The Fellowship of the Ring

I've written before about core memories, and the events that stay with a person for the rest of their life.  A song, a picture, a piece of food, or just a recall to an unforgettable moment can be triggers or pieces of a puzzle that assemble an aforementioned core memory.
And for this writer, the 11 hours spent exploring the pockets of the piece of Ireland territory known as the Ring of Kerry created one of the most indelible days of my life, appropriately enough, the last day spent in a particular decade before a looming birthday would change the age bracket for some on this trip.

And of course, making the day as unforgettable as it was, was spending it laughing, walking, and just sharing memory-making with the love of me life.

For those not familiar with the Ring of Kerry, it's a 111-mile circuitous roadway that meanders primarily throughout County Kerry.  We started our trek from Killarney, just outside Killarney National Park.

And for any readers of the blog intending to head to said Ring any time in the near future, tourist pro-tip: if you're driving yourself, as we did, take the Ring in CLOCKWISE, and get an early start.

Driving the roads clockwise with an early bell gives you uncluttered views of breathtaking scenery, with vista pull-offs devoid of any other cars or tour buses.  The buses, you see, travel the ring COUNTER-CLOCKWISE, so they're at the opposite end when you begin from the southern link.

Not long into the day's exploration, we hit the village of Sneem.

Sneem's population numbers somewhere less than 400 villagers.  It earns his name from an Irish word meaning "the knot" - speaking to its intertwining of several waterways around it.

Me, I'd tie the Sneem with this wonderful lady all over again.

In Sneem, we stopped for one of the many scones that helped comprise the menu for our trip.  A nice coffee-filled respite at Kelly's, before the day really took off on us.

Next vista stop was in Kilcrohane, a coastal village on the Sheep's Head Peninsula.

On to Doire Fhionain, or Derrynane, meaning the oak-wood of Fionan.

On the shores of Derrynane Bay

Next, we made a pitstop at Waterville Beach, where Jackie and Sue bought some local nautical slate art, and got the best tip of the day from a local merchant, Kathleen, who advised us to head out to the outer roads of the Ring of Kerry, roads so narrow for the locals that tour buses aren't allowed out there.

Fun fact: American actor Charlie Chaplin and his family first visited Waterville in 1959 after his friend Walt Disney recommended the area as a good place for fly fishing. The Chaplins were so enamored with Waterville and the surrounding area that they came back year after year for over 10 years and developed close friendships with some of the locals.  There's even a statue dedicated to the Little Tramp in town.

Nearby St. Michael's Church in Waterville was built in 1866.

First stop was a visit to the bay at the Ring of Skellig.  The geek in me HAD to make a pass through this area, as it's the location for where some of the scenes were filmed in the Force Awakens, the eighth chapter in the Star Wars saga, where Luke Skywalker was found by Rey on the planet of Ahch-To.

The view in Ballinskelligs

Despite my best efforts, however, I not only was unable to find Luke or Rey, but there wasn't even a Porg to be found anywhere.

Much like the birds that do populate this bay, Scott and I were puffin by the time we climbed to the outer rocks in the bay.

Jack, looking out onto St. Finan's Bay, also looking for her own piece of Star Wars lore.

Sadly, due to ferry time conflicts, we didn't make it out to Skellig Michael, where Luke's secluded home was erected.

However, because I KNOW all ye readers are sweating it out that I wasn't able to make my Star Wars connection directly, fret not.  I can proudly say I enjoyed a drink in the pub where Mark Hamill himself poured his own Guinness.

The Force was with me indeed, this day.

Too much in one day to pack into a single blog entry, so we'll just leave this one at To Be Continued....

We Happened to Come Muckross

Moving down to Killarney and County Kerry, and eventually the Ring of Kerry itself, we checked into one of the nicer hotels we've come across in quite some time, the Brehon.  Can't say enough about these digs, for the food and drink (Guinness Stew!), accommodations, and all-around ambience.  Didn't hurt that they had U2 songs piped in through the hotel's speakers, either.  The hotel and spa is located just on the lip of Killarney National Park.

Lots of walking queued up for this stretch of the trip, and the first thing on the docket was a 3+ mile walk to sort-of nearby Muckross House, on the shores of Lough Leane.  Truly a treasure logging the mileage alongside the one you love.

What's a Muckross you ask?  Well this blog is nothing if not educational, so luckily I found out Muckross comes from the word Mucros, which is a “the wood of the pig” and refers to the early practice of pasturing hogs in the woods. So now you know.

Before we got to the aforementioned Muckross House, though, there was a pitstop at the Muckross Friary, located on the expansive grounds of the estate. 

The friary was founded around 1445 by a chap named Donal MacCarthy, and occupied by the Observantine Franciscans, so called because of their observance of rules regarding diet, clothing, and personal property.

The story goes that Donal’s great grandfather Cormac MacCarthy Mor wanted to found an abbey of his own, and it appeared to him in a vision that he should build it at the legendary Carraig na Chiuil, the Rock of Music. He sent men to search for the place, and they were about to return to Cormac having failed to locate the site, when passing by this chunk of Killarney they heard beautiful music coming from a rock, and Cormac founded the abbey there. 

The friars inhabited the grounds until 1652 when they were driven out by the Cromwellians.  Feel free to look up the details of that little conflict.

Hands down one of the coolest features of the friary is undoubtedly the massive yew tree which stands in the center of the structure.

Straight out of Game of Thrones or the Lord of the Rings trilogy horticulture, the tree dominates the center courtyard and is said to be as old as the friary itself.

Looking good for a 600+ year-old tree!

From there, it's on to Muckross House itself!

The 65 room house built in the fashion of Tudor. It was built from 1839 to 1843 but further work was carried out during the 1850’s in preparation for a visit from Queen Victoria herself!  (Those improvements, btw, supposedly contributed to the financial woes of the estate's owners, forcing them to eventually sell it.)  This may explain is why I hate doing home projects in advance of our own annual parties.

Because what's a mansion without some mounted elk heads?

Had to take this pic for Andrew - his idea of a dream library for his home, with books floor to ceiling, and a doorway built right into the bookcase itself

My bride and I are official Lord of Lady of a patch of grass in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, courtesy of our children.  And while we have yet to build a manse upon that postage stamp of land, we could practice for our mansion photos here in the heart of Muckross.

Jack and Sue loved the offerings of one of the multiple kitchens in the home, straight out of Mrs. Patmore's cooking digs at Downton Abbey

The grounds consist of 11,000 acres, and we did our best to try to explore as much of it as we could.

Afterwards, after logging more than six miles of walking just getting to and around the friary and estate, we quickly took one of the horse-drawn buggy drivers up on his offer to get us back to the parking lot in style.

If you're in the neighborhood and have some downtime before embarking into the nearby Ring and national park, take the time to wander through Muckross - a worthy detour and historic spot worth mucking around in!

Storming the Castle

Much like Tyrion Lannister, I drink and I know things.  And this I know: If you're in County Clare, just about 20 minutes outside of Ennis, you have to make sure to drop by the grounds of Bunratty Castle, a 15th century tower house.  The name Bunratty means "mouth of the Ratty River," which references the nearby Owenogarney River which empties into the Shannon Estuary after flowing past the castle and its village.

Channeling Tyrion's father, Tywin, I took a moment to consider all things thrones in the great hall at the castle.

As you can see, Lords and Ladies abound in this castle.

The castle stairwells are not for the faint of heart, broad of shoulder, or wide of foot for that matter.  Not much room to maneuver these staircases!

The site on which Bunratty Castle stands was originally a Viking trading camp established somewhere around 970.

The present iteration of the castle is the last of four castles to be built on the site, and is believed to have been built somewhere around 1425.

Outside the castle proper, there's a small 26 acre village - Bunratty Folk Park - akin to the likes of Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts.  There, tradesman and artisans show off their skills in the working shops and sell their wares in the small shopping village on the castle grounds.

It was here we met Seamus, one of the most charming homelanders in Ireland, who was humble yet proud to show off the work he did as a blacksmith.

And for ye blog readers who have long accused me of being full of hot air, here's photographic proof of me putting it to good use and helping fan the flames.

Seriously - can't say enough about the hospitality and genuine passion this man has for his job.  He exudes his love of blacksmithing, and actually surprised to find these two smithys wanted to take their pic with him.

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Outside the castle grounds proper lies Durty Nelly's pub.  Many readers of this blog have visited said pub themselves over the years, and many of them have left their stickers or police badges on the bulletin boards within.

Nellys was established in 1620, on the banks of the Owengarney River with the Clare Hills behind it.

Here's just a piece of the legend of Durty Nelly:

Almost as famous in Ireland as Molly Malone herself, Durty Nelly holds a special place in the hearts of drinkers from around the world! Today, her namesake pub Durty Nelly’s near Bunratty Castle continues her legacy with the history and character we enjoy so much from Ireland.

“Many many moons ago in the misty past of Cratloe’s rolling country side there lived a buxom lady, tall in stature, but shapely and appealing to all.  She was known simply as Durty Nelly… a name that puzzled all who had the good fortune to be granted her welcome but soon became apparent…

Times were hard in Ireland but one could say that Durty Nelly was wily and always found a way to make ends meet. She was keeper of the toll-bridge over the river Owengarney which flowed outside her window on its way to join the Shannon.

All visitors who sought to cross the bridge would have to pay their dues to Nelly – those who could not pay in cash paid in kind with the presentation of a chicken, a few eggs, a piece of home-cured bacon or even, legend has it, a bit of ‘comfort’ for the lady herself.

Durty Nelly was a woman of considerable charm, known to the virile men of the day, from Galway to Cork, Dublin to Limerick. The highway into and out of the city of Limerick was always open to these … toll or no toll …Durty Nelly’s hospitality to the many travelers coming across the bridge gained her a place in many a man’s fond memories, handed down through the centuries.

Check out the rest of her story for some great Irish folklore!

Feel The Burren

For anyone I've chatted with in recent years, you may (or may not) know that I've become slightly obsessed with Ancestry.com ever since my family bought me a subscription that sent me spiraling down the rabbit hole of archived immigration and census records from the last few hundred years.

In chasing some of the branches of the family tree, Jackie and I have discovered multiple points in Ireland from which our ancestors hailed.  One of the goals of the trip to Ireland for me was being able to set foot on the home fields of at least one of my ancestors.  And while many of the records are nearly impossible to help narrow down specific locations, one of the few pieces of history I've been able to glean was the birthplace of my great-grandmother, Bridget Sullivan, who was born in 1857 in a small village called Darragh just outside of Ennis in County Clare.

I was able to check the box in terms of visiting said village, though truth be told, when Jack and I took a detour to check it out, it was one of those don't-blink-or-you'll-miss-it locales.  In fact, the only sign we could find of what remains of the village adorns a gas station.

I actually tried to ponder what would convince a 13-year-old girl to pack up and come to the states, leaving these green fields and roaming meadows behind.  My Aunt Helen reports that Bridget came these ways to take a job as a nanny for a family in Chelmsford, fleeing the famine that was ravaging her homeland at the time.

Whatever the reason, it's lost to time now, but it did provide us with a reason to include Ennis as part of our itinerary on our Ireland trip, and it was fulfilling for a number of reasons.

It also provided me with the opportunity to locate a pub bearing a familiar name.

Right around the corner from our hotel was another pub, Brogan's, which provided the naming inspiration for the Vergados' beloved and loyal canine family member.

On the particular day we were in Ennis, the County Clare hurling team was playing in the Ireland tournament, and the blue and yellow banners were flying everywhere! (I bought one and have it proudly hanging in my work office now.)

Up Clare!

Ennis also served as a homebase for us to wander out a bit and go explore Burren National Park and some of the attractions that speckle that neck of the woods.

It also provided the opportunity for us to see that John's seething resentment of cairn building was alive and well in some of the most remote locations in Ireland

#BuildNoCairns

Say hello to Tuama Poll na Bron, or the Poulnabrone Tomb

The bones of 33 people were discovered here in 1985 - they were dated to somewhere around 5,000+ years ago!

The Tomb is surrounded by these distinct limestone rock formations, which are known as clints - the crevasses between them are called grikes, furrows that form when rainwater dissolves the limestone.  The round holes, or hollows are called kamenitzas, which are also carved out by rain.

So yeah, clints, grikes and kamenitzas - who knew?

We had the plains virtually to ourselves to explore, and it was a moody but fascinating stop

From there we continued up to Ballycahill, outside of  Aillwee Cave

This respite provided some of the most indescribable inland panoramas of the whole trip. 

Nothing but green to see for miles and miles around us

And no one I'd rather hug and embrace in these settings than this lovely lady

We ventured into one of the oldest caves in Ireland, but alas, the subterranean lighting didn't yield itself to quality pics.

It did, however, allow me to channel my inner Gandalf and remind any nearby Balrogs that they could not pass.

Sadly, no Mole Man sightings to be had.
Back in the bright light of day, we wandered over to Cahermore, a stone fort, or caher, built sometime between 500 to 1,170 AD.

It's a national monument that provides views of Galway Bay, Ballyvaughan village and various castles that dot the landscape.

From there we made our way to Ballivaughan Pier for a pint and a relaxing timeout

A truly unforgettable pass through County Clare.  And while I wasn't able to find any cemeteries or historical markings that yielded new scraps of info for the Sadlier branch of my family tree (my mother's grandmother and grandfather), I felt like I was able to at least officially log some steps in the Old Sod on behalf of the Cooks, Kings and O'Neils.