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.
Total track statistics over two days whilst cycling: 117.7 miles, average speed 11.1mph, elevation gain 1062m, maximum altitude (at Barnagh) 247m.
Home to Heuston station 24.6 miles, Limerick to Banna 69 miles, Banna to Tralee 8.6 miles, Sallins to home 15.5 miles
It will be clear by now that these "forays" I describe are going to be mostly about railways and the recent spate of "greenways" that have sprung up around the island of Ireland. The amount of money that is being spent on these is insane and I am riding (literally) on this generosity as there are no entrance fees and even the train fare is free with my free-travel pass. The Limerick Greenway follows the path of the former Limerick to Tralee railway line, and has been paved in smooth tarmac the whole way.
My plan was twofold: to ride the Limerick to Ballybrophy branch line, and to "do" the Limerick Greenway. Within this plan the major challenge was biking from Limerick to Tralee via the Greenway, overnighting in the dunes at Banna Strand. I had been planning it for several weeks and circumstances meant that it had to be this week or else delay for at least a month. But the weather forecast was disturbing and so I vacillated like the Mock Turtle's will you, won't you? with every change of the forecast. I made my final decision to go ahead the day before departure and once I had done so I had better (though it turned out to be largely unfounded) peace of mind. Lewis describes this act of making a decision rather well in Perelandra:
The thing still seemed impossible. But gradually something happened to him which had happened to
him only twice before in his life. It had happened once while he was trying to make up his mind to do a
very dangerous job in the last war. It had happened again while he was screwing his resolution to go and
see a certain man in London and make to him an excessively embarrassing confession which justice
demanded. In both cases the thing had seemed a sheer impossibility: he had not thought but known that, being what he was, he was psychologically incapable of doing it; and then, without any apparent
movement of the will, as objective and unemotional. as the reading on a dial, there had arisen before
him, with perfect certitude, the knowledge 'about this time tomorrow you will have done the impossible'.
The same thing happened now.
I remind myself of the principle every time I go to the dentist.
I knew, without much doubt, that I would encounter rain and wind, even though the total daily amount of precipitation looked reasonably low in the forecasts. And rain and wind are the enemies of biking.
It was deceptively dry on all but the last half hour of my journey to Limerick. To catch the one and only morning train from Ballybrophy to Limerick I had to take the 08:00 inter-city from Heuston heading to Cork, and this in turn implied biking to Heuston (Dublin), and leaving home no later than 05:30. In the event, and due to my habitual nervousness about missing boats, I left shortly after 05:00 giving me plenty of time for the loo and to purchase some Club Orange.
At Ballybrophy (the first stop) I transferred to the awaiting branch line two-coach train. Although all Iarnród Éireann (Irish Rail) trains are to a high standard, this service is like another world. It pootles along at between 30 and 45mph, repeatedly sounding its horn before frequent farm crossings. There are still semaphore signals (see my pictures below) although I am not sure whether they are in use - after all with only two services in each direction per day the line hardly needs signals. Although passenger numbers may be low and the service is slow (it takes almost an hour longer than travelling from Limerick to Dublin via Limerick Junction), the line was recently upgraded to CWR (welded rail - see video) so it looks like there are no plans to terminate the service. I hope not anyway: I enjoyed every minute and I'm hoping some enterprising driver will make a cab view video.
Upgrading the line to CWR
As the train neared Limerick it started to rain so I donned my rain jacket before venturing from the station. And so started the real challenge: getting on for 8 hours with long periods of persistent though not heavy rain. But heavy enough to saturate the jacket. And a head-wind to boot.
The Greenway does not disappoint (apart from the weather). It is paved all the way in smooth tarmac (why are these cycle ways called green?) and, speaking of ways, it is advertised as "starting in Rathkeale, on through Ardagh, Newcastle West, Barnagh, Templeglantine and finishing in Abbeyfeale" but in fact it continues past Abbeyfeale "to the Limerick / Kerry border". I cycled on wondering what might await me at the border. To my delight and some amusement the greenway continued on, only now under the name of "Kingdom of Kerry Greenway". The Kerry website purports this goes "from Listowel to the Limerick border" with not a suggestion that it in fact seamlessly connects with the Limerick Greenway! Likewise the Limerick website has no mention of the Kerry Greenway.
There's an old railway tunnel to explore at Barnagh. Incorporating it into the greenway (where strictly it belongs) appeared to have been an afterthought, with the original greenway running parallel to the tunnel section. Coming from the Limerick direction it is necessary to cross the busy N21, but a fence bars the way and there is no formal crossing. Even after risking one's life to get across it is not immediately obvious how to reach the tunnel. But after traversing the tunnel to its west end a purpose built underpass under the N21 returns the rider to the greenway proper.
Barnagh tunnel diversion
Since the internet was strangely silent on the subject, I provide the map above (OpenTopoMap excerpt annotated in blue for the original greenway, and in purple for the necessary diversion to the tunnel). Note - it is necessary to overshoot in order to avoid climbing over the fence between greenway and N21. Click on the image to enlarge it. The black rectangle is the Barnagh Greenway Hub which might have served me tea and buns had I the inclination (literally) to climb the very steep access from the tunnel greenway after already climbed the incline to Barnagh.
After Barnagh there is a well earned downhill section down to Abbeyfeale. And thence to Listowel where the now Kingdom of Kerry Greenway deposited me in Listowel within a few hundred yards of an Aldi and a Lidl. The latter provided me with fodder (scones, fruit cake and orange juice).
My legs being now weary, the rain persistent, and the wind in my face, it seemed like an eternity until I at last found the first sign for Banna Strand. I prayed for a remission in the rain and thankfully one came, just long enough for me to erect my tent, climb inside and strip off to dry. I did not read, watch a video or listen to music. I ate my fodder with due thankfulness, then fought cramp (took some magnesium tablets, drank, consumed chocolate for its sugar content and did leg exercises), then climbed into my sleeping bag and slept the sleep of the just.
My camp site
Morning came and it was still raining. I had planned to explore the beach, maybe even swim, but the wind was cold, the rain wet. I snuggled in my bag a little longer then took my breakfast (more of the same) and prayed for remission and, when it came, hurriedly struck camp and set off for Tralee. It started to rain again, heavily enough. The number of heavy goods vehicles on that road is biblical, and there is no hard shoulder. One wonder where in Kerry can all that traffic be going?
And thus I arrived at Tralee Casement train station and settled down in its waiting room with a hot mug of tea and a book from the station "library" (there were only three books to choose from).
And the rest is history - the Tralee Mallow line (see my photo at the level crossing which I had photographed from the road in my last post), the intercity to Portlaoise, the commuter service to Sallins and Naas, thence the final bike from there to home.
Now that Covid has (or the official rules concerning Covid have) retreated somewhat, my Free Travel pass is burning a hole in my wallet. So I decided on a leisurely beginning. The rule of the game is that the trip must cost nothing, or at least very little. That rules out using a car or a B&B or purchasing much in the way of kit.
I took the 07:10 bus from the end of our road not yet fully decided on a destination, and ended up getting off at the Square, Tallaght and taking the Luas tram to Dublin Heuston station and boarding the train for Cork. At Mallow I changed to the single-track Killarney line and rode all the way to its terminus at Tralee. Here I disembarked somewhat perfunctorily - to convince myself and any interested railway staff that I had arrived at my final destination (they were not interested) - and then re-boarded. I guess I was at my final destination there for less than 10 minutes before the train retraced its wheels back to Mallow, thence to Heuston, the Square, and finally back home. This must be the furthest you can go from my home in one day using public transport. The total cost (to me) of this trip was the €3.80 I rashly spent for an overpriced and underrated coffee on the train.
On my last foray at Killarney station I pointed out the strange track alignment indicated above. To depart from Killarney towards Tralee the train has to reverse and come to a halt in a siding. The driver then switches ends (he walks through the train corridor to do this) and the points are set so that the train, going forward, now branches to the right and thus towards Tralee. With a reverse procedure on the return journey. Which process takes time and must be a trial for the driver.
