2024 Foray #3: An Coinigéar and An Abhainn Mhór

I have a Free Travel pass. There is no additional charge for a bicycle on Iarnród Éireann, but it is necessary to book a bicycle as space is limited. So I booked this trip a few days in advance choosing two days that Met Éireann assured me would be fine. But this is Ireland: on my departure day the forecast had changed to rain most of the second day.

My route was inspired by discovering the An Coinigéar or the Cunnigar, a sand spit which, we are told, has  formed as a result of deposition by longshore drift, the movement of sand along the coast by the waves and the estuary emerging at the north of the bay slowing it down. As time progressed, the deposited material has formed a spit, which is 2.6 km long and which almost closes Dungarvan harbour at its northern end. 

Check out these drone shots which suggest that there is much more to Cunnigar under the surface that appears to the naked eye. A bit like an ice berg.

Waking ahead of my 05:00 alarm I breakfasted hastily and mounted my trusty steed for the 2+ hour ride to Heuston, Dublin where I caught the 08:00 service for Cork. Alighting at Limerick Junction I took the so called "inter city" to Waterford which pootles through the beautiful Suir valley at a leisurely 60 to 80km/hr. Arriving at last I cycled the 46km of Waterford Greenway to Dungarvan.

Whistlestop Café, Kilmeadan Station

My plan was to luncheon at the Whistlestop Café but in the event their most excellent tea and scone (served warmed with butter and: would you like strawberry, raspberry or blackcurrant jam?) did the trick. 

Arriving in Dungarvan ahead of schedule, my first port of call was Lidl where I purchased hardtack and orange juice (not wishing for Scurvy), then hung around until the F&C shop opened. Suitably fuelled I then set off for the Cunnigar.

On turning off the N25 a sign announces you are entering the Gaeltacht after which all road signs are in Gaelic only. In English An Coinigéar means "rabbit warren". This rabbit warren business: last year's Forays to Coney Island and Omey Island were also nominally overrun with rabbits. On this occasion I saw none but, instead, there were cattle freely roaming the whole peninsula - more of that later.

the Cunnigar peninsula, car park at far right

 Here is a beautiful video of the Cunnigar by @fardinger:

And here are a few of my photos, or click here to view the album.

Dungarvan town from the tip of the Cunnigar

The beach on the sea side is so shallow

I was not able to ascertain whether the Cunnigar is privately or public land. There is a small public car park which bodes well, but cattle are roaming freely on the peninsular itself, which might not bode well for camping. I stumbled on a group with their tent already erected - they had tried to request permission but the locals didn't seem to know who to ask. So we didn't ask. I positioned my tent where it would not be seen from the only house visible and hoped for the best. I then walked / ran to the end of the peninsula and back (about 6km) and by then was ready for bed. I slept soundly until I woke in the dark and could here noises without: I cautiously looked out with my head-light - the cattle were investigating this new intrusion into their territory. Worried that one might stand on and buckle my bike or push the tent over, I waited watchfully but after a while they moved to pastures greener. I slept but was woken again, now dawn and a little before my alarm, by the pitter-patter of rain. There is nothing quite so charming and quintessential of camping as lying snug in one's sleeping bag whilst on the other side of the canvas the elements are raging. Of course I knew rain was coming but still I had to decide where to strike camp or wait till the weather turned. But I knew I had to go - hadn't I promised by daughter I'd be back soon after 3pm?

My planned route to Mallow: 95.9 km

I took no pictures on my return journey to Mallow because was raining most of the time. All I wanted was to complete the journey. It was long and wet and tedious and gruelling. But challenging. Had it been sunny the countryside would have been glorious, no doubt.

My route initially followed the tiny river Brickey, but "route" turned out to be a euphemism: it was in fact an badly overgrown and rather narrow farm track that my GPS had led me to. I persevered but the undergrowth wound itself around my derailleur cassette so that I could not from then on access the higher gears. Thankfully no punctures or tics.  And so I arrived at Cappoquin where my route joined An Abhainn Mhór which translates to The Great River otherwise known as the Blackwater river. There are numerous Blackwater rivers in Ireland - this one is the Munster Blackwater.

I breakfasted on hardtack on the Avonmore bridge as it crosses the Blackwater, and where the river abruptly turns to the right and southwards. I would have taken a photo of the bridge but it was raining and my cell phone was wrapped in a poly-bag and I hadn't the enthusiasm to extricate it. So you'll have to be content with a stock photo.

Avonmore bridge Cappoquin, stock photo

The bridge has some history. It was a Potato Famine relief project of the Keane family and was opened in 1851 but the original name, ‘Victoria Bridge’ was later chiselled out by nationalists. The bridge was a target of attack during the Troubles of the 1920s. There is a place where an explosion required extensive repairs to be done. For all that, it was my planned route, rather than follow the probably easier going but boring N72. But all places tend towards boring in the rain.

The plan was to cross the river again at Lismore and then follow the R666 which would hug the river all the way to Fermoy, but it didn't happen. The rain.

Historic photo of Cappoquin railway bridge

Proposed Greenway

But I did notice the old railway bridge at Cappoquin and, later, numerous land-owner signs condemning the proposed Mallow to Dungarvan Greenway which would follow the old railway and, you can see, would take a similar route to my own. Greenways are now The Thing, doubtless fuelled by Covid and the Green Party. Do I approve? Largely yes because I love cycling, but only after due consultation with local land owners and, anyway, where is the money coming from? I must say that the Waterford Greenway has been a major success judging by how many folk are using it. 

Using Google maps aerial view the route of much of the original railway can be traced, but so much has been lost, and it was only on 25 March 1967 that the last train ran. Very recent history: well within my lifetime.

The final stretch from Fermoy to Mallow was hard work. Even though it looked relatively flat on the map, in fact it was a continuous long up hills and ridiculously steep and bendy downhills. But I made it, and with about 20 minutes to spare before the service to Sallins/Naas via Portlaoise. Lunch on board: a squashed sandwich from home, and hardtack washed down with Irish Rail tea.

Proof of arrival at Mallow train station.

Oh - and regarding having to book a bicycle space - on the Mallow Portlaoise segment all three bicycle hooks were in use, plus a couple more bikes randomly distributed, and that before I added mine! So somebody wasn't booking, and nobody seemed to care.

 

 

Myth or Reality

I have sometimes remarked how the shape of my Christian faith might have been very different had it not been from the works of C. S. Lewis. He in turn spoke of George Macdonald as his master saying that he fancied he had never written a book in which he did not quote from him. 

My father introduced me to Narnia. He was so enthused with the books that he wrote Bible cross references in the margins. I’ve not seen anyone else go to such lengths. But I can vividly remember the day he told me that Lewis had died. Lewis was someone who spoke a language I could understand.

It was after I left home for college that I chanced upon a copy of Till We Have Faces subtitled A Myth Retold in an Oxford bookshop. I hadn't known of its existence before so it was an Oh Joy! moment. 

Lewis called it "far and away my best book" and I agree. Because I identify with the protagonist Orual in all her struggles and I want to share her final redemption. In this blog I have already made several references to it: I make no apology for making another.

The myth in question is of Cupid and Psyche as told in Book 4 of the Metamorphoses of Apuleius (aka The Golden Ass) being the only ancient Roman novel in Latin to survive in its entirety.

To jump in half way through the myth, Aphrodite (aka Venus) gives Psyche barrels of grains, barley, wheat, beans, and poppy seeds mixed together, and orders her to have them sorted by evening. Psyche breaks down in despair, but an ant takes pity, instructing her colony to help sort the grain. Aphrodite, surprised and enraged to see that the task had been completed, gives Psyche a new task: to approach a pack of rams known for being violent and shear their golden fleece to bring back to the goddess. Rather than be killed by these rams, Psyche plans on drowning herself in the river, but again she is saved. Aphrodite then sets a third impossible task: gather the black waters from the River Styx in a crystal cup the goddess had given her. But again she is saved. For her fourth and final task, Psyche is given a golden box and ordered to travel to the Underworld to retrieve a bit of beauty possessed by Persephone, goddess of spring, and queen of the Underworld. Psyche again decides to take her own life, but at the last moment she is once again saved. Finally the marriage between Psyche and Eros takes place and the rest, as they say, is history.

Tolkien argued that ancient myths were the best way of conveying truths which would otherwise be inexpressible. The same could be said of fairy stories, which is why stories like the Narnia chronicles or the Curdie books by MacDonald are so effective. Musicians claim similarly that music can express unspeakable emotions.

I read on a forum on Reddit: I think what it [the book Till we have Faces] means is that what we say we believe is just a thin, distorted, and in some cases even completely wrong picture of what we really believe in our hearts. Instead, what we actually believe drives us and changes us, so that life itself draws it from our hearts to the surface, and it's only after our lives - after we have stopped both talking and doing - that we can stand before God and truthfully proclaim who we are. 

What people see when they look at us is often at odds with what we actually are or believe, as epitomised in Lewis Carroll’s parody:

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,

    "And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head—

    Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,

    "I feared it might injure the brain;

But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,

    Why, I do it again and again."

In Till we have Faces Orual says: Lightly men talk of saying what they mean. Often when the Fox was teaching me to write in Greek he would say, "Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that's the whole art and joy of words." A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the centre of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you'll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces? 

What do you see when you look at your comrade? Will you invest the energy and time required to tease reality out of him or her? And if you did, would you be horrified or would you fall in love? For the basis for true phileo love (friendship) can often be a "What? You too?"

Trauma (e.g. in war-time or disease), or even plain camaraderie over a long enough period, can become the catalyst to break open our hearts. Perhaps that is why God allows suffering to be so much a part of our human experience - because it shapes our innermost being.

When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the centre of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you'll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces? 

2024 Foray #2 Rosslare to Kilmore Quay

Sunrise over Lady's Island lake

Last year my forays were limited to a one night layover, so this year I figured I should make better use of the tent JMB gave me, so herewith is an account of my first two night stint. The raison d'être for my route was partly to assuage my desire to walk the entire coast of Ireland, partly because of the lure of that cliff-top walk from Rosslare harbour and partly the peculiarity of Lady's Island lake q.v. 

The general area - bottom right of Ireland

My track - 35km. Click on the image to enlarge

The route

• 07:00 Bus 65 from the bottom of our road into Dublin
• Dublin Connelly station for 09:33 train to Rosslare Euro-port
• On arrival, a brief detour to Super Value for munitions
• Cliff walk south from Rosslare then along the beach to The Cut q.v. where I overnighted
• Next day following the coast to Kilmore Quay (KQ), thence to a suitable pitch in the dunes
• Next day back to KQ to catch the 07:35 bus to Wexford town
• Several hours chilling in Wexford before the 13:20 train to Wicklow town
• Bus 183 over Wicklow Gap stopping at the end of our road

En route

Connolly rail station

The Dublin Rosslare railway must count as one of Ireland's most scenic routes running alongside the coast from south Dublin to Wicklow town and thereafter hugging the Slaney estuary. The Deeps Bridge is a bascule bridge (i.e. it has a lifting section) crossing the estuary.

Deeps Bridge over the Slaney, through the train window

The food

Squashed sandwiches from home and 1.5 litre of water, supplemented by a chicken sandwich from said Super Value (not good) and six fruit scones which reappeared at intervals as a sort of "hard tack" and a litre of apple juice. That kept me going until KQ as there were no shops anywhere along my route. Everything had to be carried on my back. Then tea and pastries at KQ and, later on, fish and chips.  

Carnsore point

This is where the coast turns a corner. Those wind turbines are truly awesome up close. A few were out of commission as some sort of maintenance was being carried out. As I rounded the corner I got my first view of the Saltee islands.

First view of Saltee islands

Wind farm at Carnsore point

Lady's Island lake, beside which I enjoyed my first sleep-over, is legendary. The "island", now a peninsula, is the oldest Marian shrine in Ireland. Its known history predates the Christian era. I hadn't the energy or will to detour to explore it, so was satisfied with gazing over the lake and watching two wind-surfers enjoying the wind.

Our Lady gazing across the lake (copied with thanks from here)

Having consumed my customary fruit scone rations, next morning I set off at about 06:00 for KQ fighting a head-wind all the way. The shore here is mostly small pebble, but with some stretches of fine sand, beside sand dunes all the way. After leaving Lady's Island lake the next landmark was Tacumshin Lake. These inshore lakes are troublesome. They tend to fill up and overflow onto private land and that is why, every Spring, bulldozers arrive to excavate The Cut to let surplus water out. I would have thought it would seep through the loose gravel by itself in the course of a year but, apparently, no.

The Cut ready for next Spring

Tacumshin Lake is similarly affected but is better behaved because, in this case, an overflow tunnel has been built under the dunes to obviate the need for an explicit cut.

Tacumshin Lake and the Tunnel entrance

As one approaches KQ, human activity becomes more and more obvious: houses or private land making the coastal hiker's job more difficult so, now picking my way across larger boulders, I pass St Patrick's Bridge. This is neither a bridge nor was the worthy saint ever seen in these parts. This site says it is a natural glacial moraine of stone and gravel which forms a natural causeway that once connected Little Saltee with Kilmore Quay at low tide. It would have been fun to explore it but I had this urge to speed up and possibly catch the Wexford bus a day earlier than planned. In the event I missed the bus by about an hour but by then the thought of retracing my steps was simply past my ken. I was tired.

St Patrick's Bridge

And so to KQ, arriving at around 10:30am, I had the rest of the day to "chill", part exploring the dunes to find a suitable pitch, part reading, or part listening to Gunter Ward's interpretation of Bruckner's eight (I have a copy of his later symphonies on my cell phone for such a time as this), and finally back-tracking to KQ for my promised fish and chips, and the rest, as they say, is history.

When, the next day, I finally got to Wexford, I had several hours more spare time to wander aimlessly around the streets of Wexford town or read a book on my cell phone whilst waiting for the 13:20 train service to Wicklow town where I would catch the 183 bus over the Wicklow Gap and home again back to the end of our road.

Wexford town from Ferrybank

Here is a link to more photos from this trip.