The south-east part 2 and harping on about time

 Day 1 - Sunday 25 Oct - time to think about time

Our trip is in its closing stages.  In a week we'll be in Singapore.  In 10 days we'll be home.  Dagda's harp is playing for us.

Right now we're in late autumn.  The leaves and temperatures are dropping, the rain increasing in frequency and intensity, and Halloween is just a few days away, signalling the end of harvest.  Dagda, the father-god who lives in the Otherworld, is starting to play winter's tune.

But for us the harp will be playing a different tune.  We'll be landing in Singapore at the start of the monsoon season.  It'll be humid and around 30°C, with afternoon thunderstorms.  Manageable, but the unhealthy haze from the Indonesian fires will be more than unpleasant.  I wouldn't mind Dagda playing the haze away.  Then we'll be back home with spring well underway, and our Labour weekend plantings delayed by a couple of weeks.  Perhaps Dagda could slow things a bit to give us time to catch up.

You see harps everywhere in Ireland - it's the national symbol.  

But most noticeably here.

If you look carefully, the Guinness harp is flipped from the national symbol to avoid confusion.  While both draw from the mythological Dagda's harp, the more recent symbolism copies the 15th century Brian Boru harp we saw at Trinity College in Dublin.  Even then, the Trinity College harp wasn't actually owned by Brian Boru, High King of Ireland, who died in 1014 - that ownership was just a romantic legend.

While we got dumped on in Kilkenny yesterday, today just sees a few squally showers clearing mid-morning.  Perfect for our trip to Waterford - only half an hour from our BnB.  Think Waterford and you think crystal, but the town has other claims to fame.  

It's actually Ireland’s oldest city, founded by Vikings around 914 AD.  Located on the River Suir in Ireland's south-east it became an important trading port, and was well-fortified.  Needless to say, it was attacked frequently over the centuries, with one of its claims to fame being that it was the only Irish city to beat off Oliver Cromwell.  The city's motto is Urbs Intacta Manet Waterfordia - “Waterford remains the untaken city.”

The Viking triangle is the place to start, with Reginald's Tower, hugely instrumental in the defence of the city, our first port of call.  There's still a cannon ball embedded in it from one of many conflicts.

The adjacent longboat gives an excellent insight into Viking engineering.  Fast, flexible and with a shallow draft they could cross oceans, land on beaches, navigate rivers and be hauled over short stretches of land.

They were centuries ahead of their time.

Speaking of which, time is a funny thing.  We know intuitively how to measure it, from trips around the sun, to Dagda's seasons, to the spinning earth, to the tick of a clock.  But what is it?  A progression of events from past, to present to future is intuitive, and Newtonian physics reinforces this as a fundamental dimension in which objects move in space and physical processes evolve.

Thermodynamics tells us time moves forward because entropy increases, which is why eggs break but don't unbreak.  This gives us the arrow of time.  But in relativity theory, time is no longer an independent dimension - it's intimately woven into the fabric of spacetime, and it changes due to speed and gravity.  Our GPS satellites would lead us astray without a relativity correction.  At the quantum level time may not exist at all.  A challenge for the grandkids - unify the theories of general relativity and quantum mechanics and in you're in for a Nobel prize!

I need more information.  What actually is time, and does our perception change over time?  The Irish Museum of Time might hold the answers, but unfortunately it isn't open as we arrive, and we don't have time later to visit. So I can't provide any more insights as to what time actually is.  Perhaps next time.

But we did see a couple of interesting interpretations outside.  I think we can all agree that time flies, more so as we get older.  Each tick is a smaller proportion of our lifespan, so time seems to get faster as we age.  Remember how waiting five minutes for an ice cream was an eternity as a child?  Hence the Tempus Fugit sculpture outside the Museum is very appropriate.  Disconcerting though that Virgil's phrase is often inscribed on clocks - a reminder of the short nature of life and inevitability of death.

Sobering as that thought is, it's the quote from Richard II lettered on the outside wall of the Museum that really gets me thinking.

Not an easy read when you're 70 years old!  Have I used my time wisely?  Is time now destroying me in return?  My sciatica has been playing up a bit lately.  When do I start counting the days?

While these reflections are unexpectedly thought-provoking, the main reason for our visit is just around the corner.

The Waterford Crystal factory tour is an absolute treat, as we get to see the craftsmen at work.  Very little automation here - each of the production stages (blowing & moulding, marking, cutting and polishing) each require five year apprenticeships.  If a piece fails any of the six quality inspections it is thrown back in the furnace - there are no seconds.  As George and William Penrose said in the 1780s when they founded Waterford Crystal, "If it's not perfect it is smashed, unworthy to bear the name Waterford".

We go from this:

to this:

Yes - they do bond the pieces with Loctite adhesive.  To the finished product in the shop:

The limited edition Gold Eagle?  That'll be €25,000 thanks.  I can see these lining the new Trump ballroom.

But let's not forget the crystal harp so like Dagda you can be your own Time Lord.

Only €50,000.  Of course you can always buy a miniature as a Christmas tree decoration at a mere €100.  Now I know I'm looking for incredible objet d'art on my travels, but we can't quite justify this.

A shame they didn't have any €6 tea towels in the shop or we might have been able to bring home a souvenir. 

But if you want the ultimate in time pieces, look no further than the William Maddock Crystal Clock, celebrating Waterford’s greatest historical craftsman.

Not for sale, and it would take a Lotto win for a replica.  Not on my time line.

We cap the day off with a walking tour around the park and city.  In amongst the old parts of Waterford there a striking murals.  The one behind Pauline is a multi‑exposure RGB portrait by the Irish street artist Aches.  He's well known for layering three overlapping colours to create a shifting, almost holographic face. To focus on the art the subject is anonymous - not a revolutionary hero.

On our way back to the BnB we see the signs to the Kennedy homestead.  JFK's great-grandfather emigrated from a farm near New Ross in 1848 in the middle of the Great Famine, and the old homestead has been converted to a museum.  Perhaps of more interest to Americans than us.

With another day we might have explored the Hook Peninsula to the south, but we feel we've seen enough of Ireland's peninsulas, light houses, castles, forts and abbeys for now and it's time to head north to the mountains.  And perhaps just one more monastic settlement.

Day 2 - Wicklow via Johnstown
Our decision to skip the Hook Peninsula is vindicated by another grey and drizzly day.  But there is one attraction to the east we can do before heading north.  The Johnstown Visitor Centre just south of Wexford has a stately manor that's open to view, and an Irish Agricultural Museum - both under cover.

The manor, looking more like a castle, was first built by an Anglo-Norman family in the late 12th century, but they were turfed out after 500 years as they supported the Jacobites.  A Williamite family took over the house and estates, and over time turned the house into a Victorian Gothic castle with towers, turrets, and battlements.  They became one of the wealthiest families in Ireland, and to their credit took care of their tenant farmers during the Great Famine, so weren't unduly affected by the Republican movement.  It was the World Wars that caused the problem, with the owner taken out by a sniper in WWI and his son severely injured in WWII.  He couldn't pay his land taxes, and the estate passed to the Irish Government, to be used by Teagasc - the Agriculture and Food Development Authority.

Now a museum, it's opulent inside, with some of the changes made by Teagasc reversed and period furniture reintroduced.

While Teagasc has a flash new building nearby, some of their old lab has been preserved, which I found just as interesting.

Part of the manor has been turned into an agricultural museum, and there's one particular memory from my childhood that was vividly redrawn.

My Dad had a grey Fergie tractor just like this, though without the luxury of lights.  Notice the evil exhaust pipe running along the side, which was responsible for the burn on my knee when I was about three years old.  The hairless scar persists to this day.

Also on display a stationary engine very similar to my Chore Boy, which reminds that breathing life into mine is a retirement project now due.

I've also found inspiration for a a way to look after our elderly chooks over winter - a Coop Dresser.  This one dates from the 1880s.

When I think of Molly and Maisie sliding down the ladder and having to break the ice on their water trough after a hard frost, surely the best thing to do is to bring them inside.  I hope our girls are doing ok at home and not causing Nat and John too much trouble.

With Halloween less than a week away, witches, ghouls, spiders and skeletons are everywhere.

Gets a bit tedious when you really want to focus on the exhibit, but it's a bit of fun for the kids.

One innovation we won't introduce is the Poultry crammer.

Cramming was done to rapidly fatten poultry for market, and involved a foot-operated pump forcing food down the chook's throat.  Seems repugnant, but China, France and some other European countries still permit force‑feeding of geese for foie gras production.  Choose your food products wisely.

Our trip north to Roundwood is uneventful.  We travel through rolling countryside, slightly more intensive agriculture, and into woodland.  Yet another great BnB with sheep grazing contentedly in the adjacent paddock.  

Now to plan our final three full days in the Wicklow mountains, with a weather eye.  Fingers crossed it's coming good for our final stint in the Emerald Isle.

The south-east - part 1

 Day 1 - Thu 22 Oct - the Rock of Cashel, the role of the Morrígan, and Halloween

We've been keeping a close eye on the autumn weather.  The temperature is dropping, and showers and rain are much more likely.  Today is looking good, at least until mid-afternoon when Storm Austen is predicted to bring heavy rain, some flooding and strong winds overnight.

We decide on an early start to the Rock of Cashel.  It's a very exposed site and not at all pleasant in bad weather.  The Rock sits on a plain in Tipperary, but forget the geologist's explanation of it being a natural limestone outcrop.  The true story is that the devil was fleeing from St Patrick and took a bite out of a nearby mountain.  The devil found it so bitter and so holy that he spat it out in disgust.  It landed on the plain of Tipperary, forming the Rock of Cashel.  The Devil’s Bit Mountain really does have a strange cleft, adding credence to the story.

Naturally a site like this attracts kings, and it was the seat of the Kings of Munster for centuries until it was gifted to the church in 1101, at which point chapels, cathedrals and towers were built.

But why is it a ruin now?  Of course the English are implicated, but it's actually two Irishmen who pulled the smoking gun's trigger.

Remember the Reformation?  Henry VIII wanted to break the power of the Catholic Church, declares England Protestant, and forces Catholic Ireland into a Protestant political system.  His daughter Elizabeth I continues his handiwork by enforcing Protestantism, crushing Catholic resistance and bringing English Protestant settlers onto Irish land.  This sets the scene for the bloody conflicts that follow.

Tensions turned into a full-scale war in 1641with the Irish rebellion.  In 1647, Cashel was the centre of Catholic authority and Munster resistance against the British, so naturally it was a target.  But it wasn't Oliver Cromwell who attacked it - he arrived in Ireland two years later.  Instead it was an Irishman, Murrough O’Brien (Lord Inchiquin), a Protestant noble fighting for the English Parliament at the time.  Cashel was poorly fortified, and packed with locals seeking sanctuary in the cathedral.  Inchiquin and his troops butchered all of them - around 1,000 clergy, townspeople, and defenders inside the cathedral, including women and children.  His name lives on in Irish infamy.  Later, his tomb was ransacked and his bones dumped in the Shannon river.

After Cashel, Cromwell continued England's attacks, crushing Catholic resistance, confiscating Irish land, and empowering Protestant settlers.  As we've learned before, a resistance attempt by James II's Jacobites was put down by William of Orange at the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 which permanently secured Protestant rule.  It wasn't until centuries later in 1916 that the Easter Rising initiated the chain of events that led to the Irish Republic in 1949.  

So who was the other Irishman responsible for Cashel's ruins?  The 1647 massacre destroyed its clergy and treasures, and it became a Protestant cathedral.  In the 18th century Archbishop Theophilus Butler decided it was too unpleasant living in the partially ruined site, and rather than renovate it, he built himself a comfortable new palace in town.  The cathedral's roof was deliberately removed, leading to the rapid decay of the interior.  While seen as a practical solution by Protestants, Catholics were devastated.  A symbol of ancient Irish kingship and medieval Catholic power was left to rot.  Butler is now regarded as the the bishop who preferred comfort and worldly luxury to duty, and the removal of the roof vandalism of the highest order.

But there is one gem that remains among the ruins - Cormac’s Chapel.  Built before the cathedral itself by a Munster king in 1134, it wasn't as badly sacked and with its stone roof the frescoes remained partially intact.  With ongoing restoration work it is now the best-preserved Romanesque building in Ireland.  Our guided tour takes us inside.

In the nearby Hall of the Vicars Choral is a late‑17th‑century Flemish tapestry, one of the few surviving decorative elements that hints at how richly furnished Cashel’s ecclesiastical buildings once were.

The Halloween figures seem incongruous, but it's important to remember that Halloween is originally Irish - the festival of Samhain, marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of winter.  The figures are deliberately placed to connect visitors to Irish myth and highlight medieval beliefs about spirits, saints, and the afterlife.  

Sadly Cashel is now home only to crows, and they're everywhere.

The little holes in the walls are perfect nesting spots.

It's also the place you'd expect to find the Morrígan, circling overhead and foretelling the future.

A Goddess of War, a shape‑shifting sovereignty figure, a prophet of fate, and a personification of the land itself.  She appears on battlefields, foretells death, chooses who will fall, circles above armies, and lands on the shoulder of doomed heroes.  She foretells Ireland’s future, the cycles of war, the coming of strangers, and the fate of kings.  Did she foretell the fall of Cashel, and the subsequent rise of Irish Republicanism?  Will she foretell Irish reunification?  It wouldn't surprise me in the least.  She is the voice of inevitability.

As we travel back to the BnB we pass through the little town of Fethard.  Halloween decorations are in full swing, and merchandise is everywhere.  You can even buy novelty deformed pumpkins in Tesco's.

We stop for lunch shortly thereafter near a big gravel dump opposite a farm.  A plaque is attached to the gatepost.  This one commemorates the birthplace of Michael Doheney, Patriot and Young Irelander, 1805-1862.  He was a lawyer, a writer, and later a co‑founder of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, the organisation that eventually inspired the Fenian movement and helped pave the way for the Easter Rising of 1916.

The Irish revolutionaries are revered throughout the Republic, and it's no surprise to see memorials in the unlikeliest of places.

Back to the BnB and I'm curious why the Internet is so slow.  It's a 4G modem without a Yagi - that explains the abysmal performance.  0.1Mbps upload is not a pleasant experience when transferring photos.  I provide some helpful suggestions to our host, which is starting to become a habit.  In the kindest possible way of course.  Suggestions for improving the heating will also be forthcoming.  It's less than 10°C outside now, and these old cottages are drafty and poorly insulated.  If the night store heaters aren't turned on before guests arrive, the place is freezing.

As the storm sets in it's time to plot tomorrow's activities.

Day 2 - the Copper Coast

The overnight rain has passed with no flooding - just a few puddles outside.  A bit of an anti-climax really.  With the sun shining but a brisk 30kph breeze blowing we decide to head south to the Copper Coast to take in the beaches and derelict copper mines.  Tramore Beach is pleasant enough in the sunshine, but the breeze is cutting.  

Leaves are turning yellow and littering the roads.  Autumn is definitely here.  It appears that Aine is starting to temporarily desert us.

Not just the goddess of summer - Aine is also the goddess of beauty, wealth and sovereignty associated with midsummer and the sun.  Her name means brightness or radiance, reflecting her solar nature.  I wonder if she's responsible for the growing Irish awareness of solar power, wind power and sovereign renewable energy in an age of anthropogenic climate change.  Judging by the Irish wind farms, my friend Axel's solar enthusiasm and the houses I see sporting solar panels I'd like to think so.  Meanwhile, our idiot Government wants to spend billions on a potentially explosive LNG terminal in the heart of New Plymouth - go figure.  Aine would be welcome to spend her winter downunder to advise whatever Government we end up with after the election.  She can counsel them on the need for the rapid deployment of renewables and distributed generation while covering the dry year risk with coal, diesel, and gas redeployment.

As we travel west along the south coast we're in copper country.  The coast road from Tramore through Bunmahon to Dungarvan is full of old copper mines, and after missing out on the Allihies Copper Mine Museum while doing the Ring of Beara I'm keen to make good.

So far we've covered Ireland back to the neolithic.  Given that geologists might actually know what they're talking about we'll take their word that 460 million years ago submarine volcanoes erupted, forming what are now the south coast's uplifted basalt cliffs full of copper‑bearing veins.  Mining was in full swing from the 1820s to the 1870s, with the most prominent old mine located at Tankardstown.

The Heron's shaft adjacent to the rectangular building descended 256 metres.  Around every 18 metres horizontal shafts were driven out slightly upwards to intersect ore veins.  The ore was dragged in leather bags or on narrow gauge wagons to the vertical shaft where the winding engine brought it to the surface.  A second engine on the site pumped water from the base of the shaft.

The Bunmahon Copper Coast Visitor Centre has an excellent description of mining operations, ore samples, and models of the mines and engines.

It also reminds us of the horrific working conditions the miners and their families endured, including the use of child labour to break larger rocks to extract the valuable ore.

But the most surprising panel was one relating to climate change.

It makes a cogent case for the transition to renewable energy, and reminds us it requires mining the minerals, metals and aggregates necessary to achieve the transition, be that steel, copper, concrete, aluminium and rare earths for wind turbines as per their example, or lithium for batteries, or silicon and silver for solar panels.  We tend to forget that our modern existence relies on extracting resources from the earth's crust, and we need to do so in a way which minimises environmental degradation and maximises recycling.

Lunch on the beach at Bunmahon.  That's the Tankardstown mine on the hill in the background, a lone surfer braves the waves in a wetsuit, and I've finally found the need to extract my warmest jacket from my suitcase.

On our way home we cross the remarkable cable‑stayed Meagher Bridge across the River Suir, just north of Waterford.

That rainbow could be landing on something I need.

Yes!  I make my way to the base of the rainbow, but unfortunately the fuel injection leprechaun must have heard me coming.  He's fled with his pot of gold, so my search will have to continue.  Or perhaps I'll just cut my losses with ICE and stick with EVs.


Day 3 - a taste of Ireland

Ireland has been a visual feast.  We've sampled local produce from the supermarket - meat, veges and dairy in particular - but you'd be hard-pressed to differentiate them from NZ products.  Our most reliable and economical wine choices have been Australian reds, and the general rule is that any European red under €8 is best left on the shelf.  

So to add a genuine Irish taste and smell experience we'd better check out the beers.  I've never been a fan of Guinness, but the Kilkenny ale I've tried in NZ is close to my preferred taste.  Smithwick’s in Kilkenny has a guided tour and tastings, and given it's a miserable wet day as Storm Boelo passes over, an indoor activity is the way to go.  Only an hour away by car too.

The Smithwick's brewery itself is no longer in Kilkenny - it moved to Dublin years ago and is now under Guinness ownership.  The old Kilkenny brewery is now a remarkably well done visitor centre.  Talking of old breweries, brewing in Kilkenny dates back to the 13th century, centred on the Franciscan monks at St Francis Abbey.  Kilkenny’s fertile barley‑growing land plus clean River Nore water made it ideal for ale production, and of course in those days drinking ale was much safer than drinking water.  More pleasurable too.

Unfortunately the abbey was another victim of Henry VIII's Reformation, and in 1537 it was forced to shut down.  Brewing on the site didn't return until 1710 when John Smithwick began commercial brewing on the old abbey grounds.  But as a Catholic he had to be careful.  He needed a Protestant business partner as penal laws restricted Catholic business ownership.  The business succeeded, and by the mid‑19th century, Smithwick’s was the largest brewery in Ireland, second only to Guinness, and in 1965 it became part of the Guinness empire.

The most interesting aspect of the tour was the aroma room.  Here the malted barley, roasted barley, yeast and hops are all on display, each with their own aroma sampler.

And of course the tour wouldn't be complete without a pint of Smithwick's award-winning Red Ale.  

Not quite the same as the Kilkenny we get in NZ, but from the same family - a similar malt base, but different texture and finish.  I also found out the difference between an ale and a stout, and it's all to do with the proportion of roasted barley.  About 2% for my Red Ale, and 10% for a Guinness.  Pauline is on the afternoon driving shift so she has to content herself with a ginger beer.

Across the road from Smithwick's is Rothe House, Ireland's finest surviving example of a complete 16th–17th‑century merchant’s townhouse, consisting of three adjacent houses and a half-acre garden.  Like the monks, the Rothes were on the Catholic side, and the house was confiscated after the Cromwellian period.  It was briefly restored before being confiscated again when they sided with the Jacobites at the Battle of the Boyne.  After changing hands several times it was purchased by the Kilkenny Archaeological Society in 1962 and beautifully restored.

The King Post Truss roof looks a tad over-engineered.  Important to note there are no nails in there - it's all held together by wooden dowels.

The garden is a treat, with flowers, herbs, vegetables, fruit trees and even its own well dug by Cistercian monks.

Just a shame about the weather, but tomorrow is looking much brighter.  We're off to Waterford central, so you can probably guess what's on the agenda there.  Stay tuned.

Kerry, Rings, Merrows and the end of the WAW

County Kerry covers the south-western tip of Ireland, renowned for its rugged hills and scenic beauty.  Each of those peninsulas sticking out into the Atlantic Ocean is worthy of a week's discovery.  We only have three full days and deteriorating weather.  How an earth are we going to do them justice?  And will we spot any Merrows?

Merrows?  They live in Tír fo Thuinn, the Land Beneath the Waves, surfacing along the Kerry coast to interact with fishermen, warn of storms, marry humans, or lure them to their death.  They move between sea and land using a magical red cap, the cohuleen druith, which allows them to breathe and travel underwater.

After a bit of research our itinerary pans out like this.

Day 1 - Sun 18 Oct - the Ring of Beara

We have sunny weather, and Beara with its coastal views, high pass and being not quite as famous as its siblings gets today's nod.  

We head for Glengarriff on the coast, but there's a nice little waterfall a bit off the beaten track at Esknamucky that's worth a look.  Pauline's getting increasing anxious as we descend into the valley with the road getting narrower and narrower, the turns tighter and tighter, and the grass on the centre strip greener and wider.  When it seems we're about to end up in a farmer's paddock we're spat out at a parking area and an absolutely delightful little stream.

A 15 minute walk upstream brings us to the waterfall.  Perhaps no great shakes by NZ standards, but a great way to stretch legs after an hour's drive.

As we make our way down the coast we hit the turn-off to the Healy Pass.  We don't need to cut across the peninsula as there's lots to see further south, but the prospect of a twisty mountain pass is too good to refuse.  As we negotiate the hairpins on the way up I'm thinking how good this road would be to do on two wheels.

It appears others have a similar idea.

There are reminders that we're still on the WAW as we stop at the Gour lookout.

We hit the beach at Allihies

and are disappointed to find the nearby Copper Mine Museum closed from mid-October.  Bummer - missed it by three days.  While travelling in mid-autumn means we're not fighting for space with thousands of other tourists, it does give us some challenges with the weather and finding cafes and attractions closed.

But no matter.  

Around every corner we come across jaw-dropping vistas, but can't photograph them all.

The Ring of Beara?  We'll give it a 9 out of 10, and it's our fault it didn't score a perfect 10 as we arrived a few days late.

Day 2 - The Slea Head Drive on the Dingle Peninsula

For consistency this should be called the Ring of Dingle, as just like Beara we take a clockwise loop along the coast to the extremities of the peninsula, but the Slea Head Drive it is.  

Before setting off we need to clear the ice from the windscreen - the first time we've experienced a frost on the trip.

First stop is Inch Beach.

But we didn't really come to Ireland for the beaches.  There are derelict castles to see (this is Minard Castle)

and sheer cliffs at Ceann Trá

and cafes with a view.

But the most unexpected pleasure was the Blasket Centre near Dunquin.

Behind Pauline are the Blasket Islands, just 5km from the tip of the Dingle Peninsula.  In the early 1900s this was a thriving Irish‑speaking community of fishermen, storytellers, and writers, but life was hard and over time the young men and women left the islands, either to the mainland or to Springfield, Massachusetts in the USA.

The island was evacuated in 1953, when the population had dwindled to such an extent it was no longer viable for anyone to live in such a remote location.

The Blasket Centre is a museum dedicated to their memory, and it's extraordinarily well done.

Each of the major writers is described, and community and fishing life graphically displayed.

Outside are representations of Blasket women and a child at a water well.  

The sculptor took inspiration from the Merrows that were known to inhabit the ocean off the Dingle Peninsula.  Legend has it that a fisherman stole a merrow’s red cap, forcing her to live on land and marry him.  She bore children but eventually found the cap and returned to the sea.

Pauline is intrigued by the mosaic patterns created by the dry-stone walls as they climb up from the glaciated valley floor.

On to the Gallerus Oratory, a masterpiece of early Irish engineering.

Built around the 7th or 8th century using dry-stone corbelling, its self-supporting arch-like roof and walls that shed rain outwards means it's remained standing after centuries of Atlantic weather.  It's original purpose was as an early Christian church, monastic prayer cell, or perhaps a funerary chapel for a local chieftain.

After looping back to Dingle town we have an opportunity for another pass to see the northern beaches.  How could we resist?  From the crest of the Conor Pass we have fantastic views to the south where we've come from

to the north where we're going.

The Femoyle beach?  Well - it's got hills, water and sand.  A lovely beach, but perhaps we don't need to visit every one.  

We skip the Castlegregory beach and head back south by yet another pass.  Pauline's driving and would rather not as the narrow twisty roads with poor visibility increase her stress levels.  I'm happy to take the wheel until we hit the coast and she takes us home.  Dingle gets a 10/10.


Day 3 - two Rings for the price of one

Our luck with the weather hasn't lasted.  We wake to heavy cloud and the prospect of later rain.  We'd anticipated this and chosen to do the Rings of Kerry and Skellig due to their low passes and more indoor activities.

We set off early for Muckross Abbey in the Killarney National Park on our way to the Ring of Kerry.  The abbey was a Franciscan friary, established in 1448.  

Like many other Catholic institutions it suffered repeated raids from the English, culminating with the friars' eviction in the Cromwellian period.  It's now roofless but remarkably intact, meaning we can wander through the chambers and stairs on three levels.  A huge, twisted yew tree, possibly as old as the Abbey itself, is situated in the cloister in the heart of the abbey.  Apparently it's the most photographed tree in Ireland, so of course we had to add to the tally.

We pass through Kenmare and climb up to to Moll's Gap for a coffee.  It hasn't started raining yet so get some great views out over the valley.

The Avoca cafe and shop stocks a superb range of woollen  

and coffee products. I was so conflicted by this decision I couldn't buy anything at all.

As we're descending to the coast I'm getting more and more frustrated with the Leon, its noisy ineffective transmission, and heat lost from the brakes.  As you do, I start fantasising about a solution.  What if I can find a rainbow, follow it to its end, capture the leprechaun guarding the pot of gold, and put him to work under the bonnet slowing the car by converting gravitational potential energy into petrol to be added back into the tank.  Works for an EV, so why not an ICE?  Sadly I don't think my fantasy will be realised any time soon.

We make our way down the eastern side of the Iveragh Peninsula through Sneem and Waterville.  The Ring of Kerry starts heading north at this point, but if we hang a left we can do the Skellig Ring as well.  It's raining cats and dogs (but not leprechauns) at this point, so the viewpoints get passed by in favour of Portmagee for lunch, and a trip over the bridge to Valentia Island.

Pauline found this one for me.  She mentioned something about a cable, and with a raised eyebrow I had visions of a cable car journey in the driving rain.  But no, she's discovered the Eighth Wonder - the Valentia Transatlantic Cable Station.  

Remember the story (from my childhood, maybe yours too) of Robert the Bruce who while hiding in a cave watched a spider trying to anchor a thread across a gap?  The spider tried and failed repeatedly, but eventually succeeded.  He took this as inspiration to resume his fight against the English and eventually won the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314, securing Scottish independence.  This perseverance theme is repeated in American William Hickson's well known phrase, "If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again".

When we send an email to the other side of the world we assume naturally it will be in the recipient's mailbox in a few seconds, or a minute or two at the most.  But consider what it was like in the mid-1800s.  A message between North America and Europe took two weeks by boat - weather permitting.

Cyrus Field, a New York paper merchant, had a dream.  He wanted to lay a telegraph cable across the Atlantic, linking North America and Europe.  Valentia Island was chosen as the landing point.  He started in 1857 and the cable snapped.  He tried again, and the cable snapped again.  In 1858 after multiple failed attempts, the cable was finally completed and the first messages transmitted to great fanfare.  After four weeks, the cable died.  Continually taking inspiration from the spider, Field remained undeterred, tried again and again, and in 1866 finally managed an enduring cable.  The Victorian era Internet is born - at a few words per minute by Morse code.  By the 1890s it had risen to 50 words per minute.  In the 2020s with fibre-optic cables it's measured at over 84 billion words per minute.

Pauline is checking out her Morse code skills.

The two rings?  An 8/10, rising to a 10/10 in good weather and more time.

A dash for home and we count off our successes - the Ring of Beara, the Ring of Kerry, the Skellig Ring, and the Dingle peninsula.  There's only one big one to go - the Mizen Peninsula.  But will the weather play ball?

Day 4 - Mizen, east and the end of the WAW

Yesterday's rain has passed over, but squally showers are still blasting through.  We decide to take a punt on the Mizen Head signal station, sitting at the very tip of the Mizen Peninsula, the most south‑westerly peninsula in Ireland.  If we'd had the time we'd have taken in the adjacent Sheep's Head peninsula as well - but we cant do everything.  It'll be a long day anyway.

It's a couple of hours to get down there, but it's well worth the trip.  

There was never a proper lighthouse on Mizen Head - just a beacon, radio equipment and explosives for fog warnings. The station was fully automated and keepers withdrawn in 1993, with the buildings now used as a visitor centre.

The main lighthouse on the south coast is Fastnet, which you can see in the distance, 6.5km away to the south-east.

The the iconic footbridge over the gorge to the station is 45m above the surf crashing into the rocks below.  Your heart's in your mouth as you look down.

And wherever there's a down, there must be an up, with a good aerobic effort to accompany it.

The WAW is pretty much over at this point, and we have no argument that the leading W in WAW really does stand for Wild.  It's been a blast, literally and figuratively.

We head towards the south-east coast, skirting school traffic in Cork and rush-hour traffic in Waterford to arrive at our BnB in New Ross a bit after 6pm.  

It's been a long day, but we have a whole new lot of experiences to plan.  A Rock, perhaps?  As if we haven't seen enough already?  Stay tuned.