Strandhill Caravan Park, County Sligo, Connaught

Yesterday was our last full day touring day out of Galway which should have enjoyed better weather, however beggars can’t be choosers; we have a touring roof over our heads, raincoats and hats to shield us from the worst of the rainy squalls, and fuel in the tank; more than most.

So we set off hoping for the day to improve, with a full day’s schedule, the Chauffeur having come to terms with the mileage to be covered. Initially we headed north on the N24, all of this on the tail of an oversize Spanish touring coach who would not pull over to let the growing queue of traffic pass, and was so wide that on the rare occasion there was no oncoming traffic, it was impossible to do so. Needless to say the Chauffeur had much to say, little of it endearing.

We turned north west at Headford on to the R345 as did the coach and most of the queue, now heading into County Mayo and for Cong, the first of our destinations for the day. Finally we managed an overtaking manoeuvre, soon arriving at the charming village of Cong, overflowing with other coachloads of tourists, albeit still early in the morning, so we pressed on without exploring this little gem beyond a cursory inspection as we would our way through. 

From here we headed along the northern shore of Lough Corrib, the second largest lake in the island of Ireland and the largest in the Republic of Ireland, that which feeds the River Corrib that passes through Galway and out into Galway Bay. The lake covers an area of 176 square kilometres and has a maximum depth of almost fifty one metres. When we did pause to take some photos, Chris remarked it would make for a fine sailing location, and that is when we checked out these statistics; with an average depth of six and half metres, it probably would do so.

Misty rain was still falling and the scenic landscapes confronting us were quite beautiful with the mist, the fresh colour of the fuschias and montbretias along the roadside, and the brilliant red of the rowan berries. The odd rainbow added to the scene, and we were delighted just as we had been with the atmospheric appeal of the Gap of Dunloe, even though we thought it all would be so much more beautiful in better weather.

The road passed on up between the Maumturks Mountains and those of Joyce’s Country to the north, black legged undocked sheep grazing on the steep slopes of the range. We came down to Leenane, still in the rain, but still enjoying the the descent into narrow Killary Sound. 

After picking up overpriced morning tea eats from the one store, aside from the tourist souvenir gift shops, we turned north, first winding our way around the end of the sound and pausing to check out the lovely waterfall at Aasleagh on the Erriff River with a number of other independent tourists such as ourselves and one salmon fisherman who was readying himself to catch one of the hardy fishy specimens attempting the ascent of the falls.

The road followed the western bank of Killary Sound before passing through Delphi where there were a number of rather lovely tourist lodges offering bike hire, fishing, zip wire adventures and the like. I thought that if we were rich it would be quite a wonderful place to pass several days; the area is truly beautiful.

Two long slim lakes lie to the east of the road after one climbs up between the Mweelrea Mountains and Sheefry Hills; Doo Lough and Glencullin Lough. While the mist still shrouded the peaks, it was still a wonderfully picturesque place to be, the light between the showers rather special. 

We paused at the memorial erected in memory of the six hundred starving souls who gathered in Louisburgh in March 1849 seeking food or a ticket to the Westport workhouse. They were told to apply to the Poor Law officials who were meeting the next day at Delphi, over ten miles away. While some died overnight, the remainder struggled across the mountains following sheep tracks and wading streams. When they arrived at Delphi, the Poor Law officials rose from their sumptuous lunch, refused to help and told them to return home. No one knows how many died by the wayside of cold, hunger and exhaustion. Some were buried where they fell. This dreadful story is one of many such hideous tales of the Great Famine which is marked by such moving memorials.

Further north we emerged near the coast at Louisburgh, a settlement that did not hold our interest, then on a little further east, now heading toward Westport, we considered stopping to check out the holy pilgrimage spot of Crough Patrick. The mountain itself rises to 765 metres ASL, and it is to the summit of this that large groups of pilgrims climb on three separate and special days of the year: St Patrick’s Day in March, Assumption Day in August and Reek Day on the last Sunday in July, a day adopted from the pagan harvest festival of Lughnasa.

Of course anyone can walk to the top on any day they choose, and to assist with this, the Visitor Centre and shops in towns nearby offer walking sticks and other useful paraphernalia. As we passed by we could see people making their way up to the top, tiny dots on the well-formed path. We might have found out more about the spot had there not been a charge for entering the car park; instead we had to rely on the literature we carry about with us.

It was here, according to legend, that St Patrick spent the forty days of Lent alone on the mountains, distracting himself at one point by casting all the snakes of Ireland over the precipice of Lugnacarrib just to the south of the summit. I do hope he managed to get rid of them all; I have not yet encountered on, nor hope to do so.

We found Westport absolutely delightful, starting with the port area exposed to the westerly winds that have been blowing fiercely for some days now. I was surprised how very shallow this harbour on the edge of Clew Bay is, mostly because I had thought of this place as being an important west coast port, “port” being the operative word.

Once we realised that the town was not within easy walking distance, or at least in these unpleasant conditions, when we had a vehicle at our disposal, we drove on into the town centre and spent an hour wandering about delighting in every aspect, particularly the tree-lined boulevard along the Carrowbeg River from which all streets rise. 

Westport is a designated heritage town and is apparently unusual in Ireland in being one of only a few planned towns in the country. That statement alone seems open to contention because we have already visited quite a few towns that were deliberately planned. 

There was an accordion player outside one of the colourful pubs and four mature ladies taking advantage of the music with a traditional turn. In another street there was an Irish balladeer of greater years, another sweet sound that enhanced this wonderfully busy and beautiful town.

We travelled on now east-north-east to Castlebar, a town I wished to call into for ancestral reference more than any tourist recommendation. It was here that my great great grandfather Ambrose Samuel Scammell spent a few years after arriving with the 65^th Regiment in about 1841. It would seem that this grandfather of mine was a bit of a rascal; he deserted from here in late 1842, but a month later was back in custody, doing time for a couple of months.  After being released and back to duty in 1843, he managed to hook up with my great great grandmother Ann, and soon had her up the duff, as they say. They married three weeks after the baby was born and in April the next year was marching for Dublin to catch the boat to England, then on DownUnder with Ann and baby George following along in another ship. 

We found the barracks, now apparently deserted although there was evidence of some sort of barrier control, just not when we poked our noses in. I learned that these were completed in 1834, so they would have been as-new when Samuel was a sometime resident.

But our visit raised more questions than it answered:

• ·         Was the 65^th Regiment actually stationed here in these relatively comfortable digs or did they have to camp outside the city?
• ·         What was Ann doing in Castlebar?
• ·         Was Samuel the father of baby George?

And then when you start to consider these and the possible answers, even more questions arise. This is why I, a puzzle solver by nature, which is also how I saw my work, delight in the search of my own family history.

Castlebar was first significantly settled when Norman settlers, the de Barra (or Barry) family came and built a castle in 1235, lending the family name to the town. Barry’s castle no longer exists, but there is a rather interesting sculptural installation in a little square that is worth a mention. 

In 1798 General Humbert and the United Irishmen defeated the Redcoats in a battle that has become known as the Races of Castlebar. There are several other memorials about the town relating to this, but it was this with the pikes I was most taken with, although the bronze and stainless steel artwork actually depicts a cloud of doves signifying the reconciliation after the conflict . 

It was here too in Castlebar that I spent a moment or two with a nun who had managed to get to Knock to see the Pope on Sunday morning. She was still buzzing from the experience, and said the rain had been of no account; the pure joy she and her fellow believers derived from the brief visit was something she would carry to the grave. Chris was quite surprised I had asked these questions of the woman; he had not noticed her striped scarf marking her out as one of the Brides of Christ. I told her that I was delighted she had been able to make the excursion and had had such a positive experience; Chris thought us both quite potty.

In fact he is glad that the papal visit is now over and the news might be more about closing post offices, or Brexit, or Florida shootings, or poor old McCain’s funeral in the US of A, rather than the overwhelming commentary of all things Catholic.

And just to linger on “all things Catholic”, it is worth explaining Knock, which we passed by today on our journey north. It was here in 1879 that a number of residents “saw” a vision of the entire holy family here which after much deliberation by the religious powers that be, was confirmed as a miracle, especially after a few mysterious cures and favours occurred, and Knock has now become a great place of pilgrimage. It has not shared the same commercial attention that say, Lourdes, has enjoyed, but after a visit from Francis this last week will have gained renewed interest. 

In 1972 the foundation stone was laid for the modern Basilica of our Lady, Queen of Ireland and in 1979, Pope John Paul II, the last pope to visit the country before this latest excitement, popped in to celebrate mass and everything else a pope might do on such a visit. Just hope there is enough accommodation for all the extra future religious tourists.

From here we made a direct run for home; the N84 took us down the eastern side of both Lough Mask and Lough Corrib. Arriving back in Galway we called into the Tesco supermarket before returning home to our camp beside the sea.

It was still windy this morning when we packed up and we did wonder how the trip would be, however away from the coast, it was a little more sheltered. We came up on the N17, an uninspiring road until we reached the more undulating surrounds of County Sligo. Our camp is about eight kilometres short of the county town, but near the airport which does not seem to get much traffic and next to a beach which is “absolutely unsafe for swimming” and yet seems to host several surfing events.

We have yet to venture out onto the sea shore or even up onto the sand hills to check the surf out. Rain has set in again and the washing I so carefully hung out, is now wetter than when it came out of the machine.

We spent some time last night and again this afternoon discussing our itinerary for the next couple of weeks, but are constantly frustrated by the paucity of caravan parks in the places we would prefer to be. Tour towing is not the same as taking your caravan to the one seaside spot for a holiday, and we do try to keep our towing to the more major routes, avoiding those little white and yellow roads so marked on the map. It seems that we will simply have to continue with long day drives out from the better places camps.