There's no place like home, says returning globetrotter
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It’s one of those déjà vu moments. My surefooted steed has expertly picked his steps over the hilly ancient stony tracks, high above the wild beauty of West Cork’s Beara Peninsula, over the past two days.
Suddenly spooked by a motorbike’s backfiring exhaust he rears up, almost unseating me onto the tarmac of main street Allihies.
Hanging on by a thread, I’m instantly transported back to my last time on horseback and a near equine misadventure in the Canadian Rockies 6,600 km away, a memory not easily forgotten.
My reliable trail companion, expertly trained for emergencies, from a chance sighting of a bear or wolf to coping with mudslides and sinkholes, was caught by a jagged rock under the water dropping to his knees whilst we crossed a flowing glacial river. It happened at the same spot where a mule, loaded with trail riders kit on an expedition days earlier fell and was almost swept away by the current on the same route pioneers mapping the Rockies took a century and a half ago.
That memorable three-day horse trek, exploring Banff National Park’s dramatic lonely landscapes in the year before Covid shut the world down was a stand-out adventure, meandering plodding into remote mountain terrain, inaccessible except on foot, horseback or by helicopter.
We wondered whether a bear, caribou, moose or other wildlife would cross our paths (several varieties of dear were spotted, along with porcupines, marmots and birds of prey during the journey). Added to that was the mild discomfort of long hours in the saddle for those like myself who hadn’t sat on a horse for many years.
Exploring a brave new world on our doorstep when pandemic restrictions on travel abroad were ongoing I jumped like a candidate for the Dublin show at the chance to explore the Beara Peninsula on horseback. My only visit in the past had been a quick stop off in Adrigole after Castletownbere, and the drive on corkscrew roads heading for Kenmare with a fleeting glimpse of foaming sea and moody mountains.
A couple of days spent riding along 26 km of the Beara Bridle path, Ireland’s first such dedicated trail, turned out to be even more enjoyable (and certainly less heart-stopping!) than my Banff adventure.
It ticked every box — remote stunning landscapes, well-signed routes, lashings of mythology (The Hag of Beara story and more) a throw-back also to times when Allihies copper mines, whose shafts today still stand sentinel, created employment and posterity. When we did have a rare human encounter locals were warm, helpful, chatting and so hospitable — providing water and grass for the horses and homemade scones and cake for riders here and there.
Throughout long periods of travel restrictions that prevented us from leaving the island, I took off to far-flung places at home, finding enchanting corners of my own country for the first time. Up North, I watched the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea. And I was spellbound by Lough Neagh, shimmering like one of the famous Italian lakes in bright sunlight, empty and silent but for the cries of black-headed gulls.
At last, getting further than Sligo town I rambled through Benbulben forest, rewarded with fabulous views of the legendary rock mound like a mini version of Capetown’s Table Mountain. Then I took a nine km coastal loop walk, of sand dunes and shell-covered little beaches, followed by a muscle-reviving seaweed bath in Strandhill whose surfing vibe reminded me of my visit to Noosa Heads in Queensland, Australia.
There were lots of new challenges awaiting at home — having a go at paddle boarding on the Shannon, learning to negotiate a large cabin cruiser through its many locks. We hiked along the National Famine Way from Co Roscommon to Dublin, having our Camino-style passport stamped along the way. Ireland’s July temperatures were even higher during this five-day walk in 2021 than I’d remembered whilst doing the Portuguese Camino a few years earlier.
The staycation realisation soon dawned that escape doesn’t have to mean hopping on a plane to find Nirvana. Ireland can deliver much and even more memories. I certainly didn’t miss some aspects of foreign travel either like the crush at airports, the fiendish concept of priority versus ordinary boarding nor the endless unavoidable pre-flight retail parks, similar to each other the world over where shopping ‘opportunities’ are always thrust our way after security.
The star of my wonderful Beara Bridle Path adventure I completed with accomplished horsewomen Katie O’Sullivan (local guide) and my Kinsale-based friend Helen Williams for company was an 11-year-old white Connemara pony, Wolfie. The strong pony uncomplainingly bore my weight over the foothills of the Slieve Mikish mountains on tracks that connect three famous colourful West cork villages, Allihies, Urhan and Eyeries.
No better way exists to appreciate Beara’s legendary unspoilt scenery than on horseback, I decided, mesmerised by the variety and colours of wildflowers that clung to hedgerows along ancient laneways, bog roads, boreens and old mining tracks. Animal and bird life ranged from well-fed cattle and excited winnowing horses that greeted the strangers, whilst sheep moved in white ribbons, driven by sheepdogs across the mountainside. Here and there rabbits were spotted and one fleeting creature looked like a stoat. Buzzards circled high in the sky on the lookout for prey below.
Northern Ireland remains hugely popular with Game of Thrones fans, as well as being home to one of the spectacular natural wonders of the world, the Giant’s Causeway. Less well-known astonishing discoveries, away from The Dark Hedges and Causeway coast locations, also await. But all too often they go unnoticed.
On a weekend getaway, exploring a bit more off the beaten-track for hidden treasures, we followed remote back roads of Counties Derry and Tyrone, visiting passage tombs, hiking in the Sperrin mountains, taking a boat trip onto Lough Neagh which is one of Europe’s largest lakes, spanning five of Ulster’s six counties that also happens to be the continent’s largest source of wild eels. Archaeological evidence shows that the lakeside dwellers were eating eels 9,000 years ago.
Another unfamiliar delight was my re-discovery after decades of Ireland’s oldest city, Waterford — transformed since the old depressing days of being ignored, suffering chronic unemployment after the largest employer Waterford Glass moved most of its operations abroad.
Today, Waterford is a different place, modern, confident, showing off its origins as the country’s leading Viking settlement. A clutch of museums is grouped together under Waterford Treasures. They include the Medieval Museum, the Irish Silver Museum and the Irish Museum of Time in the city’s Viking Triangle. Soon another new attraction will open here, a museum devoted to our unique Irish Wake culture, telling the story of our devotion and customs surrounding death.
The Queen of Irish travel writing, Co Waterford native Dervla Murphy who died last year, told me in the autumn of 2020 that sustainable travel could be a winner when the world re-opened.
She added: “Instead of discovering the beauty around them here at home in Ireland, too many people used to take off on cheap short-haul flights contributing to over-tourism, some not even knowing afterward where they’d been. Now their world has shrunk, I hope the Irish will open their eyes and learn and enjoy the treasures on our doorsteps.”