WHILE attempting to pull my car back from the edge of a small cliff in Connemara, the hidden dangers of landscape photography began to present, themselves. Not yet two years of age, Nadia had released the hand brake. "Sorry Mommy, sorry Mommy" she chanted relentlessly, jumping up and" down beside me, as I grabbed at the car and leaned back like a wind surfer. I could feel my fingers slipping on the metal rim of the open station wagon.
If the car slipped my dogs could be killed. Horrible images passed through my mind the car bursting into flames. Took frightened to cry, I laughed nervously. Three local men appeared and helped me haul it back to the road. "You should use the hand brake" advised one of them. "I did, but my baby released it." The men were really impressed, "Jesus, she's strong. An Olympic champion of the future."
Sunlit Mweelrea
The future Olympic champion and myself continued on our way to Killary Harbour which is a fjord, not a harbour. From the small pier at Killary, Lodge, Mweelrea, the highest mountain in Co Mayo, looked quite welcoming in the sunlight. Various groups of climbers and walkers were visible in the distance. In contrast to the purposeful hikers, the people sitting outside the pub in the pretty village of Leenaun looked decidedly hedonistic.
The road up towards the Aasleagh Falls and beyond the Sheeffry Hills becomes increasingly beautiful, particularly as there are no ugly signs marring the view. In fact, better still, there are very few houses in these valleys.
A fine looking, elderly man was drapping several pairs of heavy socks across the top of his tent. Having made camp for the night, he was settling down to study his maps. Self contained and organised, he personified a scholar at peace until my dogs became interested in his meal. He shouted at them in a raucous Birmingham accent.
A traffic jam in Louisburgh was not helped by another man driving up alongside the stricken car to commiserate. More swearing. Time for a detour. Old Head begins the initiation into the beauty and scale of Clew Bay.
Brooding Cone
Brooding, cone shaped, unmistakable suddenly it looms into view, Ireland's Holy Mountain. Croagh Patrick. Soon the tiny outline of the small church on its summit is visible. Clew Bay becomes more and more dominant We pass a large empty car spark lying at the foot of Croagh Patrick. It is too late to climb. A youngish man comes along on a bike, "I've climbed that mountain thousands of times" Really? No kidding. "Well, maybe 20 times. I'll fly into Heaven, or then again, maybe I won't." Off he cycles.
Westport Bay softens the approach to Westport itself. The coast is stunning, driving inland is more mundane. As the route dwindles into a townscape, you somehow feel cheated. Past Westport, and on some 11 miles to Castlebar in search of Turlough Round Tower and Church, situated four miles beyond the town. It appears against a clear blue sky. In common with many church sites, it is sited on a height, a small rise, and appears to watch over the surrounding countryside.
Squat and Solid
Lower and squatter than most round towers, Turlough Round Tower is solid and well preserved. The small church beside it dates from the 18th century, although there is a small plaque dated 1625 featuring the Crucifixion. St Patrick is believed to have founded the first church on this site.
Accompanied by a young man, a woman is searching the graveyard for a grave she has not seen for over 60 years. They cannot find it, but she is convinced it is still here. Ignoring the Round Tower, they continue the search she becomes quite distressed. He looks as if he wishes he were somewhere else.
Back towards West port, Croagh Patrick again dominates the view. It seems to act like a magnet. Just outside Murrisk, the view is so clear, it is a good place to pull in and photograph it. "You're not allowed to take pictures of that mountain", screams a man with a Cork accent from a passing car. His pal the driver finds this is so funny he swerves and almost crashes.
Fated to climb the mountain, I drive into the car park. Conditions are perfect. It is fun realising you are actually walking this famous route. Eventually I notice disapproving looks. Maybe you are not supposed to wear running shorts and running shoes on a pilgrimage mountain? Then it makes sense. Most of the walkers have climbing boots, windbreakers and even hats. We walk on, and on, reaching a low ridge and then on up a slope. Finally, only a stretch of loose scree stands between us and the summit.
The windows of the functional little church are boarded up. Even on the top of Croagh Patrick, vandals have struck. The view over Clew Bay is spectacular. Chocolate and biscuits are handed about. Beginning the descent is a bit trickier than going up. On a moving surface, boots certainly prove useful.
Mixed Feelings
Cong Abbey, believed to have been founded in the 12th century, is situated on the site of an even earlier (seventh century) monastery, and may have been built by Turlough O'Connor. The teenagers hanging around the phone box on a quiet Sunday have no interest in the abbey. Although it is in ruins, a strong sense of the place remains. The cloister, erected about 1220, has been reconstructed and there is some superb stonework. Ironically, the building is now flanked by an ugly modern church. Even worse is the proximity of Ashford Castle, vulgarised beyond belief, the exit of which passes by the abbey. You leave Cong with mixed feelings.
Just outside Headford, Co Galway, alone in a field, near where the Black River separates Co Galway from Co Mayo, is the beautiful Ross Errilly, or Ross Friary, the most extensive and best preserved Franciscan friary in Ireland. Founded in 1351, most of the building dates from about the late 15th century. There are two sets of cloisters and a tower. The religious and domestic life of the monks is vividly palpable here. A community was in occupation, with some interruptions, such as the Cromwellian seizure in 1656 which lasted eight years, until 1753. Dignified and elegant, it is like a mini Canterbury.
Five rolls of film later, there is still much to record. With the evening sun setting, we sit in the field with the cattle, looking at one of the treasures of late medieval Irish church architecture.