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Wonderful landscape
A plague of rhododendron
Wild, Wet and Windy
We leave quite early in an uncertain mood because of the rain, and the expectation of heavy showers most of the day. But within ten minutes the clouds start to lift and we enjoy another eight miles of the Greenway, which takes us all the way to the island.
Achill is a beautiful but barren landscape that is being slowly smothered by rhododendron. It is also peppered with second homes, many of which are much too grand for their surroundings. Must be a long way for the big shots to go on holiday, as they mostly appear to be empty.
David soon tires of taking pictures of the orchids, once he has captured a family of five, and he is most disparaging about another invasive species, the Japanese Peace Lily, which is also prevalent here. Den notes the yellow irises and the fuchsias which are struggling for space, and nowhere like as widespread as in West Cork. I feel like I’ve stumbled into the school botany lesson.
We get to Bullsmouth slipway and admire the curraghs there, but Nigel is getting antsy about his caffeine deprivation and giving off about the perpetual three and a half miles to the coffee stop, so we don’t hang around. When we get to the appointed spot the pub is not yet open, and it’s another mile to Dugort, where we find a place rammed to the jacks on account of the two-for-one breakfasts that are available for the damp campers. Luckily they’re quick at serving people who are willing to sit outside and brave the elements, although by now it has turned sunny & warm.
These parts are renowned for emigration, particularly during the famine, and we read about 17 unfortunate locals who went to Scotland to pick potatoes and died in a fire. Their bodies were brought back in one of the last trains to visit Achill, thus completing the second half of a morbid prophecy about a cart with iron wheels.
We decide to turn around at Doagh, and head to Ted’s bar for lunch, because we don’t have the legs to get to up and back over the next 600 ft climb. We’re sad about this because on the other side is Keem Bay, which is “frequently named one of the most beautiful beaches in the world by major travel authorities”
When we get to Ted’s, we discuss the controversial practice of “souperism”. Apparently, during the famine, the quakers were lauded for providing soup for the starving, but that other lot from the North, under Reverend Nangle, were heavily criticised for obtaining forced conversions in exchange for the soup. I can see the logic of this, as I would do just about anything for a bowl of Ted’s fish chowder, accompanied by his special wheaten bread made with Guinness. The pub is a wonderful community hub, with Cork v Limerick being attentively watched by half the locals, while a crowd of children are getting violin lessons in the back.
After lunch we head for Dooega, where we run into a heavy squall, after four hours of bright and sunny weather. We battle along to Cloughmore, where we fail to spot JJ Devine’s pub from the Banshees of Inisherin. It’s the last of five locations from that film that we’ve failed miserably to identify on the island.
Mercifully the rain clears up when we get back on the Greenway where the stiff breeze dries us out before we get back to our base. Another cracking day on the Wild Atlantic Way.
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