Donegal: Sunny April Saturday

A sunny April Saturday, we left the homestead in Gortnatra, on down to Magherawarden, walked over to Saldanha point, named where the stricken vessel went down https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Saldanha_(1809) . Our company as well as Poppy the Jack Russell, was a couple of Oystercatchers, a Gannet or two, some Cormorants, Razorbills, Terns, Herring Gulls, Blackheaded Gulls and that’s without standing and looking. There might have been ten other members of the human race around. We walked back over to the river, the crashed plane was not in sight today, a world war 2 American I believe http://www.donegaldaily.com/tag/the-day-during-world-war-two-an-american-plane-crash-landed-on-donegal-beach-can-you-help-investigator/. Port an tSalainn was in the distance , the new, relatively new holiday homes sitting in white like a Greek or Spanish hillside. We wandered back to the car across the pristine golden sands on the blue flagged beach.

From 'warden we dove up around Knockalla or more correctly Cnoc Colbha which lies like a great beast on the east of Fanad, it’s the remnants of the place's volcanic past, there are three lakes on its heights, I think they are the craters, I was told when I was young that they were bottomless, I still think they might be. You can walk the ridge from end to end, wear sturdy boots though, there are ditches, they may well be bottomless too. The hairpin road sets off around the mountain, there's a motor hill climb race here later in the year, very noisy, the feral Goats and an occasional Buzzard don’t seem to mind, the Hares stay out of the way though. The road hugs Cnoc Colbha like a child and danders around to Ráth Maoláin anglicised to Rathmullen https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rathmullan, the Earls Flew from here, off to the continent the Gaels chased out by the Pale invaders with their Germanic language sent by the red headed virgin queen, daughter of the fat man, then seen off by her second cousin, a Scot who might have known better https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flight_of_the_Earls . Ráth Maoláin is a nice town with a decent restaurant/hotel Rathmullen House, even has a craft brewery now, Kinnegar, beers are well worth a try. We did go for a coffee at Belles Kitchen, I wonder what my GGgrandfather John Kelly, would have made of an espresso, he was a farm labourerer and a cottiers son, in his hard life he would not have had time for such fripperies, his fruition includes Phd's, Oxford, red brick universties, medics, nurses, scientists, teachers, interantional sportspeople I hope he's proud. The Beachcomber bar in Ráth Maoláin was where we looked out over Loch Suili and saw pod of dolphins a few years ago, the White Harte will see you well for a pint.

Back from Ráth Maoláin over the hill back to Gortnatra, back for a bite of lunch.

The afternoon was for a trip back down into Fanad, of through Bhaile Mhic Gabhann ( Ballymagowan because an Englishman couldn’t cope with a native tongue) , Ros na Cille, Tamnaght https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tamney

(Tamney Go Slow we called it when we were young, look for the road sign if you ever go there) Cionn Droma, Fán an Bhualtaigh through Rinn Bui and over to Baile Fuar Uisce, we parked on the crumbling pier at Port na Ling, crumbled from the days of the granite exports over to Aberdeen. Walked to the little beach and watched the huge North Atlantic rollers battering the rocky outcrops, and a crab boat was bobbing around in the bay tending the pots. We walked on the sheltered, calm beach were I learnt to swim, my dad holding me in the water saying kick your legs, move your arms. 1960's trunks weren't today's speedos, absorbent trunks full of sand are not best for learning to swim. I did though. The dunes look much the same, from those 50 years ago, but the Curragh is gone it's pitched hull carried the Shields out to fish to eat, occasionally to rescue an unwary visitor who didn’t watch the tide. Inis Baile Fuar Uisce is just that except at low tide when you can walk there without being a deity. The most peaceful place even with the huge waves thundering on the reefs. The tide reached full, the Shelducks flew over the island, the Oystercatchers' haunting cry wheeing wheeing, waiting for the tide to turn and the worms come out. We left the beach at Port na Ling and drove over to Cionn Fhánada , past the grave field where those nameless given up by the sea are rested, the light house is now an attraction, the visitors flock like sea birds. We sat outside the Lighthouse tavern and I tried my Irish, supped a creamy pint of Guinness then, to send me back for the evening.

Oíche mhaith, Bi mhaith.

roinnt pictiúir ar do shon