August 7, 2009: Cloghane to Castlegregory
The Owenmore River
If we were to walk all the way from Cloghane to our next stop, Castlegregory, following the official Dingle Way routing, we would now be facing a journey of 18 miles! Needless to say, this was not possible, and even Celtic Trails had advised us that we could easily shorten this to a mere 14 miles by cutting off some of the long Magharees Peninsula, the narrow spit of land that thrusts its way into northern waters in the second half of today’s geography. Gavan, recognizing our need for a short day – after our recent exertions – had an even more cunning plan – cut the peninsula out altogether. This would leave us with an easy eight-mile day, allowing us to reach our last b&b in a timely fashion (for us).
So we were able to sit down to our breakfast in a relaxed mood – I even had the French toast. Some of the other walkers were about but Gavan insisted that the tented fraulein in the back pasture was still sleeping. It is an irony that on a day when we didn’t need an early start we got one: 8:45. Still, our exit from the village was slowed by photography. I was taking pictures at the church when the priest pulled up in his car and wished us good morning.
There was a good deal of road walking as we followed the southernmost curve of Brandon Bay, which was at low tide at this moment. It was a grey morning but there didn’t seem to be any rain about and we made good progress, passing over two rivers, the Scorid and the Glennahoo. Eventually we were offered an escape, a track that led us up to the beach, the famous Fermoyle Strand, Ireland’s longest.
Mountains drop to the coastal plains behind the Fermoyle Strand
It was a lovely scene, not too many visitors at this point, many interesting rocks at our feet, and, on our right, the continuing presence of the green mountains with their patches of mist, farmsteads and waterfalls. Gavan collected a number of interesting stones and I picked up one of his rejects for my own collection. As usual there remained the problem of where to pee in such wide-open spaces but this was usually remedied by a retreat to the sand dunes at the back of the beach.
Along the Fermoyle Strand
We plodded forward in an unhurried fashion and once we decided to sit on some rocks and have our lunch. When we resumed, our task was to find an escape track from the beach at a point closest to our village on the far side of the peninsula. Many spots were nominated as we gradually shifted our line of march from east to north but in the end the presence of automobiles was a clue. We climbed up to a parking lot and onto a track and this lead to a road that also serviced the Castlegregory golf club. We now had about three miles of road walking to reach our village.
There was a good deal of golf traffic and the countryside was unedifying, though a large shallow lake could be seen on our left. As we neared the eastern end of our journey farms and houses provided a little more in the way of visual interest but Gavan sniffed at the Protestant church (that is a Church of Ireland one) which, he assumed, must have been seized from the Catholics at some time in the past.
As we reached Castlegregory (at 2:45) we passed the lurid façade of Ned Natterjack’s pub. It boasted a tableau of a man upside down with his head in a barrel (a popular local motif) and advertised music making in the evening. (Gavan really wanted to hear such music but it always started up in the pubs after we had gone to bed.) In this case we got the full Irish on the tape deck as we stepped inside for an end-of-walk pint. I found it interesting that this sentimental and patriotic litany was not being played for tourists but to cheer up the local populace. It never stopped.
We ate some crisps and at about 4:00 we continued on in search of our b&b, Orchard House. I could hear our landlady, Catherine Lyons, chatting on the telephone as we rang the bell and, indeed, she answered our ring with the phone in her hand, making many silent gestures to let us know that she was having great difficulty getting her caller to ring off. We took off our boots and went upstairs for a nice rest. Mrs. Lyons had already been in contact with Claire and would herself make the final arrangements for the taxi that would transport our luggage one last time and then pick us up as well for our run to the airport tomorrow noon.
Our windowless bathroom had just received a fresh coating of anti-mildew paint and for once this pungent odour managed to outdo my embrocation, though when we went downstairs at dinnertime Mrs. Lyons was quick to detect the latter – “Which one of you has been using Deep Heat?” She gave us a rundown on the local eateries and Gavan chose the Milesian, Castlegregory’s version of a continental bistro. They served no alcohol here and were out of a number of items on the menu but we did all right, though our table was next to the front door and no one could remember to close this properly when they exited. Our waitress was wearing a pair of blue jeans whose legs were in threads. I asked Gavan how she managed to get them that way and he said she probably bought them like that.
While we were eating there was an extensive shower and the rain was still falling lightly as we made our way back to Orchard House. But the sun was shining as well and the result was a magnificent rainbow; I had my camera with me and I was able to capture this sight successfully. Then it was upstairs and another early night.
To continue with the next stage our walk you need: