A couple of years back, I realised a long-standing aspiration to sail along Ireland’s western coastline. The climate was agreeable, allowing me to stay awake throughout the night, taking in the sunrise over Croagh Patrick. Unfortunately, while approaching Clare Island, which resembled a massive whale marking Clew Bay’s entrance, our sail suffered damage. This incident forced us to spend precious time conducting repairs, thereby cancelling our planned stop at the community centre pub. With a hint of regret, we sailed past the island’s lighthouse in a northerly direction.
The near miss encounter with Clare Island came back to me last year when I chanced upon Ireland’s Wild Islands on RTÉ. This captivating program was hosted by Eoin Warner, and I watched him explore ancient woodland, surviving against all odds on this breeze-battered and sheep-pecked island, with great interest.
Following an unexpected prediction for two sunny days, I quickly travelled across the country to catch the 5pm ferry from Roonagh Pier and finally set foot on this elusive island. I was accompanied by my teenage son and our dog, Elvis, who has had more walks than he would have preferred. The ferry service provided by Clare Island Fast Ferries was efficient, and within 20 minutes, we were unloading our sleeping bags and backpacks from the boat and erecting our tent at a campsite on the island, offering a view of the port.
In the 16th century, the notorious pirate queen Grace O’Malley, known as Gráinne Mhaol, reigned over the western coastline from her Clare Island residence. We stumbled upon a swimming cove that we had noticed from the ferry while we were walking under her castle. Grace was notorious for sleeping with a rope tied from her toes to her galley, ready to levy a tax on any sailing ship that crossed her path. A different rope came in handy to help us descend to the cove, which was deserted except for numerous jellyfish, shimmering in the evening sunlight. The water was chilly, even for us experienced swimmers. However, it was worth it for the breathtaking view of a distinct Croagh Patrick.
After a 10-minute brew of tea to shake off the chill, we journey northwards along the coastal road until we encounter a group of 20 American tourists. Enjoying an infrequent sunset from the stone barrier of the Bay View House – a property they’ve rented for the week equipped with a pub and billiards room – they point us towards an open boat in the harbour. Apparently, their landlord recently embarked on a business venture in the whiskey industry, launching Clare Island Whiskey. Several of his single malt spirit barrels are maturing on the boat, gradually adopting the unique character of the island.
Curiosity piqued, I contact the landlord, Carl O’Grady. He describes how his family once used the present whiskey-storage-vessel as an island ferry in the swinging sixties. The launch of his beloved whiskey project saw the boat emerge from the depths of the harbour to house his precious casks. The resulting spirit is unfortunate in cost, retailing at a lofty €320 per bottle, which is beyond our island budget. I settle instead for a pint at the local community centre pub, where we join island locals for the weekly Comhaltas session. With cars lining the outside, it seems majority of the 130 island residents have gathered for an evening of revelry, music and dance.
A peaceful, deep sleep doesn’t come easily in our tent beside the bustling island pub. However, the seaside whispers and waves gently caressing the nearby shore vastly outcompete any comforts a hotel room could offer. Used to the hustle and bustle of metropolitan Dublin, it’s a privilege to escape urban life for a couple of days.
Breakfast the next day of Weetabix served with lukewarm milk from a metallic mug, doesn’t quite meet my son’s expectations. To our delight, however, the just-opened Clare Island Oven offers a queue’s worth of delicious home-made sausage rolls and the finest cinnamon buns I’ve had the pleasure of tasting. Alice Capponi, a native of Antibes, froths my coffee while sharing the story of how she and her musician partner, Niall Hehir, transformed an old shipping container into their burgeoning café.
Shoreline Pursuits’ Mike keeps our mobiles juiced up as we savour a second cinnamon pastry with our caffeine fix. Unfortunately, our four-legged friend’s dislike of dual wheels sees us bypass a ride on his electric bikes. Regardless, we enthusiastically embark on a sun-soaked 2.5km trek to the Clare Island Lighthouse. Suburban spruces swiftly sparse out, replaced by hilltops dotted with sheep and a plot of ancient tree stumps – the final vestiges of an ancestral pine woodland. Peripheral views showcase round, eco-friendly salmon farms adrift in the sea. As the landscape shifts under an increasingly inclined path, several eBike-riding visitors (keen to avoid K9 complications) speed past.
The lighthouse, perched precariously on a craggy edge and peering onto Achill Island, is breath-taking. Today it serves as a posh six-chambered guesthouse, where a night’s stay begins at €300. The in-house custodian, Katrina, gives us a tour that leaves us considering abandoning our tent for a suite’s luxury. The stairway to the sky-high lantern room provides panoramic insights into the Mayo coastline. Thoughts drift to the many lives spared by the light, right until its decommission in 1965.
Returning downhill, we are met with a lush vista of indigenous woodland. Recalling a TV documentary, I recognise it as the feature. At a gate, a wooden signage of Macalla Farm swings. The property’s owner, Ciara Cullen, shepherds us through her organic sanctuary, progressively enriched over time with over 3,000 deciduous additions. Harvested veggies and fruit are served to guests of yoga retreats, held since 2001. More recently, Ciara and her companion, Christophe, refurbished and inaugurated the Stone Barn Cafe, providing lunch and a weekly dinner on Mondays. As I take it all in, my urban existence seems modest in the backdrop of their accomplishments.
Our journey continues just a little further before another handcrafted sign catches our eye, inviting us up another driveway to explore Beth Moran’s workshop of handwoven crafts. Beth, settled comfortably at her enormous weaving loom and working with wool from her own flock of sheep, shares stories of her life here after moving from America three decades ago. She speaks of the happiness and fulfillment she’s found in this island life. Much like many others living on the island, the internet has drastically improved her capacity to manage her business from what was once an incredibly secluded location.
My mobile phone app tells me that my daily step count has tripled as we make our way over the last hill, descending towards the 12th-century Clare Island Abbey. Inside, we discover the O’Malley Tomb, revered as the last known resting spot of the ever-wandering Grace O’Malley. Covering the abbey’s ceiling are rare medieval depictions of a cattle raid, mythical creatures and legendary figures. I had recently seen the renowned Bayeux Tapestry in Normandy, and these paintings similarly bring past to life undeniably.
As we exhaust our good fortune with the weather, a mist from the sea engulfs us. We duck for cover in a local pub located in the community centre and enjoy bowls of seafood chowder, filled with salmon sourced from the farms we noticed earlier in the day. The weather forecast for the next day promises more wind and rain, and so us sunny-day campers reluctantly take down our tent and catch the 1pm ferry back to the mainland.
We couldn’t help but notice the signs for ‘The Big Dipper, Ireland’s most picturesque Spa’ as we drove to Louisburgh. An hour later, we found ourselves checking into the BigStyle Atlantic Lodge in the nearby Killadoon area, a place that happily accommodates both dogs and muddy campers in need of a hot shower. We pass on offers of surfing lessons, yoga, and mountain hiking to head straight across the road to the Big Dipper spa. We’re soon relaxed as we sink into a wood-fired hot tub, letting the scenic view of the sea we just crossed extending towards Croagh Patrick ease our muscles. The sauna provides a similar vista and, after numerous transitions between the icy plunge pool and the steaming hot tub, we conclude that this indeed must be Ireland’s most scenic spa.
The view from our bedroom also encompasses the sea and, as nightfall begins, the clouds finally part, unveiling the dominating presence of Knockmore, Clare Island’s highest peak. The next clear-weather break will see us return for a challenging climb.