Oilean Beag

Another quick entry about island hopping. When I was a student at UCC I went for a weekend to Sherkin Island off the coast of West Cork. I had all of my camping stuff, which wasn't much back then, and had intended to camp on Cape Clear Island. When we got to the ferry it seemed that everyone in the universe was going to Cape Clear, so we picked Sherkin for the privacy. It turned out to be a great choice and a terrible one.

The ferry landed at a fourteenth century Franciscan monastery that had fallen into ruin and was not yet refurbished. I wonder if it is now. It was great to be able to explore ruins unhurried and with no touristy schlock. The lanes running through the island were mostly unpaved and so well wooded as to offer green tunnels for trudging through. We meandered through pastures and followed the coast for the views of the headland and surrounding islands. We found what would have been called a blowhole in Hawaii, but the waves were not strong enough to cause billowing, so it was a coastal cave. We were there by twilight and the bed of smooth pebbles shimmered and the muted, muffled sound of the incoming ocean gave the spot an other-worldly feel.

We camped by a thicket of heather that night and it was cold and wet. My companion decided it was not a place she would care to pass another night. We walked into the one town on the island through the sun dappled green tunnels and found what may have been the only B&B on the island. There was a middle aged bohemian brewing strong coffee and letting jazz float out into the sea-scented air. We got a room and a good meal and spent the day recuperating. Later that night we stepped out to the dimly lit quiet pub for a little stout and a bowl of soup, where the locals chided my companion for being away on a weekend with a young man. She breezily laughed it off with a quite clever remark, but for the rest of the time we were on the island she couldn't relax.

We made our way off the island on the only ferry of the day and were able to reach Kinsale at nightfall. She played some beautiful classical piano in the Oyster Harbour Hotel to the delight of the patrons. We fell back into our respective routines back in the city, but knew that we had enjoyed a journey that was not forgettable.

Now, what else happened on St. John?