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Flying with a Hangover - Saturday June 24

Finally the winter hours mean I have time to write up the Summer diary here! This is the first part of our Summer cruise in SW Ireland!

The wakeup call came at 4:30 as requested. Blearily we showered, paid the hotel bill, collected a free coffee-to-go and trundled along the walk way to check-in. Grey, damp miserable Stansted, and it was still raining when the plane landed in Kerry. Our taxi-driver was a chirpy Kerryman who waxed lyrical on rugby, football (through my hangover I failed to pin down exactly which London team he regularly travelled over to watch) and Mrs Murphy’s B&B Farm, a place whose delights Kevin had sampled as a child.

By the time we arrived in Dingle just over an hour later the rain had ceased and although thick cloud hung around the mountains like the last guests at a party; reluctant to leave, the place was drying out in the sunshine. Temptress was still there where we’d left her. The warps were hanging very limply stretched by strong winds sometime in the past 3 weeks but she was safe and welcoming. A full Irish breakfast was had in Harringtons and by 10am we were walking along to SuperValu to get some groceries with the Skipper still exclaiming his amazement at how much you can fit into a day if you start early enough! Food & fresh air started to drive away the effects of two bottles of red imbibed the night before (we had been seduced by the girls hanging from the roof dancing their way up the 20-30 m high wine rack which had been the centre piece of the bar). We checked with Johnny, the marina berthing manager and great friend to all his customers whether we owed him anything more for electricity (he’d promised to feed the meter for us in our absence). It was too good a day to stay in harbour and the Irish theme park that is Dingle’s streets & hostelries was beginning to pale.

After an hour or so pouring over charts and the pilot book commentary (we don’t exactly go in for advanced planning when on holiday!) we realised that a good deal of places received the authors accolade “the best anchorage in the West of Ireland” and a rough plan was formed to visit as many as possible. From land locked Dingle we’d head south to Portmagee Sound across Dingle bay and anchor behind Valentia Island (and no I’ve not provided a map – you’ll just have to find yourself one if you want to keep up!). Your only clue is that Kerry & Cork form the South West corner of the island of Ireland. From Valentia we’d round the corner into the Kenmare River for a couple of days before venturing into Bantry Bay and Glengarrif and then…. Well it would all depend on the weather and our whim.

Johnny and a couple of boat owners helped pull forward the boat in front of us so Temptress could swing out and slip through the gap between their stern and the boat on our port side. It was one of those departures when everything ran slowly and smoothly as the wind gently pushed the bow round and soon we could motor gently away. Fungie, the dolphin came out to wish us a final farewell and soon we were out of the narrow entrance in the hills that wrap Dingle and out into the bay. Sails were hoisted, Temptress picked up her heels and skipped away south in N westerly 4’s on a broad reach. Green mountains were all around us and when the sun was out, quite warm, after all it was late June.

Out in the bay away from the immediate effects of the Dingle Pennisula, the wind was lighter and gradually became more westerly (the sea breeze?) so we slowly brought in the sails over the next hour or tow until we were reaching. Then it became so light that the iron sail was required to make progress against the wind and the shortened versions of the Atlantic Swells that were careering down the bay. Presumably this was the effect of the Skelligs – a set of Islands ahead of us – it was a larger version of the well known Solent chop and just as bad.

We gratefully turned the corner into Portmagee Sound with the chart & pilot book for guidance. The pilotage mentioned several headlands by name and a large white bungalow. Their own chartlet and our chart failed to identify any of the same ones and there was a surfit of white bungalows so we were none the wiser! Fortunately various fishing boats choose that moment to return home so we simply followed the route they took winding through the low rocky promontories. Anchor at the ready once we got off Portmagee, we found the vistors moorings had extended leaving us with little swinging room for a 14.2 m boat in deep water so we opted for a buoy. Small bouys and large boats pose a problem – you need long arms! After a couple of attempts, mindful of the need not to loose another boathook (we were on # 3 this year), I lassoed the shiny new yellow buoy and Kevin heaved it out of the water so I could thread a line through the top loop. The water was so clear we could see its chain snaking away across the bottom.

Later after lazing in the later afternoon sun we pumped up the dinghy to go for an explore of Portmagee itself, on a hunt for supper. Food in this part of the world we had already discovered is expensive and we never failed to be amazed at just how mediocre it could be. Presumably with all the tourists there is no need to make an effort. The Bridge Inn had lots of awards for its food and hospitality displayed around the entrance but it didn’t make much difference. After some lovely Chowder served with malty wheaten bread we were both disappointed with the main course. The roast pork special turned out to be a massed produced stuffed loin served with cheap chewy frozen peas and mass produced chips. The crab au gratin was mostly cheddar cheese with little crab meat lurking underneath and lots of tiny bits of shell to give an unpleasant crunchy texture to every mouthful – there was no veg!

After the previous night’s excesses in the Stansted Hotel (superb steak & ribs had accompanied our wine) we really didn’t feel encouraged to linger. The days are long in June in these parts so despite it being well after 8pm there was no sign of dusk. We walked out over Portmagee Bridge onto Valentia Island. Green hills all around us. The landscape is old with soft rolling mountains beyond the coast, flooded valleys and craggy cliffs. The shoreline is rocky. Valentia Island is relatively low in the east rising slowly westwards. Behind Portmagee to the south the land rises up again into a range of almost mountains. Green fields stretch up until it gets too steep and their walls then continue reaching up like fingers through the moorland. Around us we see cows, a few sheep and hear birds, seagulls, pigeons and woodcock. On a little rocky islet uncovered by the tide we spy a seal and on the shore a grey heron combs the water’s fringes.

Portmagee Bridge has an air of abandonment, we assume it opens rarely if at all. The wooden peirs are rotten below the high water mark, the posts for the safety chains on the top lie flat. The control box with its peeling paint and shaped like an airport control tower is completely neglected despite being less than 40 years old – or is this a sign of what the weather is really like on these exposed western coasts?

8:46 PM - Oct. 23, 2006 - post comment