Teepee Valley Campsite, Markethill, County Armagh, Ulster

                 

Sunshine and buffeting winds accompanied us on our drive south yesterday, heading first westward on the M1, before turning south and on through Portadown and Tandragee, and finally west again on the minor B3 into the Cusher valley to our little campsite here on a farm. From our caravan we have views down toward the river, across recently re-sown fields which accounts for the bird-scarer cannon blasting away yesterday. 

Speaking of blasts, we never did identify the gunshot or blasts heard when we were camped at Larne, even by asking the employee in the service station opposite the camp or another in the Asda supermarket who said he lived in the city. The former did mention that she had been asked the same question by other campers; I had wondered if the occupants had become so immune to such sounds over the years, they now no longer heeded them.       

This morning the farmer arrived in the next field while we were still having breakfast, driving his tractor back and forth, harrowing the ploughed field, and then this afternoon, he repeated the process.

We headed away into County Down to explore the Mountains of Mourne, which most folk who enjoy listening to Irish ballads will be familiar with. Our route took us south to Newry through a tangle of motorways and highways, then eastwards on the B8 to Hilltown, before heading south through the mountains on the B25. The road rose up over a saddle, past a small plantation of pines that had been decimated by last week’s storm, then down to Rostrevor on the Carlingford Lough, a very picturesque descent toward a waterway more like a fjord than your run-of-the-mill bay. The village is built on the steep lower slopes of Slieve Martin and while we passed quickly through the business end of the settlement, we did pause at the Lough edge to take in the serene scene and the Republic’s highlands across the water.

The Chauffeur had been instrumental in plotting the day’s route after my general suggestions, and so I was delighted that he was keen to zigzag all over this range to see as much as possible, a route I would not have dared suggest. He did ask me to calculate the distance accepting that it might end up to be an absurd day’s outing, however when I advised it to be a little over one hundred miles, he was quite satisfied.

Having come south, we then pressed on eastward along the A2, on down the Lough, through Kilowen, across the north head to Kilkeel where we headed north once more, following the B27. Spotting a sign indicating a detour to the Silent Valley, we headed off along narrow farm lanes, finally arriving at the entrance to the Silent Valley Reservoir and a sandwich board advertising the entry fee. It would have cost us £4.50 to drive in and while this would have been absolutely reasonable had this been the one destination of the day and we were planning to walk about the area around the 674 metre high Slieve Binnian. Alas we were not; we had been drawn particularly by what appeared to be a straight wall built all the way to the top.

Perhaps if we had gone on into the Silent Valley park area, we might have learned about this wall, but it was not until we returned this evening that I did a little research and found this to be even more astounding that the vision that had met us today.

The Mourne Wall was constructed between 1904 and 1922 by the Belfast City and District Water Commissioners to enclose a catchment area for the purposes of providing water for Belfast and most of County Down. The granite wall, crafted from the stone of these mountains, is about one and a half metres high and a little under one metre thick, and passes over fifteen mountains.

Looking at just this one section on the side of Slieve Binnian, we joked about the problems that might be encountered building it; exhaustingly carrying the stones up the steep hill, then having one or two or more roll down to the bottom after all that effort. When one considers the extent of the wall, surely such problems must have arisen, and I doubt they were considered comic.

Returning to our original route up the B27, we climbed up over the slopes of Slieve Muck, soon arriving at the Spelga Reservoir. The Spelga Dam, 350 metres long and 30 metres high, was constructed in the 1950s, covering an area known as Deer’s Meadow and the road connecting Kilkeel and Hilltown, the original B27.

I remarked today that the bare shoreline suggested unusually low water levels and later found I was right. The rains we have enjoyed during our travels in the island of Ireland have helped remedy the situation in part. Back in July hundreds of locals visited the dam to walk along the revealed road, some of this still visible today.

We wandered down to the shore and back, the cold wind hastening our retreat. We had risen to 4 degree temperatures this morning and there seemed little improvement during the course of the day. Around the other side of the reservoir, we parked near the dam, which was well fenced off from the general public. We walked down the road to seek views north across the County Down  into County Armagh and back toward Belfast, before lunching in the car and enjoying the views over the water from the shelter of the car.

From here we had planned to carry on up, or rather steeply down, along the same road, but instead decided to retrace our route a little and cross down between Slieve Bearnagh and Craigdoo, 720 metres ASL and 402 metres ASL respectively, and on east along the B180 to Newcastle on the coast.

Newcastle was a surprise, far bigger than we expected. Parking at the waterfront, the promenade stretching attractively east and west of our parking spot, with Slieve Donard, this 852 metres ASL, rising abruptly  to the south, we walked up through the main street, full of closed slot machines premises and fun parlours, and a few scurrying locals and the same number of well wrapped up tourists. We rather liked the place, especially without the holiday crowds and razzamatazz that would surely accompany all that.

The A2, that which runs all the way south past the Giant’s Causeway and on down past Larne, that which we have travelled sections of over the past week or so, carried on from here, now named the Mourne Coastal route, hugging the coast and delighting us in the process.

At Annalong we checked out the harbour only because it seemed remarkable that such a place 
could have space or the conditions for such, surprised to find this tucked away below the village, one of the most sheltered mooring spots we had ever seen. The entrance to this little refuge is via a high walled labyrinth, which might well be tricky if the sea was wild.

Further on we arrived once more at Kilkeel, even bigger than we had deduced earlier. We learned this little town of about seven thousand inhabitants has one of the largest fishing fleets in Ireland. Pity we didn’t check Kilkeel’s  harbour out. Instead we noticed the men of the town were all gathering for a funeral at the Presbyterian Church.

On we went, now passing through Killowen, once more within the Lough and now seeing evidence of fishing vessels. On again and we passed Rostrevor, then onto new ground as the Lough narrowed to such an extent that now at low tide, the river channel down from Newry seems more a paddling pool for wading birds than anything else.

We arrived in Newry, a city of about twenty seven thousand people, just north of the border with the Republic and the scene of several violent incidents during the Troubles, even as recently as 2010, long after the Good Friday Agreement. As we had passed through the northern reaches of the town earlier in the day, we had passed the police station, a great fortressed compound such as those seen in several areas around this part of the province.

We parked next to the Newry Canal, a body of water contrasting with the piddle finding its way into the Lough. The canal turned out to be something of a surprise, this built in 1742 linking Lough Neagh by the first summit-level canal to be built in Ireland or Great Britain. This explains how naval vessels have found their way into the “land locked” lough in the past, something we had learned of when we walked from Antrim to that Lough a week ago. 

Wandering up the High Street, we found all the retail amenities people would need of such a place, but little grabbed our attention aside from a small greengrocer shop where we purchased a bag of carrots. 

The Newry Catholic Cathedral in this same street rather dominates its surroundings and caused us to stop to take a photo. While doing so we were accosted by a local chap who told us that it had been built on a swamp and the foundations were of wood. I later tried to check this and found nothing to authenticate the claim, however I did learn construction was completed in 1829 and that it was the first Catholic Cathedral in Ireland opened after Catholic Emancipation. I learned too that one can take a tour to learn more about the stained glass windows, the Italian marble altars and other bits but no mention of the swamp or the wooden foundations.

From here it was a quick run home where we found the one fellow camper of last night gone and the site to ourselves and the farmer and his tractor working until the late hours in the dark.