Things look different at night. After miles of darkness, a faint glow gradually emerged as a blazing fire. A big house was aflame. A person was standing at an upstairs window. Help was impossible. Funny, after all the times I had driven along that road towards the Curragh I didn't remember noticing that house, but then its tree cover had probably already disappeared in the flames. I pulled over to the side of the road to watch, feeling voyeuristic but knowing I could do nothing but watch.
Then I realised there was no house, and no shrieking victim. The inferno was consuming what had been a towering stack of baled hay in an open field.
No tricks of the eye or the imagination, however, can conceal what is happening to the Curragh, one of Ireland's most undervalued resources. It is the oldest and most extensive area of semi-natural grassland in Ireland. Its vast flatness is impossible to ignore. Associated for centuries with horses and latterly with horse-racing - and of course, with the military camp - it is a place of legend and song. Yet this ancient pastureland, extending over some 5,000 acres, is being subjected to severe over-use by both horses and motor vehicles.
Famished
There is now always a dry, parched look about the terrain, a famished quality that has nothing to do with summer sun. With its thin soil and sparse grass cover, it compares poorly with the Phoenix Park, a place with similar traffic demands but one that is strictly protected. In the park, vehicles are confined to the various roads. On the Curragh, anything seems to go anywhere - and usually does.
The ground looks increasingly worn, unmanaged and vulnerable to natural erosion, never mind human abuse. Yet the Curragh is a national monument and the official responsibility of Duchas, the Heritage Service.
The Curragh is composed of limestone strata through which rainwater percolates down into an amazing underground lake or acquifer. This valuable natural water source sustains the 36 natural springs that supply Pollardstown Fen as well as the Japanese Gardens and the St Fiachra Gardens, two of Kildare Town's attractions.
Observers have taken to blaming the exhausted condition of the Curragh on the sheep. Never the most appealing of animals, adult sheep look particularly unglamorous at present. Shorn of their wool, they resemble bony ghosts. Their surreal nakedness is further emphasised by the plump little lambs among them.
Legally entitled
Ironically, the much maligned sheep are the only users of the Curragh which are legally entitled to be there, having held grazing rights since the Curragh Act of 1870 - a most enlightened piece of Victorian legislation which was, and remains, years ahead of its time. In fact those very sheep-farmers who were given grazing rights were refused permission to bring their horses on to the Curragh. Not many people know that, even fewer appear to care. But sheep were present here long before that insightful Act which sought to protect the environment, and even longer before environmentalism was either a word or a major issue.
Controlled grazing has been going on for about 2,000 years. At present, fewer than the official number of 6,000 sheep graze the area. Ambling across the plain has become hazardous for them. For every dead fox you see on the roads of the Curragh, there is at least one sheep, sometimes two or three - victims of careless drivers. With its slain animals, scarred terrain, rusty barbed and razor wire, abandoned cars and litter, The Curragh is no longer a haven. duchas must act before it becomes a wasteland.
It is degenerating into an open exercise area for horseriders and trainers. As a rider, I have nothing against horses. But the divine-right attitude of the horse fraternity on the Curragh must be witnessed at first hand. Their animals and their cars have created a pitted landscape, its shallow soil and grass cover unable to withstand the constant traffic. Look around the Curragh and count the number of impromptu lunging rings and unofficial gallops. Then cast a glance at the haphazard policy of controlling the gorse cover. I suppose it's hardly surprising. After all, there's a dump on Pollardstown Fen, an internationally recognised habitat site.
If you were to exercise your horses on the nearby Curragh racetrack, you would have to pay for the privilege. The Curragh itself is free - aside from the nominal £280 a year fee paid by turf club members - so it has become host to a destructive free-for-all, with some trainers acting territorially about land they do not own and are in fact trespassing on. Meanwhile they threaten sheep farmers.
Should you weary of spotting hoof-marks, why not start counting the tyre tracks? Some people have learnt to drive on the Curragh. Think of it, a rare and fragile ecosystem treated like the average car park.
Gibbeth Rath
Is it not strange that the Gibbeth Rath, an ancient earthwork and national monument, should be badly eroded by what appears to be off-road motor-scrambling? Why does the Curragh, with its myriad roads, exude the atmosphere of a disregarded no-man's-land? Who has forgotten the spectacle of the military inviting the Minister of Defence, Michael Smith, to be driven across the plain to sample the prowess of their new armoured personnel carriers, which promptly got stuck and had to be rescued - further damaging the thin soil cover?
As one of the eight projects identified by SRUNA (Sustainable Recreational Use of Natural Assets) the Curragh should be managed, not exploited, but planning and development is undermining it. Building is encroaching. Grazing sheep and walkers are under threat from stray golf-balls. It must be possible to enjoy the Curragh while also protecting it. Psst. Ever tried giving a driving lesson across the grasslands of the Phoenix Park?