Here's the second of my pictures showing off the beautiful south west of ireland, here is Carrauntohill the highest mountain in Ireland, standing at just over 1000 meters it's by no means huge but a relatively easy climb to the top (up and down takes approximately 6 hours at a easy pace). The views from the top are pretty breathtaking. Here are some pictures taken at the top of devil's ladder, about 3 quarters the way up
I'll post pictures of the beautiful south of ireland, first up is a lovely nature reserve less then a mile from where I live called the gearragh, it was created when the esb (that's ireland's electricity supply board) built a dam about 20 miles down river and and flooded what was an ancient oak Forrest, they created a walk that runs from one side to the other and all that's left of the old oak trees is stumps that peek out above the water.
On the day these pictures were taken they had recently drained the dam so the water was pretty low.
It was quite a nice weekend here in Ireland could but bright and sunny and decided to climb up Torc mountain here in killarney, Co Kerry. The they from the top was pretty spectacular!
Not many people know that St. Patrick was actually British. He was born in Britain around A.D. 390 to a Christian family that owned plenty of slaves.
At 16, Patrick was kidnapped and sent to tend sheep as a slave for seven years in the countryside of Ireland.
According to legend, a voice came to Patrick in his dreams, telling him to escape. He found that escape on a pirate ship back to Britain, where he reunited with his family. The same voice then told him to go back to Ireland.
St. Patrick gets ordained as a priest from a bishop, and goes back and spends the rest of his life converting many Irish to Christianity.
Patrick's work in Ireland was rough—he was constantly being jumped by thugs, intimidated by Irish royalty, and rebuked by his British superiors. After he died on March 17, 461, Patrick was pretty much forgotten.
According to folklore Patrick used the three leaves of a shamrock to explain the Christian holy trinity: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Another St. Patrick day legend is
Happy St. Patrick's Day! If you are well into your second, third, or sixth pint of green beer, feeling giddy from slurping up a McDonald's Shamrock Shake, or still picking out sprinkles from your clothes after starting your day off with a green donut—chances are you might be putting your arm around the person next to you and promising that the lot of you will travel to Ireland together post haste. No? Whenever I talk to people about travel destinations, Ireland holds a sweet spot in travelers' hearts and daydreams. Today is a great day to foster those dreams into reality. Here are five travel websites to help with your pre-trip research and planning.
It's too early in the season to plant seeds in the ground - at least, here in Ireland. But it's St Patrick's day, and as the proverb says, Patrick turns the stone. The weather should start to warm up now, and we move into the new growing year. (It's no accident that the second half of March was traditionally New Year in European cultures.)
But the ground is warm enough for some of the perennial crops to start springing back to life. Wild garlic is showing through the mess of last year's foliage, and the prostrate rosemary is covered in delicate pale-blue flowers. The chives in the herb bed are vividly green and springy (though the parsley and marjoram look a bit the worse for wear...
A few things have been started under cover, and hopefully now that the stone's turned they can be planted out soon. Here are some lettuces just germinated.
Hopefully the peas, beans, courgettes, and cucumbers that I sowed at the same time will germinate sh
Sometimes, thinking about walking routes or camping spots, it strikes you that places you’ve always thought of as separate are in fact linked by potential routes. These walks can be impractical verging on impossible; or they can strike like one of Homer Simpson’s long-overdue revelations: why hadn’t I thought of that before? Doh!
With work about to begin on a new contract that was likely to keep me desk bound for some time, I wanted to spend my last day of freedom on a long hike. I’ve been eyeing a trail in the Mourne mountains for a while, but the two-hour drive didn’t appeal. I wanted something near home. But I also wanted something different.
Looking at the map, it struck me that some of my favourite places were only a few kilometres from one another. And a mini-landscape I’d wanted to investigate for some time - the low snouty hill called Skerrywhirry and farmland beneath it - lay nearby. I sketched a route, packed a day-sack, and set off into a day brighter and warmer than I had any
In 1882 the Parliament of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland passed into law the [Ancient Monuments Protection Act](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_Monuments
I live near the beginning of the famous Antrim Coast, the rugged, even bleak route that runs along the north-east coast of Ireland up to the even-more-famous Giants’ Causeway. Most visitors (Game of Thrones has drawn many thousands) drive or are driven. But if you’re lucky to have fine weather, the hills above the coast make for tremendous walks.
Early on a slightly dank and chilly May morning, I’m dropped off at the edge of Ballyboley forest.
On Agnew’s Hill, I rest among tumbled stones. They could be natural - the landscape was scoured by ice in the glacial eras - but I think they’re archaeology, the remains of a stone circle of passage grave perhaps. While I sit pondering the question, a young fox slinks by me, with a quizzical tilt to his head.
Coming down off the hill, I cross a strange terrain of humped earthworks. These, I’m baffled by. Manmade? Ice-cut? Who k
Last weekend’s overnighter made me nostalgic, so I thought I’d revisit an older wild camping adventure.
This is back in October 2015, almost Hallowe’en, but July weather: hot, bright. The water sparkled as a small boat, the Island Warrior, took us on the short crossing to Rams Island, a long, low apostrophe of land lying in the largest inland water body in the British Isles, Lough Neagh. Only a few hundred yards across and barely a mile long, it once sat even lower in the water but climate change (and water extraction) has seen water levels drop in recent decades.
The island was once the summer home of the O’Neills, an important aristocratic family in these parts. Their summer house lies in ruins, burned down by vandals - possible drunken GIs from their base nearby - during WWII.
Long before, as Inis Draicrenn, it was home to a monastic settlement gathered at the base of the round tower whose stu
What is Finnegans Wake? Between 1922 and 1939, scattered throughout Joyce’s correspondence—and the writings of people who knew him—there are isolated remarks bearing on the nature of Finnegans Wake. Some of these are of great value to the first-time reader, but equally as many are p
Love is in and out of time,
I am mortal stone and lime…
(Tennyson, ‘Helen’s Tower’)
It’s been a couple of days since I posted anything here. It’s been a busy weekend, but it was great to get out for the first wild camp of the season. I met up with a few guys from the NI WIld outdoors community for an overnighter in Clandeboye forest, not far from Belfast.
For February, Saturday afternoon was surprisingly warm. For February, it was unsurprisingly damp. In fact, it looked like it might rain into the night. But we got pitched between the rhododendrons.
And even collected rainwater off the tarp to make tea.
The camp set, and the rain eased a little, I hiked uphill through the woods to Helen’s Tower. I remembered the landscape from childhood adventures here, but I haven’t visited in decades. The path was veined with the roots of the Scots pine pl
The second half of the nineteenth century marked a watershed in the study of Irish antiquities, for it was in these decades that the gentlemanly pursuit of antiquarianism was replaced by the science of archaeology, and the amateur antiquary yielded his place to the professional archaeologist. This wa
Live from my recording studio in Northern Ireland
The Slippy Floor Gang
Dublin Port - 24 April 2015, 09:06AM
Shot on a Canon 550D
I came late to vegetable growing, and I'm still an amateur. I could be tidier - you can tell from the pics, probably - and I could probably squeeze more growing into my three small raised beds and other corners than I do. But still, I thought I'd bring you along with me this year...
Here we are in mid-February. Too early to plant anything, but last year's garlic has survived the winter well and promises a bumper crop.
garlic, planted last November...
As for the perennials, the early rhubarb looks well (forgive the weeds! A job for this weekend.)
And the wild garlic is coming up in the 'woodland understorey' bed (so-called because it's in deep shade a lot of the time, so I've planted it up with varieties you'd naturally find in an Irish woodland.)
Now, just to look through the seed bank - with my little helper.
This is Zeke, helping!