Fitmaurice’s Caravan & Camping Park, Tramore, County Waterford, Munster

I didn’t take note of our leaving time this morning, but everything ran smoothy and the road ahead was an easy one, more so in practice than the planning. We travelled south on the N7/M7, passing through a slow patch of roadworks, then turned onto the M9 and travelled at close to 100 kph forever one hundred kilometres; here the speed limit was 120 kph, alhough a little less for a towing vehicle such as ourselves. The countryside remained gently rolling, through rural farmland, with distant views of low ranges and hills, the Wicklow Mountains initially to our left and later various high lands in Killkenny. We passed from the counties of South Dublin, through Kildare, Carlow, Kilkenny and finally into Waterford, where we linked up with the N25 crossing the rather impressive 465 metre River Suir Bridge opened in 2009. 

Soon we turned south and followed the R710 ring road around the west and south of Waterford, leaving us still ignorant of all Waterford has to offer, then turned south again on the R675 to the seaside town of Tramore. This was a modest fishing village until the railway arrived in 1853 and since then it has become a seaside satelite town of Waterford complete with fun park and all things these folk in the British Isles expect of a seaside spot, whether they are independant Irish or part of the United Kingdom.

We had no problem finding the camping ground, the only one we had been able to find with vacancies, and while we are very glad to have secured a site for the few days we are here, this is unlikely one we will remember positively. This is a family camp,run by the same family for forty years or so. Most of the site is covered by static vans, all old, all uniform and all ghastly to antipodean eyes. There are two large spaces of green left for touring folk such as ourselves, and for families who come holidaying with their tents. This is a camp for ordinary folk, with no pretense to be anything other than what it has been for the last forty years. Probably the same customers turn up year after year, happy that all remains the same. They are an unsophisticated lot but then I suppose campers could rarely be considered otherwise.

We struggled to fit into our space below the barbwire topped wall, but once set up, attacked the last weeks laundry. The token operated machine cost an amazing €7 ($14), a mind boggling sum, however I had already changed the bed before leaving Dublin and had everything ready to go. I had intended to put the linen through the dryer, but for another €7, I thought I’d risk the weather . As it happened everything did dry and my husband was saved the indignity and agitation of a Chinese Laundry.

After a late lunch, we decided to head off for a drive, rather than sit here and stew about the high tarrif we were paying, higher than in Dublin and those we have booked ahead. I consulted the map and the guide book and we set off westward along the coast along the Copper Coast. The R675 that runs from Tramore through to Dungarvan is so named for the 19^th century extraction of mineral deposits. The area has recently been designated a UNESCO Geopark, and the visitor centre for this is in a de-consecrated church in Bunmahon about halfway between Dungarvan and Tramore. The tourist is advised to travel in the opposite direction to that we did, but then we were only doing a small section and the special significance was a bonus to our outing.

A few kilometres west of Tramore, we pulled into the tiny village of Fennor and did a small walk through an area of bogland, this the appropriately named Fenor Bog National Nature Reserve & Wildlife Sanctuary. This is a thirteen hectare alkaline fen habitat containing over three hundred species of plant, insect and animal life, including mallards and mute swans, swallows and herons,  frogs and newts, waterbeetles and dragonflies, red squirrels,  American mink, sika deer, river otters, pignyshrews,  foxes and hedgehogs. I would love to say I saw many of these, or even a few, but alas my chatter scared most away and we were left to scavenge early blackberries and enjoy the wild flowers and bulrushes from the raised boardwalk.

We had parked in the local parish church car park and could not help but check out the rather unusual sculpture carved into a tree in the graveyard.  While on some level it was quite ghastly, one could not discount the level of skill that had gone into the artwork.

Back on the road we carried on, soon reaching the coast, continuing along the top of the high cliffs, sometimes coming down to small sheltered bays contrasting with the wild rocky coast. Outside the car, the wind was cold and fierce ; The Chauffeur was rarely coaxed from the car when I took my camera out to see the views.

Just east of Bunmahon, we pulled into a car park beside industrial remains and soon dicovered this to be all that was left of Tankardstown Copper Mine workings. The oldest documented mining in this region occurred about the middle of the 18^th century, when a local entrepreneur opened and operated a silver lead mine two miles west of here, however only a sand filled shaft remains these days.

Rich copper lodes were discovered in Knockmahon and Mallynasissala in 1829 and these were worked for some time, the ore shipped to Swansea in Wales for smelting. The Tankardstown deposits were discovered in the 1850s and quickly became the backbone of all production until closure in about 1875.

Short lived and unsuccesful efforts were made to reopen the mines in 1905 and the area was subject to quite intensive exploration during the 1970s and ‘80s. However there was more success on a different tangent when in 1970 an MGM crew used Tankardstown as a film set for “ The Mackenzie Break” . A truck was pushed into the shaft on the site where it burst into flames, and today it provides the only support for soil and rubbish dumped into the shaft since.

We wandered about the site for a while, braving the cold wind, admiring the mass of ripe rosehips and other wild flowers growing on the edge of the historical site, before returning to the relative warmth of the car. We then called up to the information site further on in Bunmahon, to see if there was anything more to learn, however Tuesday is the one day it is closed; we were out of luck. From here we headed back to camp, but now further inland on the R681, through dairying land, past the odd thatched dwelling, always enjoying the countryside all about.

Now as I finish this, the camp seems to have settled down although about an hour ago Chris was going to go and sort out the young folk playing their music too loud, since the camp custodians did not seem concerned. I am glad to say good sense has prevailed all around and we should be in for a quiet night.