face=""calibri" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: 11pt;">°</span>C heat, we also needed the air circulating around us! It was at Castlepollard that my mouth felt like, and resembled sandpaper. The heat was stifling and I knew at this stage that I had no-where near enough fluids on board and I was now dehydrating quickly. An important lesson learned, and in future I will ensure I drink plenty - although needing the toilet on a bike is also an issue, it quickly becomes all you can think about! We stopped at Castlepollard for a drink in the midday heat, even meandering at a slow pace was an exhausting task. Castlepollard is a picturesque town with the original layout preserved and centred around a triangular green on which is a water feature and sculpture depicting the local legend of the <em>Children of Lir</em>. The name is from the castle built by Nicholas Pollard, an English Army Captain from Devonshire who fought for Elizabeth I in the Nine Years War. The town's pre-Anglicized name is <em>Baile na gCros</em> (town of the cross). Interestingly nearby is <em>Randún;</em> a <em>Turgesius</em> (Thurgestr / Thorgísl - a Viking Chief in Ireland in the 9th Century) fort / stronghold. Castlepollard is also just 4km west of the great ruins of Fore (which we visited during the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEIQPKBJLGE&t=3s" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">'Vernal Biking Weekend</span></a><span style="color: blue;">'</span> of 2016).
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<strong><u>Belvedere House</u></strong></div>
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We continued south, skirting Mullingar, to Belvedere House and Gardens situated on the shore of Lough Ennell. Belvedere was a Georgian hunting lodge built for Robert Rochfort, 1st Earl of Belvedere and is a fine example of Palladian architecture in Ireland. It was built in 1740 by the architect Richard Cassels and when the Earl decided to use it as his main residence he employed the renowned Stuccadore, Barthelemij Cramillion, to create the Rococo ceilings which are widely regarded as some of the best in Ireland. The Earl is perhaps best known as the 'Cruel or Wicked Earl', pertaining to his treatment of his second wife, Mary Molesworth. Around 1743 he believed stories that she had been unfaithful to him with his younger brother and consequently locked her up, alone other than her servants, at the family home of Gaulstown for the rest of his life (thirty-one years). She was only released on the order of her son on his father's death but was, unsurprisingly, extremely damaged by the experience. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruins of Rochfort (later Tudenham) House <br />
<a href="http://www.belvedere-house.ie/"><em>www.belvedere-house.ie</em></a></td></tr>
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We took a forest trail up towards the house which also gives superb views upwards to the terracing. But once faced with the building its modest size is what immediately struck me; the building is, at widest, two rooms deep and although grand, is small for such a significant estate. There are only a few rooms on the ground and basement levels open, but the 'tour' is self guided so although not much to see, there is a freedom to it. The rooms are extremely delicate and finely decorated, but again, not sizeable which must have made them intimate in which to socialise, but if its original purpose was as a hunting lodge this is unsurprising. The estate grounds are an exceptionally impressive parkland, dotted with occasional features such as the octagonal gazebo, which would originally have been roofed and served to offer views to the Lough and the estate and the mid-eighteenth Century Gothic Arch which served as mock entrance and focal point for the northern end of the grounds. Perhaps most famous is the Jealous Wall, the largest folly in Ireland which was built <em>c.</em>1760 by the Earl to 'shield' him from the view of another brother, George's, grander residence of Rochfort House (later named Tudenham House) of which he was jealous. It's always easy to judge, and history is written by the eventual victors, but the 1st Earl doesn't exactly sound like a stable individual! </div>
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We took time to sit on a bench underneath a tree, buzzing with honey bees, to chat and admire our current situation. It seems a long time ago from those embryonic bike weekends in 2013 and 2014, everything (including the bikes) has changed. We are a well oiled machine now on the road, but I find that the distances between required rest stops is ever decreasing. It was around 4 o'clock that we started the journey northwards, now in need of something to eat as well as drink! But two pints of iced water in Caseys Steak Bar (Ballinagh) still couldn't quell the 'throbbing eye' dehydration headache that soon becomes all-consuming. Once back at the accommodation several pints of water and two Nurofen eased the situation in my head before a Sol and a film to relax. The contented 'humphs' of the horses in the neighbouring field added a suitable soundtrack. </div>
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After several morning coffees on Sunday, the journey home commenced in mid afternoon under leaden skies. It was, though, still 'close' and warm. This time the journey would be more or less a straight sling shot north-west to Belfast. Outside Redhills the series of corners were once again a joy as the L1503 becomes the A3 and then N54 before widening to the N2. As ever there is a sense of haste to get home, to compete the journey and, of course, start planning the next!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-58926991476632457462018-01-12T11:15:00.000+00:002018-01-22T11:28:21.707+00:00Canarian Winter<script id="asp-embed-script" data-zindex="1000000" type="text/javascript" charset="utf-8" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page-embed.js"></script><a class="asp-embed-link" href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/8N1mscOILsK0X/" target="_blank"><img src="https://spark.adobe.com/page/8N1mscOILsK0X/embed.jpg?buster=1516620475777" alt="Canarian Winter" style="width:100%" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-39782860426976816472018-01-09T13:36:00.001+00:002021-09-23T12:57:03.568+01:00Promises of the Winter Sun<div style="text-align: justify;">
The winters here can be somewhat depressing, the darkness feels heavy and can last for what seems like an age each day and, even with the coming of daylight, there is a grimness to the grey wash that seemingly prevails everything. In my experience my mood can mirror this; there are no motorbike breaks and my system is definitely starved of Vitamin D! The Canary Island[s] offered the promise of rest-bite and a much needed break, they also usually guarantee clear blue waters and underwater frolics. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nuestra Señora del Carmen (in Plaza de la iglesia)</td></tr>
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Los Cristianos differs from its louder, brasher neighbour (Las Americas) as it developed from a small fishing settlement, indeed there are 16th Century references to Los Cristianos by Hernán Guerra as a harbour and it remained an important port in the proceeding centuries. References record that the settlement didn't really develop due to the threat of pirate raids, this sounds like make-believe and like something out of a book, but a true part of the island's past. The first permanent settlement of Los Cristianos was in the 1860's when it was described by Pedro de Olive as "<span><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif" style="color: #444444; font-family: georgia;">a hamlet in Arona, with three one-storey houses, a two-storey house and a hut.</span></span>" Los Cristianos' natural harbour lent it well to trade and in 1909 the first quay was built to ship the produce of a local distillery; it is still referred to as <i>El Puerto Viejo</i> (the old quay). Arriving in the town, for me, is like seeing an old friend, one that has a metaphorical arm around me. A big part of my psyche, both happy and sad, belongs on the island and for those reasons and experiences it will always resonate in my soul. The chimes from <i>Nuestra Señora del Carmen</i> are now a familiar music that signals reverie and a more leisurely attitude. Immediately noticeable is the cheaper cost of living - a marker for just how hard hit we are with inflation here! But as the sun kisses one's skin <i>la dulce vida</i> (to translate from Italian to Spanish) is here again! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawn through the Guaza 'saddle'</td></tr>
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I watched the sunrise - it is probably not for the first time here, but certainly within memory and for the ability to appreciate it it might as well have been - over the Guaza 'saddle'. The cold of the night quickly dissipates when the sun peeps over the crest and within half an hour it is warmer than a summer day at home. One of the new experiences I have had on this break is an early morning walk, and one that is joyous; every morning we passed an elderly lady on the beach, always in the same location, in the midst of her morning Yoga routine. This lady must have been in her 70's but looked one - two decades younger. After this (and on our return route) we would see her coming out of the sea from her post-Yoga swim....what a way to start the day! I have to remind myself that I am on holiday and the Utopian dream I have in my head of a 'simpler life' also needs work to make it a success. No longer, though, can this (or any activity) be put off 'until tomorrow' or 'we'll do that soon' for it will either never come or come so soon it passes us by. Life is perilously short. With that in mind I was relieved when I was able to book some dives with Sa Caleta. Even after booking I was palpably relaxed and was like an excited boy waiting to get on the boat and get submerged. I learned, with dismay, that the turtles from El Puertito (a site I had dived and written <a href="http://moorso-begins.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/el-puertito-diving-at-turtle-bay.html" target="_blank">about here</a>) had to be moved due to people interfering as humans always seem to default to, trying to grab their fins etc. Why we can't just leave well alone I'll never know. However, they have a new habitat off the Tenerife coast and our first dive would be with them and sting rays.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Atlantic green turtle off the southern Tenerife coast</td></tr>
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Turtles are an enigmatic creature, to me they have a somewhat forlorn facial appearance but very expressive eyes. Up close they look at you with a piercing quality. The green sea turtle (<i>Chelonia mydas</i>) is distinct as it has a large teardrop-shaped carapace (shell) and large flippers that have been used to slap me in the past to gain my attention. Those that reach maturity can live to be 80 years old in the wild. Seeing them again and being so close to them was, as ever, an uplifting experience mentally, emotionally and spiritually which signalled how the rest of the dive would proceed. Despite my dive computer battery going flat, the dive was serene, a school of Barracuda hovered overhead and curious wrasse were keen to see what was going on. Then, from the 'desert' of the sandy bottom, a sting ray 'flew' into view. It glided underneath me before turning to presumably to resume the never ending hunt for food. We hugged the volcanic rocky shelf, swimming through shoals of fish before making the ascent to the boat. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The wreck of El Condesito</td></tr>
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</xml><![endif]-->There was another dive the next day, to an old favourite; the site of El Condesito near Las Galletes. El Condesito is a cargo ship that sank on 1st January 1972 near Las Galletas on the south coast of Tenerife. The wreck is now a well-known recreational dive site. The ship was transporting cement for the construction of Los Cristianos. The ship ran aground about 50 meters (165 feet) from where the Punta Rasca Lighthouse later was constructed (no lives were lost). It was this sinking that prompted the construction of the lighthouse three years later; there are differing stories as to what happened, with some stating the ship suffered engine trouble during a storm and others that the captain and crew were drunk. Until recently the hull, engine room and cabin were intact with only the bow having been torn away. However, the wreck is increasingly unstable but can still be penetrated from many entry points. Access is easy from the forward hold swimming through the remains of the cargo. The bags of cement she was carrying have now solidified into blocks, and all around the site are white solid "stones" that are actually the now-solidified bags of cement. There is a 36 m (118 ft) drop-off nearby which is often dived by more experienced divers to see the famous Black Coral (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SRX1m99xY0&lc=z22nzfsabob4hpstfacdp4354iclcm0uzsb2gs0gtjtw03c010c" target="_blank">which I have dived</a>) before ascending to "off-gas". As ever, the size of the Trumpet Fish in the ship interior was phenomenal, the wreck acts as something of an artificial reef for a variety of species. It is nestled in a series of 'horseshoe' volcanic rock formations that are explored as part of the dive at the site. There was, though, relatively little to see after the wreck proper. I knew that this would be my last dive here for this visit and as the time was quickly drawing to a close there is a realisation that normality will soon resume.</div>
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This trip represented a much needed break for Nicola and I and our first time away for nearly three years! Doesn't time go by with increasing speed?! Whether here or other locations there is little doubt that we will not leave it so long next time. Thanks to all for their hospitality. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-8422166418466975492017-07-18T13:16:00.002+01:002017-07-18T13:16:29.186+01:00Sligeach: 'Abounding in Shells'<script charset="utf-8" data-zindex="1000000" id="asp-embed-script" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page-embed.js" type="text/javascript"></script><a class="asp-embed-link" href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/B7BYzastUHZIP/" target="_blank"><img alt="Sligo & Eagles Flying" border="0" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page/B7BYzastUHZIP/embed.jpg?buster=1500380176269" style="width: 100%;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-60117080895279621072017-07-14T16:34:00.003+01:002018-06-13T14:28:15.739+01:00Sligo and Eagles Flying<div style="text-align: justify;">
I must have something or someone watching over me, as the 'great overseer' blessed us with another phenomenal few days for a bike trip, this time to Sligo. It's been a while since we have been in Sligo and having just come back I cannot for the life of me figure out why. It is close enough to be reached after a comfortable and picturesque ride, but far enough to make one feel that there has been some sort of journey there. Our rough compass point was west-south-west towards Monaghan and Cavan before hitting the wetlands near Leitrim. My sat-nav was on 'twisty route' setting, taking us on roads we had never travelled before; the scenery was new to my eyes and vivid in the sunshine. </div>
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The sat-nav was taking us along small 'R' roads and away from both motorways and/or 'N' roads - I think we are all similar in this regard - the older we get, the more we dislike motorway travel. Motorways remove one from the travel experience and, indeed, the landscape. Take the smaller roads, they are almost always more interesting! We passed through Ballinamore onto the R208 just north of Fenagh, here the road skirted smaller lakes before turning northwards and flanking Lough Allen. To the west (our left hand side) the topography rises towards Corry Mountain Bog, whilst to the east the waters of the Lough looked inviting as the temperature rose. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view east over Lough Allen</td></tr>
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In my peripheral vision was an old white sign for Tarmon Abbey ruins; somewhere in my brain was an image of them, now not much more than a dilapidated little church shell, quite the juxtaposition to nearby Boyle (approximately 14km south-west) which we would pass through later. The sat-nav told me to turn west off the R280 onto a small trackway, a sign pointed to a 'scenic waterfall' and I had no idea where it was taking me, but I followed regardless. The road wound up the hillside, climbing steeply and narrowing - this was clearly not the way to go, but the sat-nav must have wanted me to see this waterfall! </div>
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We pulled in beside what appeared to be abandoned farm buildings to regroup; the weather was hot and this, again, raised the debate of leathers vs textiles. I ride in Dainese armoured textiles, but the school of thought is increasingly towards leathers, and I have to agree, the reason textiles are choice is mainly weather related. The views over Lough Allen were spectacular, the abandoned cottage simply adding to the ambiance. We never did see the waterfall though! Only after coming back did I manage to retrace our steps and find the location of this little trackway and alcove (G 93944 18817) and for a while I was unsure if it was Lough Allen or Lough Arrow, but the view is seared into my memory for some reason so it touched some nerve. </div>
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<u><b>Old Friends & Tubbercurry</b></u></div>
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By this stage I realised that the 'twisty' option was all well and good but it might drag us through a hedge backwards to get to the accommodation and although it made for great biking roads I plumbed for a more conventional route. We turned onto the R285 southwards to join the N4 and a heavily smoking lorry just south-east of Lough Key and Lough Key Forest Park arriving in Boyle in the blink of an eye. Boyle is a location we have visited several times, once by chance and once by design and it felt familiar; its fantastic abbey and bawn ruins are well worth visiting, but this time we managed to startle some American tourists by overtaking them just before the R294 tightened to a glorious twisty, undulating ribbon of tarmac towards our destination of Gorteen / Gurteen. The accommodation was a bungalow situated in what felt like the middle of no-where but the silence was something to savour, disturbed only by the house martins that were nesting in the eves and the 'splat' of an occasional cow-pat hitting the ground! </div>
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We were soon on our way to Tubbercurry for dinner; Tubbercurry (<i>Tobar an Choire</i> meaning 'well of the corrie') lies 17km west of Gorteen and is the second largest town in terms of population and land area in Sligo. We feasted in Cawleys before riding back with the slowly setting sun on our backs glowing orange and red and the grip the warmed road yielded was simply magnificent. </div>
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The next morning was glorious, warm and clear, and we decided to go to Shells in Strandhill for breakfast. For the uninitiated, Strandhill is something of a surfer town and Shells - located right on the seafront - is legendary for its breakfasts. Most of the route was northwards on the R293 through Ballymote then the N4 briefly before taking the R292 that hugs the coast with the western side of Knocknarea mountain looming over it, a joyous experience that served to increase my appetite. However, the 'surfer dudes' parading around the seafront complete with their wet suits at the hip in catalogue-esque poses served to make me rather conscious of my expanding waistline! Bugger....that battle is lost! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOlF7OX8o5noiFMjuTRAHGAV0vp7mObxas6dJXsnYXddWrpyP3ow_s_BgDC4wg22XVikf4UgbnfCdfYQMyhWSuLIDJZrtmHRFduX2U5SD_bnL3npzD3CD8T1irRznEfV0EP5ImZ9jHXs/s1600/IMG_1038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="1600" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOlF7OX8o5noiFMjuTRAHGAV0vp7mObxas6dJXsnYXddWrpyP3ow_s_BgDC4wg22XVikf4UgbnfCdfYQMyhWSuLIDJZrtmHRFduX2U5SD_bnL3npzD3CD8T1irRznEfV0EP5ImZ9jHXs/s400/IMG_1038.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIp_JRXbxjC5R9AasWg_0OOz81_-w8htDtbyka-MqlyDBF_4v7m_QTtzaKQizmD7udVm0lEI4YuH4EUxTwVZU-iJHV8f2MP81YxlNsV1E2guHKkaAqktkR05_lBeVCLqgRyUm2ES6JXY/s1600/IMG_1009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIp_JRXbxjC5R9AasWg_0OOz81_-w8htDtbyka-MqlyDBF_4v7m_QTtzaKQizmD7udVm0lEI4YuH4EUxTwVZU-iJHV8f2MP81YxlNsV1E2guHKkaAqktkR05_lBeVCLqgRyUm2ES6JXY/s400/IMG_1009.JPG" width="400" /></a>Nine kilometres south-east from Strandhill, and still somewhat within the reach of Knocknarea is Carrowmore megalithic cemetery. Carrowmore or <i>An Cheathrú Mhór</i> meaning 'great quarter' is one of the four main passage tomb cemeteries in Ireland (alongside Carrowkeel [<i>Breac Sliabh</i>], Loughcrew [<i>Loch Craobh</i>] and Newgrange in the <i>Brú na Bóinne</i>) and the entire landscape is ritualised and significant in a prehistoric context. Carrowmore also boasts one of the oldest used passage tombs. As you stand in the fields that make up the site, the first instinct is to look around at the surrounding area something I savoured as it was 2012 that I was last here. </div>
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The cemetery is surrounded by dynamic peaks that almost seem to enclose it, all of which seem to have some sort of megalithic monument atop them; there is, of course, Knocknarea with <i>Miosgán Médhbh</i> (Queen Medb's grave), Carns Hill and Oz Mountains (<i>Sliabh Gamh</i>) and Ballygawley Mountains the latter has four peaks (C<i>alliach a Vera, Sliabh Deane, Sliabh Dargan and Aghamore Far</i>) which have cairns on their summits. Carrowmore, therefore, cannot be viewed in isolation, it is part of a much wider and much much larger prehistoric landscape. Carrowmore has approximately thirty monuments today in various states of preservation; most are small dolmens, some with their original enclosing boulder circles (Tomb 7 [middle picture] is an example of this). </div>
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The most famed is Site 51 or Listoghil (<i>Lios an tSeagail</i>) which is the largest monument at Carrowmore; crudely 'excavated' over the course of its history it was re-excavated in a scientific manner by G<span class="st">ö</span>ran Burenhult in the 1990's and it is his work that exposed the intact curb stones. Bone and other material recovered during his excavation was dated to 3500 BC. Other dates suggest that there was something going on prior to the tomb being built, with a radiocarbon date of 6100 BC also obtained. There has also been debate about whether the tomb has an alignment, with Meehan postulating that it was aligned with <a href="http://moorso-begins.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/imbolc-nears.html" target="_blank"><i>Imbolc</i></a> or the beginning of Spring around the 1st February (Meehan, 2012). This was an auspicious time with the end of Winter (or a new beginning) celebrated by pagan cultures and later adopted by Christian festivals; Imbolc is now St. Brigid's Day although St. Brigid is also thought to be based on an earlier Gaelic goddess. </div>
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We bumped into a biker from England travelling on his Triumph 1050 Tiger, we meandered round the northern part of the site together and shot the breeze, envious at his retirement at what we thought was a young age although we never did find out how old he was! All I can hope for is that I am that chilled out and in that position at his age! He got a picture of us, but we didn't get a name of a picture of him so he becomes a 'traveller we met on the road'. I like that description, it sounds good, he becomes something in my own little saga. </div>
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<u><b>Ballymote Castle</b></u></div>
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A name I haven't heard for many years! Ballymote Castle was included as part of the fieldwork for my undergraduate thesis, for which I travelled the length and breadth of Ireland alone in my car at the time, a bullet-proof Mitsubishi Colt, sleeping in the back of it as I ran out of money for B&B's after three days! Those were the days before sat-nav's and a lot of main roads, when map-reading was a necessary skill. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ballymote Castle </td></tr>
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Ballymote Castle is one of the great 'keepless' castles in Ireland; that is there is no great central <i>donjon </i>or keep. It was built at the tail end of the 13th / beginning of the 14th century probably by Richard de Burgo (<i>Richard Óg de Burgh</i> - The Red Earl) who was the most powerful of the de Burgh Earls of Ulster and friend of King Edward ('<i>Longshanks</i>') I of England. The castle is remarkable as the accommodation is housed in the great gatehouse, therefore the design presumably relinquishes a little defence for comfort by doing away with a great tower which would have often served as the final retreat. The south wall (opposite wall to the gatehouse) bears scarring and this is presumably related to a tower that was designed to protect a postern (secondary) gate in this wall that was never completed. A similar design, although on a much much larger and grander scale, is Beaumaris Castle - one of the great Welsh castles of Edward I. The Red Earl did not keep the castle for long, losing it to the O'Connors of Sligo in 1317 (de Burgh died nine years later) who in turn lost it in 1347. It has been suggested that the castle was all but abandoned after its loss to the O'Connors and this could be true; a castle was more than a domestic building and/or stronghold, it could be politically and economically important as well as strategic and it could also act as an important symbol or power. </div>
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<u><b>Eagles Flying</b></u></div>
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What can I say? This place is something of a revelation and I cannot recommend highly enough. Not usually on our radar, the Irish Raptor Research Centre / Eagles Flying is home to 100 eagles, hawks, falcons, owls, vultures and other animals and is, genuinely, a phenomenal day out. The centre opened in 1999 and it was only in 2003 that is was opened to the public.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-uafnKoHDXOHK6G4jlj3uH-5QNLXN-vcYDInwdeAnqOnSBZflMQU6V0pL-bGYSGS-XijBHTj3WBKoy12f557fjx1Lfs81qT27qQhRjE9LaEV-65Oh8hENrcG8ehOFtmOcHvN0G2u9UI/s1600/IMG_1094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="1600" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl-uafnKoHDXOHK6G4jlj3uH-5QNLXN-vcYDInwdeAnqOnSBZflMQU6V0pL-bGYSGS-XijBHTj3WBKoy12f557fjx1Lfs81qT27qQhRjE9LaEV-65Oh8hENrcG8ehOFtmOcHvN0G2u9UI/s400/IMG_1094.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2JwrDz9SKZ-4nHErySvsPZbFDFgD7rVi_JuBmSNfeZO3bxjEf9Tn4OL6wc1eQXBswnCLjU5wHinwgAPfyu94GGwWCj-b5NoML1RsPv9NB_d8UsiDW4nW08KJGYCM9e5HLgyhyOWG4Yw/s1600/IMG_1105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="1600" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2JwrDz9SKZ-4nHErySvsPZbFDFgD7rVi_JuBmSNfeZO3bxjEf9Tn4OL6wc1eQXBswnCLjU5wHinwgAPfyu94GGwWCj-b5NoML1RsPv9NB_d8UsiDW4nW08KJGYCM9e5HLgyhyOWG4Yw/s400/IMG_1105.JPG" width="400" /></a>The walk up to the house and amphitheatre is flanked with small huts
that are the shelter for the most beautiful and majestic birds of prey
including a Black-Chested Eagle, a Golden Eagle and an Eagle Owl. Once
at the house, a peacock squawked to be answered by parrots behind us. It
is, initially, almost too much to take in with birds that stir something primeval in the soul everywhere you turn. They are breath-takingly beautiful...sleek, purposeful and in evolutionary design terms, perfect. Although there are ropes to stop you getting too close they didn't seem skittish or afraid, but this enabled a look closely into their eyes and the difference in size between the various birds is immediately apparent with a small falcon beside a buzzard and then Eagle Owl. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzk1PtvxR3o1kw7yJKOq4-xmD3m_aacNNjkOGQJwf_mDyM-eECis8n-Ow94abi5A_UB2Ye4pG6Rjc4npRU2fB13NcmTpKBR_toLFiPwlzgJmdDCiLL1TOi6OdY63YrM7SDeb67SVKraaI/s1600/IMG_1126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="1600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzk1PtvxR3o1kw7yJKOq4-xmD3m_aacNNjkOGQJwf_mDyM-eECis8n-Ow94abi5A_UB2Ye4pG6Rjc4npRU2fB13NcmTpKBR_toLFiPwlzgJmdDCiLL1TOi6OdY63YrM7SDeb67SVKraaI/s400/IMG_1126.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84CwcKgiDkUblEiQ6XKVgOqRxRKkjkGTEvYvfATdC_2Vr5NFagoD3pIoeVF4Qd0tEWspbmN2o6CB4jPQ1Ha0ze-Z_MPwG6Q1b8mjE5c1daTcKuodg9a7EXyDDZfEfQQcEsxgIkoHxN18/s1600/IMG_1076b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="1600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg84CwcKgiDkUblEiQ6XKVgOqRxRKkjkGTEvYvfATdC_2Vr5NFagoD3pIoeVF4Qd0tEWspbmN2o6CB4jPQ1Ha0ze-Z_MPwG6Q1b8mjE5c1daTcKuodg9a7EXyDDZfEfQQcEsxgIkoHxN18/s400/IMG_1076b.jpg" width="400" /></a>The show takes place at an amphitheatre of sorts, with the biology and behaviour of the birds being described in great detail, all mixed in with some humour; I think the guy running it is German, although his Germanic accent is interspersed with an Irish 'twang'. The smaller falcon/hawk type birds are first, they fly swoop directly overhead and sometimes their wings brush the top of your head, it is phenomenal to see these birds in flight, and the "oo's" and "ahh's" are testament to what is happening. The birds get bigger and bigger; after the hawks come the owls (one of my favourites), and they are movingly beautiful. It is, though, at this point the educative part of the show can be a little depressing: there are, for example, 40 pairs of potentially breeding Barn Owls in Ireland. Forty. If you think about that for a moment it is a sombre thought and leads to a little melancholy reverie. What have we done to so effectively destroy a native species' habitat and make them endangered? As was said; how can we destroy something so beautiful? </div>
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The birds continue to increase in size, an exceptional Eagle Owl flew in complete silence which is eery in itself, but glorious to see. The climax of the show was the White-Tailed Sea Eagle (see left). The bird swooped overhead and it has a presence, it is a force of nature and you are acutely aware of this. Again, though, there are tales of woe with attempts to reintroduce the bird thwarted to an extent by poisoning of several birds worryingly recently. The question is again, how can we do this? The show explained that very few of the birds are physically capable of killing livestock (e.g., lambs) and that even the ones that are tend not to do it, if they are caught eating a lamb it is usually one that was either injured or already dead. Therefore the assumption that it has killed the animal are usually wrong and has led to unjustified persecution. </div>
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The crowd was encouraged to visit the small petting zoo beneath the main site and we duly made our way there to be confronted by a racoon, pigs, mice, an albino hedgehog and a fox amongst other beasts. The interaction is genuinely heartwarming, with one boy standing outside the area looking in with his mouth open and hands shaking by his side in excitement. After this we were brought up to the sanctary to see owl boxes - I had hopes of trying to get one at my own house to help the Barn Owl population, but their scale means I'll have to help in other ways. I hope to return soon with my own family, but at the same time it was a little surreal! I wish I had bought a t-shirt....maybe next time! </div>
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My journey home took me through the 'wetlands' towards Carrick-On-Shannon and northwards to Swanlinbar then the Newbridge Road to Lisnaskea, Maguiresbridge before turning east. All in all approximately 460 miles of unalloyed joy, eye-popping scenery and memory making experiences. Thank you to all involved. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-51293566554589455202017-05-29T16:14:00.001+01:002017-05-29T16:14:06.643+01:00Family Visits to Untrodden Paths <script charset="utf-8" data-zindex="1000000" id="asp-embed-script" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page-embed.js" type="text/javascript"></script><a class="asp-embed-link" href="https://spark.adobe.com/page/OH6M31NpyifPp/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="The National Trust (NI)" border="0" height="320" src="https://spark.adobe.com/page/OH6M31NpyifPp/embed.jpg?buster=1496070707763" width="640" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-25139540919848080922017-05-18T10:51:00.001+01:002021-09-23T12:58:36.172+01:00Rest Easy Chris<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris Cornell (and Bryan Gibson) on the Higher Truth Tour</td></tr>
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It is with great sadness that I read today of the death of a hero of mine; Chris Cornell. When I was in bands (in my youth) Chris and Soundgarden were heavy influences on my own attempts at writing music and lyrics. His voice, too, was somewhat 'unusual' (if that's the right term) for rock singers in that his vocal range was breathtaking, but the tone of his voice was genuinely beautiful. I can remember distinctly being on a music tour of Switzerland with
school around 1994 and buying Superunknown (on tape) and it blowing my
mind.<br />
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As I grew older I appreciated more his craft at writing songs and their meaning, his covers too were exceptional; for anyone unfamiliar listen to his cover of Michael Jackson's 'Billy Jean' from '<i>Unplugged in Sweden</i>' for what can only be described as a haunting rendition. Nicola and I saw him last year on the 24th April 2016 in the Ulster Hall. He was touring to promote the '<i>Higher Truth</i>' album. The music was stripped back, accompanied only by Bryan Gibson on cello, mandolin or acoustic guitar, but that nakedness allowed one to really appreciate the songwriting craft and Chris' voice, my God that voice; he had what I believe was a four octave range! He owned the stage and with the small setting of the Ulster Hall the gig was amongst the most intimate I have ever been to. His sense of humor also shone through as he engaged and talked to the audience, a complete air of relaxation and the audience was enthralled. He also paid tribute the then recently deceased Prince. </div>
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That gig will always have a significance for Nicola and I, but now even more so. I am glad that I had the chance to see him perform, I view it as a privilege such was his talent, the world has now lost another beautiful soul. I am also aware this is a completely inadequate tribute, but I have only heard the news and felt compelled to pen something. Rest easy Chris, you meant so much to so many...including me. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-58791698181572402772017-04-06T10:36:00.000+01:002018-01-16T15:43:23.599+00:00Ostara Rises Once Again (Videologue)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-51243291653850563782017-03-31T11:27:00.002+01:002018-06-13T14:32:50.366+01:00Ostara Rises Once AgainOnce again an auspicious time of year approached and we were ready to head away on the bikes. Ostara is one of the festivals on the pagan 'wheel of the year' alternatively known as the Vernal Equinox. When I look back at videos from the last few years it always seems to be around this time that the first biking weekend of the year occurs. Maybe it's a change in mentality that comes with spring, maybe it's simply some better weather and an additional hour to the day but surely it's no coincidence that it's always towards the end of March. I awoke on Friday with even more glee than usual when I heard the forecast for the entire weekend was for clear skies and almost summer-like temperatures. <br />
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The journey was to be southwards (as is nearly always the way!) trying to take in smaller ‘A’ but especially ‘B’ roads where possible. After a few morning glitches I set off after lunch the heat of the high sun warming my back through the armour and riding jacket. Initially it was utopic; I seemed to be the only vehicle on the road as I travelled to join the A23 then the A24 towards Ballynahinch. It was here that things started to go slightly array – I must have caught the start of the schools leaving, the traffic became almost intense and the heat built in my new Evoline 3. I knew that from here on I would have to do a lot of overtaking as the roads to Dundrum (my pit-stop destination) were all single lane and my patience was wearing thin. I had overtaken numerous cars and several caravans before the south-westward sweep of the A2 reveals Dundrum bay. Rising through the trees on a hill overlooking the town is Dundrum Castle, where I had to meet Anthony. The castle is one of the grandest examples of an Anglo-Norman castle in Ulster and the views from it are genuinely phenomenal. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dundrum Castle <i>Donjon</i> and Upper Ward</td></tr>
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It is thought that the earliest Norman defences were enacted by John de Courcy towards the end of the 12th Century, some postulate around 1177, probably consisting of earthworks; excavation in 1950 showed four phases of construction with the perimeter bank the first phase (McNeill, 1997, 24). The site itself is interesting as it is now believed to have been built atop an earlier Celtic monument, the 1950 excavation also found evidence of earlier occupation (<i>Ibid</i>) and more recent work states; “<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Artefactual and place-name evidence suggests that the Anglo-Norman castle was, almost certainly, built upon the site of an enclosed, high-status, settlement dating to the Early Christian period.</span></span>” (Macdonald <i>et al</i>, 2013, 4). The recent Time Team series dug at the site trying to find evidence for an earlier pre-Norman cashel. The earliest historic reference to the castle in the 13th Century call
it “the castle of Rath” when it outlines de Courcy’s failed attempt to
siege the castle that was once his in 1205 with the help of his
brother-in-law <i>Rǫgnvaldr Guðrøðarson</i>, King of the Isles. The Annals of the Four Masters refer to a battle in 1147 ”<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">…in which the Ulidian army is described as having been pursued by an army ‘led by <i>Muircheartach Mac Neill Ua Lochlainn</i> and the <i>Cinel-Eoghain</i>, and <i>Donnchadh Ua Cearbhaill</i> and the <i>Airghialla</i>.</span></span>” (<i>Ibid</i>, 7). The castle was
captured by King John in 1210, de Lacy subsequently strengthened the
castle with the large round <i>donjon</i>, although from memory this was later
than the curtain walls of the upper ward that were erected earlier in
13th century which would make them roughly contemporary with the failed
siege. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dundrum Keep and Gatehouse Remnants</td></tr>
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It was probably after de Lacy's second tenure as Earl of Ulster
(1227 – 1243) that the single towered gatehouse was built into the upper ward
curtain wall. The curtain wall of the outer bailey is likely to have
been built by the Magennis family of Mourne who seized Dundrum in the
late 15th century. Blundell’s House is a seventeenth-century domestic
building in the southern part of the outer ward. When visiting these
monuments they usually uplift me but sometimes they can be quite
mournful – here stands this great monument that was an integral part of
the history of the area and it was locked hardly any visitors and a tad
forlorn on its great hilltop. That rumination, though, was soon shattered with the sound of Anthony’s BMW approaching from Castle Hill! After a bite to eat in Newcastle, we set off for the cottage in fading light and dipping temperatures, but it was worth it to see the orange/purple hues of the setting sun. We flanked Tollymore Forest on the B180 before passing though Hilltown and the joyous multiple ‘S’ curves of the B8 just east of Mayobridge. We still had to collect Kivi but this would be done later and by now the need for thermals was not simply desirable, it was essential with the nighttime temperature on this clear spring evening now rapidly approaching zero and maybe, at this height, even below that. We continued to the accommodation, meeting the owner in fast fading
light before lighting the wood burning stove to get some much needed heat
into the converted barn.<br />
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<u><b>Don't Forget To Look Up</b></u><br />
I had my camera with me and wished, as I looked up at the clear sky, I had brought the longer lens, tripod and other accoutrements and had tried to take some pictures of the night sky; something I keep promising myself I’ll do. It’s like many promises I make to myself, ‘I’ll find time’ or ‘I can do that tomorrow’ are little excuses I always seem to mutter to myself, but tomorrow all too often comes and goes and the promises remain unfulfilled. Whoever said time is fluid was right, and not just about the physics, conceptually too…at times it’s like a waterfall that we try to swim away from, in the end, of course, in vain. The journey to the accommodation with Kivi in tow was now in temperatures that took my breath away, despite this I enjoyed leaving a gap in my visor and the cool air flooding my lungs was invigorating, juxtaposed the warmth of the extra base layers I had put on. That night the wood-burning stove was lit and it was good to see my friends whom I haven’t seen in some time as we talked about bikes - boys and their toys! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close up of the Explorer</td></tr>
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Hiring a cottage or similar accommodation enables you to use it as a base and 'fan' out from it to visit and see what an area has to offer. I was pleasantly surprised by how cheap these places can be, but there is a caveat as always; they are getting harder to book. Maybe it's the state of the world today, but it seems more people are either going away for weekends or holidaying at home. I can remember when we first started staying in such places there seemed to be a plethora. Now, though, in many instances you have to book a month or even two in advance; for locations that are close to world famous sites (e.g., Meath), even for July and August it is hard to find anywhere not already pre-booked. Do not get me wrong, I am not complaining....I am all for people exploring what Ireland has to offer, as it has a lot. Up, as I was, on my own I photographed the blooming Daffodils, listened to a buzzard overhead and simply sat in stillness watching the still water beneath me and listening to the chorus of birdsong; it was glorious. I suddenly realised how long it had been since I had seen the sun - that might sound almost ludicrous, but it was true. For me the winters now have become almost a test of endurance, they seem longer and literally darker than I remember from my youth. The spring and the heat on my face was rejuvenating, added to by the 'ticking' of the metal on the bikes heating up under the clear skies. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ridges of Slievenamiskin and Cock Mountain </td></tr>
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The Mournes were called <i>na Beanna Bóirche</i> (the mountains of <i>Bóirche</i>) or more literally, the <i>Horns of Bóirche</i>. They were settled as a Kingdom in the 12th Century by a 'tribe' from Monaghan, the name historically spelt Morne which is derived from the name of a Gaelic sept called the <i>Múghdhorna</i> - descendants of <i>Mughdorn</i>, son of <i>Colla Meann</i>, brother of <i>Colla Nais</i>, King of Ireland (AD323 - 327). <i>Colla Nais</i> became King of Ireland after the battle of <i>Dudhcomar</i>, apparently near Teltown at the River Blackwater where he slayed his uncle, <i>Fiacha Sraibhtine</i>. <i>Colla Uais</i> reigned nearly four years when he was deposed by Fiacha's son, <i>Muiredach Tirecah</i>. The three ‘<i>Collas</i>’ and their principal chiefs – almost 300 people – were expelled from Ireland (hence the prefix ‘Colla’ to their names), and forced to take refuge among their relatives in Alba (Scotland). Rather poetically the Mournes were described at the turn of the 20th Century: "<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The mountains form a mighty crescent, whose steadfast horns rest silently, here, stony and stern in the sombre firs of Newcastle, there, grassy and gracious in the green oaks of Rostrevor.</span></span>" (Moore, 1901). As we approached them, the warmth of the sun at sea level is interrupted by the cooler air coming off the Mournes; the change in temperature is palpable and looking up I realised the peaks still had little outcrops of snow, which simply added to the ambiance of driving through the mountains. It’s at times like these you wish the road would keep going, but part of the charm of the area is its compact size enabling lots to be seen in a day. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view to the snow covered Slieve Muck at Spelga Dam</td></tr>
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We wandered through Newry on Sunday morning, shocked at the lack of businesses open; a throwback to some of the archaic opening laws here. If we truly wish to attract tourists and enter the 21st Century, then these things need to change. We finally managed to find a cafe that sold good coffee. After this, we were on the road which by now was genuinely warm - I could feel the heat coming off it as I lent into severe corners. Our destination was again through the Mournes, exploring the little 'B' roads that are abundant through the mountains. What I didn't realise is the wealth of archaeological sites littered on the slopes and peaks as well as near the roads. We began to climb outside Rostrevor towards Hilltown which itself has a motte (Ballymaghery Motte - DOW 048:021) and Early Christian ecclesiastical site (Clonduff - DOW 048:019) which has a Medieval church on top of an earlier monastic settlement. We were travelling east on the B27, and just east of Hilltown is a complex of megalithic monuments including a standing stone, stone circle, well preserved cairn and a 3 chambered court tomb (which was also used as a habitation site in the Iron Age). On the road, though, we were blissfully unaware of such things as the unique peak of Hen Mountain loomed into view. We continued on the B27 (Kilkeel Road) between Hen Mountain and Kinnahalla, although the B180 (Bryansford Road) north east is also an option.<br />
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<u><b>Spelga Dam and the Golden Mournes</b></u><br />
Our pit-stop destination was Spelga Dam, the name is from the Irish <i>Speilgeach</i> meaning 'place abounding in pointed rocks' (Muhr, 2008). The car park was unsurprisingly busy on such a good day and the cooler breeze coming off the mountains was something of a relief. I was soon dismayed at what the site has become; it is a beauty spot yet litter was everywhere, even in the small stream feeding the reservoir. In the car park the generator from a burger van was exceptioanlly loud completely ruining the stillness of the area and, no doubt, disturbing any wildlife there was. I had always thought the body of water was created with the building of the dam, but what I didn't know was that on its eastern shore is Deer's Meadow (Booley Huts), a settlement site of uncertain date. This coincides with a prehistoric findspot on the western shore and a further site of 18 Booley Hut foundations 1500 metres to the south-west at the southern base of Rocky Mountain. These were sub-rectangular and sub-circular, approx two metres across and most had an east facing entrance. It perhaps shows that you never quite know what you are looking at!<br />
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We turned south, the B27 now becoming the Moyad Road that cuts through Pigeon Rock and Slieve Muck mountains and the smaller peaks of Slievemageogh and Slievenagore and Crocknafeola Wood before turning east on the Head Road. I have always loved roads that have mountains on either side, it gives one a sense of scale, I enjoy how the peaks dwarf the road and, indeed, myself. It lends perspective to how small we really are. By now the journey was well and truly homwards; the sense of adventure somehow leaves me when I am on the main[ish] roads home. The Mournes, although easily accessible and not, by any means, a large or high moutain range still have a sense of wildness and that, surely, goes hand in hand with riding bikes....doesn't it? </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-19799111258859622792017-01-20T16:51:00.003+00:002021-09-23T13:00:27.983+01:00It Kicked Like A Mule<div style="text-align: justify;">
Funny how when a fundamental change occurs in one’s life, the ripple effect can be profound. For me, that occurred on 15th December. Suddenly, like a kick from a mule, I realised how my life had been devoid of any real responsibility and had been utterly care free. I had been, for years, drifting in a sea of my own musings but, as it turned out, slowly drowning in them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have come to realise the utter meaninglessness of my life to date – that might sound melodramatic and dark, but I mean it in a positive way, I have been given a new ‘centre’. What I thought was important wasn’t, but with that comes a new lack of patience for general bullsh*t and there is a lot of it about as things would turn out. Like a new set of lenses on my eyes, I now see the futility of what many of us do on a day to day basis. I also have a reference point that lets me see just how fast the world turns, and how quickly time really does go by; previously it was a cliché but now it’s a frightening reality. It has brought my own mortality into sharp focus which has been uncomfortable – if things go really well, I’m still half way through the ride! </div>
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I have re-evaluated and come to the conclusion that I need to make changes, quickly too! Family is now more than a simple buzz-word that I previously thought I understood but didn’t, it is a reality and an all-encompassing one at that with a love that until experienced, is impossible to describe. Writing, and travel are more than mere hobbies, they are what I want to do, they are part of my soul and the fabric of my being. </div>
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It is that time of year again when we emerge from the darkness, and for 2017 I genuinely feel like I am climbing from a dark cave into a new world. There is an underlying excitement that I have, perhaps, not felt for some time. I will hopefully soon be blogging about more sites with bigger and better pictures. It is a world worth exploring! The bike stands ready! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-46109496033118315922016-10-17T12:45:00.004+01:002018-01-16T15:43:39.752+00:00Erne, Fermanagh & The Neolithic (Videologue)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-41885456909189766992016-10-14T12:19:00.003+01:002022-12-19T16:24:48.781+00:00The Final Ride Before a Life Changing Event<div style="text-align: justify;">
October in 2016 has been unusually warm, and I am tempted to say we have had something of an ‘Indian Summer’. I would even argue that the Irish summer is now late August to September and the first week of October, it certainly no longer appears to be June or July! We went away on the bikes slightly later than this last year around <i>Samhain</i>, although that was to Meath and it was certainly fresher than this current October. All too often the immediate and overriding aspiration is to go somewhere far away. Can we make it here…or can we make it there? I have always counselled looking closer to home but as with so many things in life have ignored my own advice. Not so this time, although it will probably remain a singular event. The leaves, even as I write this, are increasingly and with ever greater speed turning the gorgeous yellow, orange and red hues; it always makes me wish I was better at photography, but Autumnal colours are so evocative and it is no surprise that it remains a key part of the year, celebrated by many religions including pagan ones. The weekend had been in the diary for a while, but somehow snuck up on us all and it is the last weekend on bikes before I become a father, and therefore my life becomes very different indeed!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlGszVl_tWpJ6AuehEsul0Aw6RlQ_EPRSDiBR8nfkklNjrfdDoxpQTPWBQMSJbg8tcOY1Yv_FFpt8a01NcbYBEKPOKASQjUkwTOlhE43vXF1CaQe6Uy-v7kjpPrXPENDwjLjl8yKPlN4/s1600/Caledon+House.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlGszVl_tWpJ6AuehEsul0Aw6RlQ_EPRSDiBR8nfkklNjrfdDoxpQTPWBQMSJbg8tcOY1Yv_FFpt8a01NcbYBEKPOKASQjUkwTOlhE43vXF1CaQe6Uy-v7kjpPrXPENDwjLjl8yKPlN4/s400/Caledon+House.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Caledon House (Images by BBC & Lord Belmont)</i></td></tr>
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One element I don't tend to like about riding at certain times of year is dirt....I know some will roll their eyes, but I am fastidious when it comes to cleaning equipment, I like things to look nice as well as function well and the same applies to my bike. Thankfully, then, it was dark when I set off on the Friday evening, the nights already drawing in after the Autumn Equinox (or <i>Mabon</i> - the time of equal length between day and night), it wasn't long before I was enveloped in glorious darkness; I have always liked riding at night, especially on a road on my own, for me there is a comfort in it and a peace. My destination was just outside Keady for the night, before we were due to head west to Fermanagh. </div>
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Best laid plans always fall flat on their face, and we left later than perhaps expected. However, the trade off was that the day was turning into one reminiscent of high summer, rather than October. My dash temperature reading proudly stated it was 19°C<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--> and it felt accurate! After a breakfast feast, from Armagh we travelled almost due west, I was tempted to pull into the ancient Irish royal site of Navan (<i>Emain Macha</i>), but resisted - it is for another time! This road continues as the A28 through the countryside to the sleepy and picturesque village of Caledon, which is always worth a stop. It is predominantly made up of yellow/grey stone buildings that hark back to its association with the Earl of Caledon, Caledon House and the mill[s]. The name was originally from the Irish <i>Cionn Ard</i> / <i>Aird </i>meaning ‘high head / hill’ and was later changed to the house name Caledon from 'Caledonia' (Scotland) by 1700. "<span style="color: #444444; font-family: georgia;"><span><span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><i>Caislen Ceann Ard</i> ‘the castle of Kinard’ was mentioned in 1500, when held by the family of <i>Seaán Buí ÓNéill</i>. The dative form appeared as <i>Cionn Ard</i>. In 1642 Kinard was shown with an island castle on the 1609 map, and was described as a ‘smale markett towne’ with a stone bridge in 1654. The name Caledon came into use in the 1660s, but in another source still referred to as Kinaird in 1666</span></span>.</span>" (Muhr, 2006). </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCglKyZg5xSi0TdHfC6PHeyewMrBrW9OB0GFe1qyHRf8fje_XNs_87zr-DjNd-rYRyr_6k2ZHz08gRRpleXU2fRKefUU9iu3QZiWoVffeal59K4ZqYiQ5aoEDjwUpXbcRb8zEMhEQXSrU/s1600/Mill+Remnants.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCglKyZg5xSi0TdHfC6PHeyewMrBrW9OB0GFe1qyHRf8fje_XNs_87zr-DjNd-rYRyr_6k2ZHz08gRRpleXU2fRKefUU9iu3QZiWoVffeal59K4ZqYiQ5aoEDjwUpXbcRb8zEMhEQXSrU/s400/Mill+Remnants.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mill Remnant (Image by Google Earth)</i></td></tr>
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The country seat here hasn't been sullied or polluted, indeed the lake in the grounds still appears to contain and early Medieval crannog (TYR 071:003). A right turn down Mill Street will lead to some quaint stone cottages, across from which in a rather sad state lies the remnant of the beam engine, engine house and chimney base from the old mill. The engine is one of only eight examples surviving in Ireland and is the oldest clearly attested beam engine on the island. The A28 continues as the Derrycourtney Road - one that I advise visiting on a bike; usually agreeably empty, the road quickly cuts through scenic countryside, the views sporadically obscured when the road becomes engulfed in green tree tunnels that give a truer sense of one's speed! The road turns north-west with arrow-straight sections to Aughnacloy after which the road becomes the A5. We, however, split off ever westwards on the A28 which becomes twistier and something of a technical challenge that I think we all enjoyed, crossing over the iconic Blackwater River which here is still broad and a familiar peaty hue that our rivers seem to have. We were soon at Augher then Clougher, at which I let my eyes wonder to the left and the tree-lined earthworks of the Clougher Hillfort, wishing I had remembered and stopped at the imposing monument. We were now on the A4 towards Enniskillen, the fastest route but also the busiest and we had to do our fair share of overtaking on those souls who looked utterly bored as their cars huffed up each hill. My visor was up with the heat of the day, the air rushed in to my lungs in great gulps - it lets me know I'm alive!<br />
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Topped Mountain is a large area of significant archaeological interest approximately 4km north to south and just over 2km at its widest point east to west. Within this, at Mountdrum is a scheduled area (FER 212:054) containing a plethora of megalithic tombs including wedge tombs, stone circles, stone alignments, <i>fulacht fiadh</i> (burnt mound - which as any archaeologist knows, can be a pig to excavate!) all located close to six crannogs, raths and other monuments that leaves little doubt of the significance of the wider landscape. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfFYzfoybHZOrhL4B5sjsIf74TOqAYqueYT0Ub4tZgWl6qbXopsb57oOatDwFJJRPX0c1uvWcwDQqi3KqW_IEAJ2Qb142xK3pUvNbyo59Edx8SnGzjK10fiykl3Y4bzjowPsI-RuYsKk/s1600/20161008_142252+Edited.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfFYzfoybHZOrhL4B5sjsIf74TOqAYqueYT0Ub4tZgWl6qbXopsb57oOatDwFJJRPX0c1uvWcwDQqi3KqW_IEAJ2Qb142xK3pUvNbyo59Edx8SnGzjK10fiykl3Y4bzjowPsI-RuYsKk/s400/20161008_142252+Edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>View north from the 'Giant's Grave' at Mountdrum</i></td></tr>
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We were the only traffic as we wound and twisted our way up the somewhat rutted Tattygare and Cloghtogle Roads before parking at the site. The views are magnificent and lush to the north, but what stands before you is boggy ground covered in course tussocks of spiky bog grass and the reddy-brown heathers that always seem to have ankle busting potential. In what was now almost searing sun traipsed across the site, a little bewildered and lost if the truth be known. There is always the possibility at such sites that there will not be much to see, major megalithic sites like Carrowkeel, Carrowmore, the <i>Brú na Bóinne</i>, Beaghmore <i>et al</i> all have large amounts of intact remains, but lesser known sites that don't receive high visitor numbers tend to be left and, especially over recent years presumably with budget cuts, are now becoming badly overgrown. The complex at Mountdrum should be phenomenal, it has been mooted that it could look similar to Beaghmore if excavated, but in truth it is underwhelming. Its situation remains special with awe-inspiring views, but I left feeling sad that such an important site is in this condition. However, those thoughts soon left as I began to struggle up the path in the heat. I had to get out of the Dainese trousers and into jeans as I was quickly overheating. The breeze as we rode the small Tattygare 'B' Road northwards was rejuvenating. We were joining the Tempo Road to and through Enniskillen before it becomes the beautiful Lough Shore Road, twisting and plunging through woods and forests hugging the Lower Lough Erne shoreline to our destination Inish Beg Cottages - if only all roads were like this....what heaven that would be!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view to Lower Lough Erne from Inish Beg Cottages</i></td></tr>
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The cottages seem to be more remote than they are, but that adds to the ambience and feeling that the world of bills, the mortgage, incessant sales phone calls etc was thankfully jettisoned some miles behind. The views over the Lough complete with crannogs and foreshore reeds and trees is idyllic and on a good day, the picture of an escapism paradise. The owners waved gleefully at us and warmly welcomed us (complete with a bag of Sloe Berries from which they were going to make Sloe Gin). There is a serenity to the place that generates an image in my head of abandoning it all in River Cottage style and buggering off to a small holding where life would be simpler. The truth, of course, would be polarised from the myth I have in my head and we would probably starve! We unpacked and were soon back on the bikes travelling for dinner - although with the panniers off the bike felt freer and unrestricted; sometimes a turn of speed is what the head needs! Why can I not make a living from riding my bike? Ahh, wouldn't that be perfect‽ I always think that Enniskillen is bigger than it really is, it is a small and historic town (I have written about its origins from <i>Inis Ceithleann</i> - Ceithleann being a prophetess and wife Balor of the <i>Fomorians</i> in Irish mythology), but by now I know my way round and we were heading for an eat-house and a new experience for me - Hop House 13. The ride back to the cottage was in the dusky conditions that lends a new perspective to the landscape, dusk seems to bring the natural environment alive somehow, the imposing thin pines at parts of the road edge looked like an alien environment before giving way to softer indigenous woodlands. The evening felt like a summer night, warm and close rather than what my head thought it should be.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Giant's Ring</i></td></tr>
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The Sunday can be slightly depressing - the return to normality is usually signalled with an appropriately grey day, the weather gods somehow sensing the mood and acting accordingly. The morning started off grey and even wet at times, but soon cleared. We were on the homeward leg. We were supposed to turn for Lisnaskea (which is an historic settlement) and look at Castle Balfour, but I kept missing the turns and so it was after Augher that Anthony took over, leading us on glorious 'B' roads that I cannot retrace - but nor do I even want to, they are fresh in my memory as flowing ribbons of tarmac. It was at this point that I became a solo rider, and despite my eagerness to get home I had one stop that I felt compelled to make, it was a need and one that has been bubbling in my consciousness for a while now. The giant henge and dolmen of the Giant's Ring. On arrival I had completely forgotten the sheer scale of the place, the height of the bank and width of the monument as a whole; the just off-centre dolmen is completely dwarfed by the earthworks (although there would have been a cairn over it). The inner ditch has silted and given the height of the bank one can only imagine its depth and how it would have looked - the banks would have been covered in white chalk, glistening and blinding in the sunlight, it would have been a phenomenal sight from miles around. But the place represents more to me than that, I excavated at the adjoining Ballynahatty back in the late 90's (now it is a field with a standing stone in it), but that summer remains a halcyon time. As I stood atop the tall bank looking north at where Ballynahtty is and south at the the Giant's Ring I felt a wave of peace come over me. I must return, and soon - on two wheels or not. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-50671285066149853612016-09-13T16:59:00.002+01:002022-12-19T16:23:21.919+00:00Beaulieu and The Granary<div style="text-align: justify;">
We needed a base...it's the way the best exploration takes place: somewhere from which to fan out. For this short run it was to be just south of the rather interesting Nobber, Co. Meath (stop tittering at the back!). We had hired a renovated mill (called The Granary) as accommodation, complete with wood burning stove which, as the nights are starting to draw in, is always a worthwhile fail safe to have. Although as seems to be the case over recent years, September is warmer, dryer and generally more clement than June or July - September <i>is</i> the Irish summer! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OPygES5WAXB6F18BdS8uWElVzJcCvKD9eMYaAcgT4aRZn8KaX6hrqYsAEsZFlcZ-xU72weF7NrsO7uL4yaQUFkT6z8VgMEk_wjOnQ4B0DrbzGgDs_8oSSu6gi0LC73SaQiM_x34BXto/s1600/20160903_115542+edited.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8OPygES5WAXB6F18BdS8uWElVzJcCvKD9eMYaAcgT4aRZn8KaX6hrqYsAEsZFlcZ-xU72weF7NrsO7uL4yaQUFkT6z8VgMEk_wjOnQ4B0DrbzGgDs_8oSSu6gi0LC73SaQiM_x34BXto/s400/20160903_115542+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The bikes at The Granary converted mill</i></td></tr>
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The journey down was on a warm and somewhat muggy Friday evening, initially cutting some time off the journey by taking the motorway west towards Portadown before I became a complete slave to modern technology and the sat-nav, turning off southwards on the A27 which, unlit and in the dark, had the feel of a much smaller road; even now I am sure the settings took us onto much smaller 'B' roads that flank it. We crossed over the Cusher River before joining the main A1 road for a brief period - with hindsight it would have been better to have turned off for Jonesborough and taken the L3097 passing Moyry Castle and through the Hill of Faughart (my research suggests this road in part forms a section of the <i>Slige Midluachra </i>[known as High Kings Road], one of the ancient and fabled Five Roads of Tara described in the <i>Dindshenchas</i>). </div>
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Hindsight, however, is a wonderful thing! We skirted Dundalk heading southwards towards and through Ardee before turning off the road at Rockfield onto what was little more than a rutted track, overhung by trees that in the night gloom looked like giant's hands moving in the wind, sweeping down to try and grab us. The Granary awaited, set in the middle of idyllic countryside its location in a slight hollow (presumably to take advantage of the River Dee to turn the water wheel) made me feel that the building had come from the earth, rather than being placed on it. After getting our panniers off the bikes and into the house we stood outside in awe, letting our eyes adjust to the night sky, the arm of the Milky Way was clearly visible without nearby light pollution. Our necks seemed permanently craned upwards to try and take in what is, unfortunately, all too rare a sight these days - the stars in all their brilliance. </div>
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<u><b>The Granary & Irish Myth</b></u></div>
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The Granary used the River Dee to power its water wheel, that river and the whole area is connected to Irish mythology and cycles in the <i>Táin Bó Cúailnge. </i>The River Dee gets its modern name from nearby Ardee (<i>Átha Fhirdhia</i>) which means [town] of 'Ferdiad's<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--> Ford'; <i>Ferdiad</i> was son of <i>Damán</i>, son of <i>Dáire</i>, of the <i>Fir Domnann</i>, he was a warrior from Connacht. Ferdiad found himself on opposite sides to his best friend and foster-brother <i>Cúchulainn</i>, with whom he had trained in arms under the renowned warrior woman <i>Scáthach</i>. He fights <i>Cúchulainn</i> at the behest of <i>Queen Medb, </i>although he loses and is killed in the battle. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beaulieu House</i></td></tr>
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Once up on Saturday the constant heavy mizzle brought a touch of dismay for me; if it rains heavily, in the full waterproof motorcycle clobber, it is not an issue in fact it can be quite enjoyable. Thick mizzle is a different animal altogether as it 'worms; its way in between zips and seals and fogs up the visor. The disadvantage is that the air temperatures were still 20°C, so it was wet and extremely hot and humid - after a full breakfast and what can only be described as buckets of coffee in Esquires (Drogheda) we needed a stop fairly close by, so the previously never visited Beaulieu House and Gardens was chosen on the hoof. It is only situated 3km east of Drogheda, and is a tad surreal given that the road to the property hugs the Boyne past cement factories before turning a corner that might as well turn onto a different planet. The site that greets you on turning through the white gates is regal, serene and inviting<i>,</i> complete with ducks and ducklings waddling across the gravel driveway. Although from the house the views are unspoiled, for me the house instantly feels like an island, a haven of tranquillity given the proximity of the industrial works and Drogheda centre. The older I get the more I despise hustle and bustle and crave peace and quiet: a complete juxtaposition from my younger self. We pulled up at the front door and a curious set of eyes popped up at the front window from a seat, this is a normal reaction when four bikers arrive at such a place, so it is something we are well accustomed to. As it turned out, he was the exceptionally knowledgeable tour guide and we gleely paid our Euros.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqHNUoB0b3XYDeF1oS6o5bIWDdUWg7dn3s06yHlWzAHDG99FnKLdmyrkx4uqbINsKSVNjdedGXxhhB5nBS8L_VDp0BiXjHmUFyk_wzgBiSzFb3_OS8CTP3olm1WogljNNRBgpsvmGZiI/s1600/20160903_145853+edited.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqHNUoB0b3XYDeF1oS6o5bIWDdUWg7dn3s06yHlWzAHDG99FnKLdmyrkx4uqbINsKSVNjdedGXxhhB5nBS8L_VDp0BiXjHmUFyk_wzgBiSzFb3_OS8CTP3olm1WogljNNRBgpsvmGZiI/s400/20160903_145853+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ornate carvings in the later added great hallway</i></td></tr>
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The current house is a fine example of 17th Century / early 18th Century manor house, but the history prior to that is equally amazing; there has been a noble house/site here since the 12th century, with the lands owned by the de Verdun family. The Plunketts subsequently married into the de Verduns and thus the site became associated with the Plunketts from the 14th Century onwards. The precursor to the present structure was a Jacobean manor house constructed <i>circa</i> 1628. Every painting - and there are many - helps weave an intricate portrayal of the family life and circumstances from the 17th Century onwards. Maybe it is these, or maybe the quite small scale of the house that gives a 'homely' and intimate sense of place. The house is not remote or other-worldly; perhaps because the descendants still live there, it feels like a home and comfortable within itself. After a long history lesson in the great entrance hall, we were soon meandering round the other rooms. The tour guide had relaxed and as ever we were starting to make him laugh<i>.</i>...from our breakfast in Esquires in Drogheda, there were still tears rolling down our cheeks, so it seemed only fair to share the laughter! <br />
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We were at Beaulieu for several hours, and meandered around the formal gardens tempted, it has to be said, by the plumptious looking apples that were virtually bursting off the trees. We continued our exploration in the woodland walk, the damp smell that is so familiar in Ireland as Autumn approaches complete with the sound of large drips landing on the ground from the tree canopy above. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGp4YbrBk2igrvwnE7fBs3lLKatr5JTSfFG0_wQFpRM0VAyq-Eknt-jc48P4EcJ_z0Vgt1J9akyAppDWwi6gUYMYmhYq69gomyUl6rNfnd3ZbgvjoH8XhfdNM8bVbIWosULgAi7gQDVg/s1600/Nobber+%25232.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGp4YbrBk2igrvwnE7fBs3lLKatr5JTSfFG0_wQFpRM0VAyq-Eknt-jc48P4EcJ_z0Vgt1J9akyAppDWwi6gUYMYmhYq69gomyUl6rNfnd3ZbgvjoH8XhfdNM8bVbIWosULgAi7gQDVg/s400/Nobber+%25232.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aerial images of Nobber Motte and ecclesiastical site</i></td></tr>
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That evening we travelled north from our Granary base towards Nobber and Kingscourt (the latter is actually in Co. Cavan). Nobber was a lot smaller than I had anticipated, I had expected a town of some size - why I don't exactly know. The hamlet is, though, of some significance: Nobber is from the Irish <i>an Obair</i> meaning 'the work' which probably refers to the the moat around the Anglo-Norman motte castle. But the history of the area and its subsequent Norman Lordship goes back far further, although the first known settlement at Nobber is Norman in date. <br />
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The <i>Múrna</i> (or <i>Mugdorna</i> after whom the Mournes are named) were pushed out of northern Meath sometime after 800 by the <i>Gailenga Mora</i>. The Gailenga left their name in the barony of Morgallion (from the rish <i>Machaire Gailenga</i>, meaning 'the plain of the Gailenga'). In 1172 King Henry II of England granted the Lordship of Meath to Hugh de Lacy to hold as King <i>Murrough O Melaghlin</i> held it<i>. O Mealaghlin</i> was a King of Meath: "<span face=""trebuchet ms" , sans-serif"><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #666666;">The bridge and citadel at Athlone were destroyed by Murrough O'Melaghlin in 1133, and that which was subsequently thrown across there by Turlough.</span></span></span>" (D'Alton, 1830, 349-350). The inference perhaps being that de Lacey was to hold the Lordship aggressively and as an absolute ruler. Once established de Lacy proceeded to divide up his newly acquired territory into feudal grants, he granted the territory of the <i>Gaileanga-Mor</i> (the lands of <i>Magherigalon</i>) to Gilbert de Angulo, who had arrived from Wales in 1171. The caput of de Angulo's barony was the motte castle at Nobber which was constructed close to the site of an earlier ecclesiastical site. As we travelled northwards, we were through the village in the blink of an eye, the roads straightening between there and <i>Dún na Rí</i> ('Fort of the King' or Kingscourt); I couldn't help but think, especially after researching the five ancient roads of Ireland, that the straight road here was, possibly, an ancient route way - Kingscourt <i>is</i> somewhat surrounded by quite large rath sites.<br />
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<u><b>The Well at Kingscourt</b></u><br />
We feasted like Kings ourselves in The Wishing Well, our faces all slightly crimson given the combination of plentiful food, heat and still sitting in our bike gear on the muggy Saturday evening. I had hoped to see stars again on that evening, but the relentless rain just continued without a break in the sky. It is, though, on such evenings that hiring a cottage/accommodation makes the most sense. As soon as we arrived back at The Granary and had just shut the front door the heavens, literally, opened. We were able to light the stove and with the spacious living room, lounge about. Even with the patter of water against the windows, once standing outside the silence was deafening. I guess it's only when it is removed the amount of noise we live with on a daily basis becomes apparent. There is something joyous for my spirit when I stand in a remote locations like that, the only noise I can hear is the occasional (and natural) rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. It feeds the soul!<br />
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The last day was warmer, clearer and more clement - the September summer had returned! But as ever the reality of having to return to jobs, bills and modernity hit. We decided for one last thrill - the 'B' roads outside of Armagh / Markethill. We took the Tandragee Road, Dunesmullen Road and Tannyoky Roads to Poyntzpass, then continued eastwards to Loughbrickland. What I only discovered on our return is that we should have continued east / north-east to Katesbridge, then Dromara, Annahilt and Legacurry before the A24 Comber Road...but we'll do that next time! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="405" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YQYsldRErQ8" width="670" youtube-src-id="YQYsldRErQ8"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-1534830792444349252016-08-15T12:43:00.000+01:002018-01-16T16:27:38.767+00:00Trackside at the Ulster Grand Prix 2016<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/178888014" width="600" height="400" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe>
<p><a href="https://vimeo.com/178888014">Ulster Grand Prix 2016</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/moorsop">Peter Moore</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-19406278624042753222016-06-09T09:31:00.002+01:002022-12-19T16:20:03.985+00:00North to South (Beltane) - Videologue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/HV-kt3eeZY4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="400" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HV-kt3eeZY4?feature=player_embedded" width="650"></iframe></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-57063622181694656322016-06-07T11:14:00.002+01:002018-01-22T11:15:54.975+00:00North to South - to The Ring of Kerry and The Atlantic<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have written previously about the spring/summer auspicious times of year with pagan festivals, Beltane (or [<i>Lá</i>] <i>Bealtaine</i>) is one of those as we approach the year’s zenith, the Summer Solstice (or <i>Litha</i>). These festivals seem to coincide with our biking trips, and with one of the hottest weeks of the year so far we seemed to be truly blessed for this week long trip. The plans had been long in the making, something we had fussed and meticulously amended to ensure the best possible trip. Our plan was, though, relatively simple; surely as all best plans are. We were to travel south to just outside Kilkenny and Ballyragget, where we had hired a cottage for three nights, before travelling south-west to Kilarney then onto the Ring of Kerry and northwards on the Wild Atlantic Way to Co. Clare through The Burren, Galway, Mayo and then Sligo before turning eastwards home. It sounds so easy, but the route would encompass some 1,300 miles and some challenging roads that would test us as riders, and also our machines. As ever, though, there is a sense of overwhelming freedom and limitlessness when you are about to set off on a trip and have all that you need strapped to the bike and in the panniers.</div>
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<u><b>The Journey to Kilkenny</b></u><br />
Kivi and Dee were waiting for me in Holywood, as I negotiated the daytime traffic to get there a palpable sense of excitement was rising in my stomach, like when I was a child on my way to a party; a giddy happiness that makes most men revert to boyish smiles as such trips are, surely, the stuff of boyhood dreams?! Our first port of call was Armagh to meet up with Anthony and then to travel southwards as a foursome. This leg is a quick blast on the motorway, but even this - in the blazing sunshine - was a joy, as the beginning of any trip usually is. We met at an old haunt, Rumours Cafe, but decided to have lunch in the Australian restaurant on the Square, the sunlight bouncing of the stonework of the buildings was almost blinding.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The churches and round towers at Clonmacnoise</i></td></tr>
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We travelled southwards via Cavan and Clones, encountering traffic in the town centres that, in the heat of the day, was almost hard to bear. At every opportunity I was opening every vent available to me in a failed attempt to generate air circulation. Thankfully once out of the towns, my sat nav was leading us on smaller 'B' roads to our destination, the phenomenal site of Clonmacnoise. We arrived in the early evening and found, to our dismay, that the site was closed. However, a peak over the fence showed something out of a fantasy movie; the whole site was almost illuminated in purple hues by the setting dusk sun. We hopped over the fence and had the entire site to ourselves. There is so much to take in with a cursory glance that one must stop, take stock and then proceed. The site name is from the Irish <i>Cluain Mhic Nóis. </i>The site was founded in the mid 6th century by St. Ciarán, The Annals of the Four Masters record in 548; "<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">St. Ciaran, son of the artificer, Abbot of Cluain Mic Nois, died on the ninth day of September. Thirty three years was the length of his life</span></span>." (O'Donovan, 2002, M548.2). From the 6th to 9th centuries the monastic settlement is reported to have had close links with the Kings of Connacht before allying with the Kings of Meath in later Medieval times. Clonmacnoise's greatest expansion was in the 8th and 12th centuries when it was one of the most important monastic sites in Ireland. It was attacked frequently during these four centuries by the native Irish, the Vikings and finally the Normans.<br />
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What lies before you at Clonmacnoise, draped over the land rising from the River Shannon, is a selection of buildings - churches and towers (as well as crosses - although one is a replica) from the 9th - 17th centuries - that is almost too much to take in, your eyes have to wander over the scene several times to take it all in. Next to the site is, at first glance, a peculiar looking castle; the great keep seemingly subsiding and listing helplessly to one site. It is built on top of a 12th century Anglo-Norman motte. The later stone keep was built on top of the motte in 1214 by the Justiciar of Ireland, Henry of London.<br />
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By this stage the midges were out in force, getting in between my helmet and head, I could hear them buzzing and my instinct was to scratch, even though I was wearing my helmet! By now the light was starting to fade and we were keen to make it to Ballyragget and our cottage, which would act as base for the next few days. As soon as we arrived the idyllic setting acted as an instant stress reliever - the cottage is set on a working farm and upon arrival two exceptionally friendly dogs came up to see what the commotion was all about, the lovely Collie was especially prone and desired human contact. But that, in itself, was relaxing and soothing after 233 miles; there is something cathartic about sitting in a comfortable chair in a warm evening with a content dog looking up at you as you stroke its head and drink (slowly) a cold beer. That evening with Dee's telescope we stargazed at the unpolluted night sky, the moon in particular seemed to be of special fascination to us all and the cottage owner was flabbergasted at the clarity and detail with which we were able to observe the moon surface.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St. Canice's Cathedral and Kilkenny Castle</i></td></tr>
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The next day we travelled into Kilkenny - surely one of Ireland's best preserved Medieval towns. Kilkenny has a special place in my heart, as I have fond memories of it from childhood, my Uncle was a CoI Bishop and his home church was St. Canices with its complete round tower (from which the town derives its name). I can remember as a child it seemed huge, I thought it touched the sky. Kilkenny is from the Irish <i>Cill Chainnigh</i> (Church of <i>Cainnech</i>): <i>Cainnech</i> is Saint <i>Cainnech of Aghaboe</i> (c.515–600) known as Saint Canice in Ireland.</div>
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Even on the bikes, it is immediately apparent that the town is not designed with modern traffic in mind, the streets are tight and could appear claustrophobic, except they are so picturesque. Old buildings such as Rothe House seem to slip unassumingly between the more modern buildings now housing shops and there is definitely a 'buzz' around the place. We ate in Paris Texas before I simply had to make a pilgrimage.<br />
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St. Canice's is imposing as you approach it, mainly because it is atop a hill that was of importance to pre-Christian Pagan religion. However, the first Christianisied site was built in the 6th century by (and named after) Saint <i>Cainnech</i> of Aghaboe [<i>Cainnech moccu Dalánn</i>]. Kilkenny was, reputedly, one of the last parts of Ireland that converted to Christianity, Irish folklore asserts that the last Archdruid of Ireland had retreated to the mound on which St. Canice's is built and it was there that he was defeated by <i>Cainnech</i> in 597, after which the Christian church was founded on the site (he must have been another of the 'warrior monks'!). The Annals of Ulster record that he died two years later in 599; "<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Repose of Cainnech of Achad Bó, as Cuanu states</span></span>.". This early 6th century church would have been later replaced (and probably expanded upon), after or maybe at the same time as the 9th century round tower was added, and then the later (and current) 13th century medieval cathedral was erected. It has been argued that the site was, initially, not of great importance as there are few annalistic references to it other than references to raiding of the site in 1085: "<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Ceall-Cainnigh was for the most part burned</span></span>." (Priour & Becchinor, 2002, M1085.10), and again in 1114 "<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fobhar-Feichin, Cluain-Iraird, Cill-Beneoin, Cunga, Cill-Chuilinn, Cill-Cainnigh, and Ard-Padraig, were all burned this year</span></span>." (<i>Ibid</i>, M1114.12). It was in the 1120's, after the see of Ossory was moved from Aghaboe to Kilkenny, that the site became more significant.<br />
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For me, though, my visit had a distinct purpose; to visit the grave of my Uncle who was Bishop of Cashel and Ossory, and who is buried between the cathedral entrance and the round tower. I have nothing but fond memories of the man who, as a child, seemed to me to be a giant. I am grateful to the lads for taking time and letting me do this....it meant a lot.<br />
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<u><b>Cashel to Kilarney</b></u><br />
After a day relaxing and recharging batteries at the hired cottage, we were off in a south-westerly direction, initially on the R693 to Urlingford and then the R639 towards the Rock of Cashel. The roads were remarkably straight which enabled my mind to wander, the hum of the tyres on the road mellifluous and meditative; as Kivi had said the previous evening the advantage of a bike trip is, and always will be, that you are with your friends, yet alone. On this road I truly felt this way, I love looking in the mirrors and seeing my friends with me, but I have my own head-space in my helmet and on my bike. The arrow straight sections towards Littleton enabled me to mull over....well....life, in general. I think this something we should do more often, it lends perspective!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The mighty Cathedral & Round Tower at Cashel</i></td></tr>
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Towards the Rock of Cashel, the road curves, which allows the site to 'reveal' itself and, once rounded, it is something to behold perched on top of the rock, commanding all that surrounds it. It is immediately obvious why the site was chosen. You peer upwards at the site and the myriad of buildings are almost confusing to the eye, but the plethora of pictures of the site that are in books and on the web suddenly don't seem to do it justice. We parked beneath the 'rock' and hiked up the hill in the heat - it was at this stage I realised my baldy head had had too much sun over this and the preceding days and I had to get a bottle of water to rehydrate myself. The Rock of Cashel (<i>Carraig Phádraig</i>) is also known as the Cashel of the Kings and St. Patrick's Rock.<br />
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The original site was, though, not a Christian one, it was originally the seat of Irish Kings; it was the ancient capital of the <i>Eóganachta</i> - a native dynasty that dominated southern Ireland from the 7th to the 10th centuries. In 964 the rock was captured by <i>Mathgamain mac Cennétig</i> (older brother of <i>Brian Bóru</i>). Mathgamain died in 976, after which Brian (<i>Brian Bóruma mac Cennétig</i> to give him his proper name) became the celebrated Irish King. It was Brian's great-grandson, <i>Muircheartach Ua Briain</i>, that donated the site of Cashel to the church in 1101, and hence it began its life as a Christian centre.<br />
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The oldest building on the site is the round tower which was probably erected almost immediately after the site was gifted to the church. This was followed by Cormac's Chapel (named after King of Munster <i>Cormac Mac Carthaig</i>) which was begun <i>c</i>.1127 and consecrated in 1134 (Edwards, 1996, 124) and remains one of Ireland's finest examples of Romanesque ecclesiastical architecture, even mooted as the initiator of the Romanesque in Ireland (<i>Ibid</i>). We entered the little church as part of the tour and instantly the temperature cooled as we entered the dim interior; work is currently ongoing to dry the sandstone walls and the atmosphere inside was a welcome relief from the heat. The church has a rare stone slab roof which seems to have been the source of its problems in terms of water ingress to the structure, once inside the carvings were spectacular spying on you from the roof are carved heads, the arches are decorated in geometric designs such as chevrons, and some of the original paintwork even survives. At the rear of the church is a large stone box carved with Norse (Viking) decoration. We then entered the large (St. Patrick's) cathedral which was remodelled after its initial construction, but is a 13th century building with a domineering central tower that commands the site; each of the transepts has a pair of chapels that project as separate roofed structures (O'Keefe, 2000, 146). The later residential 'castle' (Hall of the Vicars) was added to the west of the site in the 15th century. <br />
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The 'problem' (and I use the term loosely) with such sites is that in order to appreciate them you have to spend a considerable amount of time at them, and so after Cashel we had a bit of driving to do! We travelled south towards Cahir - alas time not on our side, so the planned stop at Cahir Castle had to be abandoned - entering Co. Cork near Kilbeheny approximately 30km south of Cashel on the R639, before turning southwest to Mallow on the N73. In Mallow we stopped for a much needed coffee, the caffeine was welcome to help 'boost' our bodies from wilting. I know that for many this might not be big mileage, but I was becoming tired at this stage of the day - a mild sunstroke still affecting my body. We continued south-west on the N72 to Flesk Campsite just in the suburbs of Kilarney. We turned onto the Mill Road just outside Kilarney that crosses and flanks the beautiful Flesk River; the road is also flanked by woods that mask admirably the fact that you are anywhere near a large town. The Mill Road passes an octagonal folly, a gate lodge before the old mill complex - the road tightening as it continues before joining the Muckross Road on which the campsite is situated. We erected the tents (the first time we had done so on the trip) which immediately added a different dimension, suddenly you are completely self-contained which is a joyous feeling - the trip feels more 'wild' somehow.<br />
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<u><b>Ring of Kerry (<i>Mórchuaird Chiarraí</i>)</b></u></div>
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In itself the Ring of Kerry is not long at 180km or so, but as a road and along with the Wild Atlantic Way as biking roads, maintains almost mythical status. We awoke on Sunday morning desperately hungry and travelled into the centre of Kilarney for breakfast - the tourist trade has, somewhat, caricatured the area which is something that annoys me but I understand why it happens. But with the sun blazing, this was a day that could not be spoilt; this was a part of the trip we'd all been looking forward to perhaps more than any other. Initially we were caught in the Kilarney tourist traffic, but we navigated out and into what appeared to be more wild surroundings. The road (N71) was still quite wide, but soon cut through slopes that became hills, that increased to mountains; these slopes were greener than I thought they would have been (I was expecting more heath-like vegetation), the trees, though, occasionally providing additional shade. I realised that this was because the initial 'start' of the Ring of Kerry actually passes through Kilarney National Park <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Parked on the shore of Kenmare Bay</i></td></tr>
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The sunlight hitting the rocks and 'crags' gave some of the ever enclosing slopes almost an angry appearance, yet riding through them was simply glorious. The road twisted through Derrycunihy Wood before hugging the shoreline of Looscaunagh Lough and weaving through 'Moll's Gap', after which the frustrating car traffic began to thin, to our next stop: Kenmare Stone Circle. This is one of the largest stone circles in south-west Ireland but is, in truth, quite disappointing. The entire monument has been surrounded by evergreens and looks like a garden folly as a result, the grass is a little too neatly mown and it feels almost contrived. However, I have found images of the monument before it's modern 'tidying' and originally it overlooked the entire Kenmare Bay with the mountains in the distance and certainly in that image, appears much more 'authentic'. Take those new garden[y] elements away, the site is easily accessible and quite interesting. It is roughly egg-shaped, aligned with the setting sun and consists of 15 boulder stones (13 standing and 2 fallen), and central boulder-burial topped with a large
capstone (alone estimated to weigh 7 tons!). Kenmare itself is picturesque but as with many of the locations seems almost desperate to maintain its quaintness, but for an area dependent on the tourist trade this isn't something that one can criticise them for!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The bike parked on the southern point of the Ring of Kerry</i></td></tr>
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Once clear of Kenmare the roads started to become what my imagination had pictured; initially the road hugged the western Kenmare Bay shoreline, the road cutting through woods that still over arched it, in some places it felt like the trees were trying to claim back the road and were enveloping it. the road became quite technical at Blackwater Bridge, with twists, negative cambers and elevation changes, indeed from Kenmare to here there was rarely a straight and I think 4th was my top gear! The trees thinned, giving way to patches of exposed bedrock surrounded by long swaying grasses, it was beautiful, but nothing compared to what was to come just a few minutes south-west!<br />
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We travelled round a bend and like a great reveal rising from the shoreline were cliffs and mountains, it was here that the road (now the N70) began to climb. The craggy shoreline looked painted onto the water, passing Rossmore and Sherky Islands and it appears truly wild. The road lies in sympathy with the landscape recreating the rises, crests, twists and weaves. It was glorious! As we climbed the road surface deteriorated becoming more broken and rutted, the temperatures noticeably cooled and mists were rolling in from the mountain tops. I am not exaggerating when I say it was like a Lord Of The Rings backdrop.<br />
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There seems to be a cross over point where the Ring of Kerry gives way to the Wild Atlantic Way - or maybe we had taken a wrong turn - but although there are villages and outcrops and little clusters of houses, the whole area seems to have retained its own sense of itself. When we pulled over the road was all we could talk about.<br />
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<u><b>The Great 'Cahers' And Mannix Point</b></u><br />
At Cahersiveen we crossed the estuary at the Old Barracks on the Castlequin Road which acts as a bridge to the neighbouring peninsula, passing Ballcarbery Castle we turned off the Castlequin Road up a farm type track to <i>Leacanabuaile</i> (cashel / fort). The whole Kerry area is quite famous for these stone ring forts and the beehive huts, (cashel is from the Irish <i>caiseal</i>, deriving from 'castle' or 'stone fort' and caher is from the Irish <i>cathair </i>meaning 'stone [ring]fort'). Stone seems to have been abundant in this area and therefore it was what was used for building material, but it means many of these monuments survive, albeit some reconstructed, but are more imposing that an earthwork rath. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQMKP9gQZeRAxlwgzBxNT5l4MJZA7QjbyiMqC3fyeOwgUO8xzJ4Ky2t3BVI3BFdkEHS5HXt75-jAkaJTRvH6y4IHX-SVCl6qo2HoSen1lviMqof6S_78IWssEQ8fA9DHDsMIecfEkdpo/s1600/Cahers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQMKP9gQZeRAxlwgzBxNT5l4MJZA7QjbyiMqC3fyeOwgUO8xzJ4Ky2t3BVI3BFdkEHS5HXt75-jAkaJTRvH6y4IHX-SVCl6qo2HoSen1lviMqof6S_78IWssEQ8fA9DHDsMIecfEkdpo/s640/Cahers.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The cashels of Leacanabuaile and Cahergall</i></td></tr>
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The exterior of <i>Leacanabuaile</i> is not as imposing as its near neighbour (<i>Cahergall</i>), but the interior is phenomenal in its intricacies. As we dismounted the bikes the heat had become blistering, the tarmac felt as if it was lava underneath my boots so it was with some relief that we walked up a shaded grass slope to the site, our only company for what seemed miles around were a few roaming sheep. The site is from the Irish <i>Leaca na Buaile</i> meaning 'Slope of the Booley' and the first aspect that strikes you is the number of buildings that are seemingly crammed into the interior of the cashel. We initially puzzled over the internal structures, admiring the prestine tight dry stone walling.<br />
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The plan is odd, as there is a large rectangular house immediately inside the entrance, behind which is a circular house (possibly a beehive type structure), there are also two other houses built against the cashel walls. The circular house has a soutterain within it and beside 'House C' (against the cashel wall) is another chamber that runs into the main fort wall. The two main structures are probably the most important of highest status ones on the site; the main cashel/fort entrance was lintelled in the east that would
have opened into the central space. The main and largest rectangular building had
four large post-holes in the floor probably to support a thatched-timber
roof, this hut then enters into the circular <i>clochán</i>-type structure behind it (Goldbaum, 2015 <i>after</i> Ó Ríordáin and Foy, 1941). The site would have been occupied in the 9th/10th centuries and a multitude of objects were recovered during the 1939 - 1940 excavation
including a scythe, knives, combs, brooches, tools and fragments of iron,
bone, bronze and lead that give a real glimpse into the everyday farming type function of Leacanabuaile's inhabitants (Ó Ríordáin and Foy, 1941).<br />
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We made our way to the more imposing Cahergall which reminded me of a larger <i>Grianan of Aileach</i> in Donegal. The walls are reconstructed in parts and massive, not only in height, but in thickness too, with a stepped interior that enabled us to climb to the top. In the centre is a circular structure, probably a form of large beehive hut. Cahergal is from the Irish <i>At Chathair Gheal </i>meaning 'the bright stone fort' and as the sun bounced off the stonework in places the quartz glistened - perhaps where it got its name from? The massive site is thought to be earlier than Leacanabuaile, perhaps being built in the early 7th century, but as with Leacanabuaile, we were the only people at the site, which given how impressive it is surprised me, it was a lovely day....why weren't more people visiting?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_HDpZPjhz1796M83nJFbYQRcHWEDkSoZLCMWOYhyphenhyphenbrZC8a-Uorr2XmmwI_gzv4B0_611BqaeHW4mNNSPmoUNM5r5TYofXVAn1-mY9lKae6f_8Zl_926aTKhwPMSErhyphenhyphenpk5Bg_oLuHkI/s1600/20160515_200731+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_HDpZPjhz1796M83nJFbYQRcHWEDkSoZLCMWOYhyphenhyphenbrZC8a-Uorr2XmmwI_gzv4B0_611BqaeHW4mNNSPmoUNM5r5TYofXVAn1-mY9lKae6f_8Zl_926aTKhwPMSErhyphenhyphenpk5Bg_oLuHkI/s400/20160515_200731+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The sunset at Mannix Point</i></td></tr>
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We camped at Mannix Point which was something of a relevation; run by a delightful man, Mortimer, who is an archetypal grandfather figure, the site is quite large with an abundance of top notch facilities, yet it retains an intimate feel. The site fronts onto the shoreline with Ballycarbery Castle and the mountains as the backdrop. We quickly put up our tents and then relaxed in the still warm grass, as I sat and made notes, the silence was just what my head needed; immediately behind us a traditional curragh was being rowed, breaking the otherwise flat-calm waters. At this point the sun had begun to set and backlit in splendid purples the monuments, hills and mountains. It was the sort of scene that made me wish I painted or was good at art, even now its perfection is a powerful image in my head. The whole trip and the Ring of Kerry were fantastic, but I think one of the most powerful places was actually Mannix Point - if you are ever travelling around the area, I would highly recommend it.<br />
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<u><b>Limerick to Doolin</b></u><br />
This day was a day of best intentions, but failed goals. I had, for the first time, trouble with the Triumph (affectionately nicknamed '<i>The Wraith</i>' Kivi and Dee). The engine management light had come on the previous evening, I had also noticed coolant leaking from the left hand side in the morning....even a mighty fry couldn't settle me. When something like this happens being mechanically inept can strike fear into an otherwise experienced biker! Phone calls to Phillip McCallen and a few tweaks by Kivi had the bike running again and we were heading northwards on the Wild Atlantic Way, but it was around 1pm before we were hitting the road in anger.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12KpcdBMgbiXD-Ieb1GY36e8dzHvXehJk4fEhlSHgcBKVifbGArWySOas3E2XIyfzckK_l__yDituvDsCCZe-5Fy_4NaH6JNBO0TamaZy6bg-JouJWOLSVXkdUtqFttL0CweinvFzo4g/s1600/13233037_10205946679017213_1965289852102577896_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12KpcdBMgbiXD-Ieb1GY36e8dzHvXehJk4fEhlSHgcBKVifbGArWySOas3E2XIyfzckK_l__yDituvDsCCZe-5Fy_4NaH6JNBO0TamaZy6bg-JouJWOLSVXkdUtqFttL0CweinvFzo4g/s400/13233037_10205946679017213_1965289852102577896_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Aille River at the hostel in Doolin</i></td></tr>
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We were on the main N21 road, too late to stop at an intended site of Abbeyfeale but we did, however, make a pit stop in the beautiful, but busy town of Adare. The name is from the Irish <i>Áth Dara</i> meaning 'ford of [the] oak'. The town is an ancient settlement, but is famed for its Anglo-Norman architecture including the recently rennovated Desmond Castle, Augustinian, Franciscan and Trinitarian Abbeys and traditional thatched houses - as such it is exceptionally busy with traffic and coaches. Sitting in traffic I could feel the bike engine heating and was almost relieved when the fans came on to cool it. But I retained an uneasy feeling that I did not like. We were behind schedule and were now putting miles in to get to our campsite for the night, an old 'haunt' of Aille River Hostel in Doolin. We had tried to stop at the history 'park' at Craggaunowen but it was shut, another real world reality shutting the door literally and metaphorically on my imagined idyll. My sat nav is set on 'twisty' mode which, if possible, will take us on smaller roads. The problem was, though, that north of Ennis even these roads were thronged with traffic - this is, in my opinion, the issue with the Ring of Kerry / Wild Atlantic Way roads....they are phenomenal and allow us to visit some of the most spectacular sites and scenery on earth, but they are not built to handle the sheer volume of modern traffic, but the valour is, surely, in still using them for the journey?<br />
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<u><b>The Burren, Galway, Mayo and Sligo</b></u><br />
After breakfast in McCann's Pub, we were again on our northwards trek - the journey had now definitely become one of heading home and the dynamic, for me, always changes when this happens. There is a less care-free vibe and my mind starts to wander to real-life problems, work, jobs to do around the house etc. We threaded our way on the R477 to Lisdoonvarna before it becomes the N67 which snakes its way through the other-worldly landscape of the Burren (Co. Clare). The scenery is augmented by the inclusion of the aptly named Corkscrew Hill before descending down to the coast and the border of Counties Clare and Galway where we stopped at Dunguaire Castle which I wrote about last year on our <a href="http://moorso-begins.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/a-trip-round-ireland.html" target="_blank">Trip Round Ireland</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-0xe_SBEUqJPrZQCZt1-8tlffmG6bH9R8GKtTEtgCQEQp4VigDDeC5XK5ZxeNNnXUae8kpe4JrT2jOf4N2y1L_oGObM5V8ommaKUZkuB_QoW8PwknagB4TLY8ALvZoGe34Vdj2VYgNU/s1600/20160517_123303+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-0xe_SBEUqJPrZQCZt1-8tlffmG6bH9R8GKtTEtgCQEQp4VigDDeC5XK5ZxeNNnXUae8kpe4JrT2jOf4N2y1L_oGObM5V8ommaKUZkuB_QoW8PwknagB4TLY8ALvZoGe34Vdj2VYgNU/s400/20160517_123303+edited.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Dunguaire Castle</i></td></tr>
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The site is named after <i>King Guaire</i> who died in AD 617, and the fort associated with him (the site
of <i>Dúrlas Guaire</i> or <i>Ráth Dúrlais</i>) has been suggested as either the
current castle promontory fort or, more likely, the rath to the
north-east of the towerhouse. The current castle is a 16th Century -
circa 1520 - O'Hynes towerhouse, and the associated bawn was rebuilt in 1642.We had been so lucky with the weather, and again the sun was burning my head as we sat behind the curtain wall overlooking the rippling water. I couldn't help but notice that in virtually every 'nook and cranny' were beautiful pinkish flowers, using the castle walls like an Alpine plant uses as scree slope. We sat and basked like lizards in the sun for about an hour, although on the homeward leg, time was still a somewhat fluid concept! The N67 becomes the N18 and R446 into the centre of Galway, although from past experience I knew the scenery after Clarinbridge would become less spectacular (I use that term rather than picturesque, as it is still beautiful!). After coffee and the largest slice of cheesecake ever eaten in Galway we were heading northwards again to our accommodation for the night in Carrick-on-Shannon. The road (N17 and N83), though, were not the most pleasant I have been on, single lane and clogged with traffic in what had become the early evening gloom. The humidity was still high and I felt heavy headed - both the road and the weather were not helping my disposition!<br />
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But at Dunmore we turned off the main roads and onto the R360 and it was like going into a different country, the road was isolated, cutting through trees and open green fields, there was barely another vehicle on it, suddenly I felt free again as if some shackles had been removed. We crossed into Roscommon and onto the R370 at Bella Bridge Bog the road was straight which, shall we say, enabled us to make up some time! The road crossed over little rivers like the Killukin before finally entering and crossing over the Shannon that marks the boundary between Roscommon and Leitrim. We had booked ahead a room in B-Side hostel which is, literally, right in the middle of the town, although with a gated rear parking yard, we were also able to safely store the bikes for the evening. We drank perhaps the best Guinness I have ever had in Cryans.<br />
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After a sound sleep, I was making the journey home alone as I had to get back to Belfast before Kivi and Dee. The journey was cathartic, on small almost abandoned 'R' roads (the R210, R208, R199) that weave through a multitude of loughs and lakes such as Carrickaport, Lough Scur, Corrachoosaun, St. John's Lough and Lough Reane. All too quickly though, I found myself in Armagh, but decided to take the B3 (via Tandragee and Hillsborough) home. And there I was, standing outside my house, the previous week away on the bikes over in the blink of an eye. It has made me want to explore more of my native country, there is more to see, Cork, Waterford, Wexford all lie in wait! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-5261358095930409162016-04-26T13:09:00.000+01:002016-04-26T13:09:11.145+01:001,000 Miles to Beltane<div style="text-align: justify;">
With the May Gaelic festival of Beltane nearly upon us, it seems appropriate that we are planning a long week trip on the bikes in May. Our trip will probably take in approximately 1,000 miles down to Kilkenny then across to the iconic Ring of Kerry and up the Wild Atlantic Way in a clockwise direction to Sligo before cutting east through Fermanagh home. I genuinely cannot wait for this trip; to drive Ireland's most famous roads and to see some of her most famous sites. I will be completing a comprehensive write-up after we have returned and also hope to take some outstanding footage. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beltany Stone Circle (Donegal)</i></td></tr>
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Beltane (<i>Lá Bealtaine</i>) was one of four Gaelic seasonal festivals (along with <i>Samhain</i> in October / November, <i>Imbolc</i> in February and <i>Lughnasadh</i> in August). Beltane lies between the Vernal Equinox and Summer Solstice and marked the beginning of the pastoral season when livestock were put out to pasture. Traditionally fires were lit along with feasting and offerings to the <i>Aos Sí</i> (or <i>Sídhe</i> / <i>Síth</i>) a supernatural race comparable to fairies and elves. In the Book of Leinster the <i>Aos Sí</i> are said to live underground in fairy mounds, across the western sea, or in an invisible world that coexists with the world of humans in which the <i>Aos Sí</i> walk amongst the living. In Irish <i>Aos Sí</i> means 'people of the mounds' (these mounds are known in Irish as '<i>sídhe</i>'). </div>
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In Ó Duinnín's Irish dictionary (1904), Beltane is referred to as <i>Céadamh</i>(<i>ain</i>) which it explains is short for <i>Céad-shamh</i>(<i>ain</i>) meaning 'first (of) summer'. The dictionary also states that <i>Dia Céadamhan</i> is May Day and <i>Mí Céadamhan</i> is the month of May. It is, presumably, no coincidence that the stone circle in Donegal is named 'Beltany', itself a derivative of Beltane; I can only infer that this stone circle was connected to this Gaelic pagan festival. In Armagh there isTamnaghvelton from the Irish <i>Tamhnach Bhealtaine </i>which means the 'Beltane Field') and Lisbalting from the Irish <i>Lios Bealtaine</i> in Tipperary which means the Beltane Fort. </div>
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It seems we are heading away at an auspicious time of year.....bring it on!! </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8115588335306127714.post-53748159026908692192016-03-18T09:16:00.001+00:002018-01-16T15:45:23.708+00:00The Vernal Biking Weekend (Videologue)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="400" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TEIQPKBJLGE" width="600"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0