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| From My Pictures |
I need to write a list of things to take with me and be more disciplined. At the last minute before leaving from the apartment on Friday I ditched the waist belt I was going to take with me and instead took my handlebar bag. Only problem was that when I left the office on Friday to catch the train I forgot to pick up 1 of my bottles which had been in the waist belt. Not a huge deal I thought, but boy did I regret not having the extra water carrying capacity today, but I jump ahead of myself.
The train and bus trip down to Clonakilty went without a hitch much to my surprise. I guess I have a very low opinion of public transport so I am always amazed when things actually workout. Susie had rung ahead for me and found a hotel with a good rate. They made me very welcome, which considering how rude some of the people she had rang were, and I soon settled into my room. I had a nice hot meal downstairs in the restaurant and then curled up with my book before getting an early night hoping to god I hadn’t checked into a hotel where my neighbours were going to be from hell.
Apart from the drunken sing song outside in the square at 3am I slept well and was up at 6.30am ready to face the world. Dressed in my super sexy cycling gear (I look like a complete dork) I headed down for breakfast where the chef had very kindly come in 1 hour early just to cook my eggs and beans. With the sun just peeking over the trees and every other sane person sound asleep off I went into the half light of a wintry Saturday morning.
The undulating route to Schull features ancient monuments and stories of more recent history. A pattern emerges of a series of decents into (and climbs out of) townships; the biggest hill, after Ross Carbery, is steep at times. Meadow flowers enliven the roadside, along with the occasional statues of the virgin Mary; Glandore Harbour and The Narrows offer more scenic treats. Towards Schull, Roaringwater Bay and the looming spectre of Mt Gabriel whet the apppetite for the rugged west coast peninsular. The delightful descent into tiny Castlefreke is punctuated by stones explaining points of historical interest. The sprigging school is worth a quick visit; the old schoolhouse now houses a small museum of local history. Watch for the unsigned turn into Castleforke Wood through stone gate posts. A side trip near the top of the climb from Ross Carbery leads to the impressive Drombeg Stone Circle. 17 stones probably arranged around 100 BC. In a nearby cooking trough, hot stones can boil around 320L of water in 18 minutes. Tou'll need to walk the last 150 meters to the site
Needless to say this all passed by me fairly early in the day and keen to get as much mileage under my belt as possible while I had fresh legs I didn’t stop. The morning was clear but my biggest fear today was that my body wasn’t going to be able to cope with the cold. I decided to wear the knee pads that Susie had given me last weekend when I was skiing with her in Sweden and these did a great job of keeping my knees warm. It’s a shame that Richard’s suggestion of using nursing mother nipple pads for my own nipples wasn't as effective. They soon fell off and found there way down south and ended up keeping my belly button company.
Views across the harbour make immaculate Glandore a nice lunch stop; Glandore Inn serves bar food and sandwiches (not at 9am on a Saturday morning I must add). With more choice, including a grocery store (where I restocked with bananas and Oatcake biscuits) Union Hall across the water is more down to earth
In fact Union Hall (apart from having a strange name) was a lovely fishing village with a feel of industry about it even at 10am on a chilly winter morning. It was about the first place I had come across that had much sign of life, most of Ireland was still (very sensibly) sleeping.
The Liss Ard foundations expansive (and very closed) gardens offer a nice resting spot although the gardens are someway from the entrance. Skibbereen was hard hit by the Great Famine; almost 10,000 people were buried in local mass graves
Lament to the Dead of Skibbereen
As I went through the town of Skibbereen it was indeed quite a shock to see the main graveyard with its mass graves. Its hard to imagine just how hard hit Ireland was by the famine. It such a land of such great beauty that such great tragedy should have occurred is very saddening, What is most striking is that it happened relatively so recently.
The Great Famine of 1845-51 was one of the greatest tragedies of Irish history. The disaster was all the greater because, while a million people died and another million fled on overcrowded coffin ships, Ireland continued to export food. The penal laws enacted in 1695 prohibited Catholics from, among other things, entering government and buying land. By the 19th century Irelands population was 4 million. Around 5000 landlords owned 90% of the land, renting it out to Irish tenant farmers. By 1841 the population had rocketed to 8 million. Most were practically subsistence farmers, dependent on potatoes for food and to pay their rent. Many lived in wretched crowded conditions; large families (and their animals) typically shared single roomed virtually windowless cottages (landlords charged higher rent for windows). Rapid population growth meant more pressure on the land and between 1845 and 1851 blight destroyed most the potato crop. Catastrophe was inevitable; without their staple food people starved; without the means to pay rent they were evicted. Even those who grew grain had to choose between eating and being evicted or staying and starving. Those who could scrape together the passage (or whose landlords paid it) left for the New World on overcrowded and unregulated coffin ships on which disease ran rife and typically a third of the passengers died. By 1851 Irelands population was around 6.5 million
I took a break at Schull and enjoyed a cup of coffee at about the only cafe I had seen all day. The view from where I was sitting out over the bay was beautiful especially as the sun was attempting to make an appearance.
Delightful little Schull sits on a harbour of Roaringwater Bay belowe Mount Gabriel. The community is sprinkled with artists and European expatriates and, except during the Summer (particularly early August when the yachties come in) its s pretty relaxed place.
Up until now the day had been very easy cycling and the weather, though cold, very pleasant. However things were about to get a lot tougher and I made a couple of fundamental mistakes. First mistake was underestimating my calorie intake and just how much energy I was going to need to get around Mizen Head and back up to Glengarriff. I had arrived at Schull at about 11am and if I had taken a closer look at the map or maybe made some enquiries I might have realised that Schull was about the last place where I was going to get some food. The next 3 hours were going to seem very long. The second mistake I made was that I didn’t really put much stock in the gentle breeze that had been blowing all day. As it had been to my back I had made good time over the last 60km from Clonakilty. Once I had reached Mizen Head I would be cycling into the wind for about 40km. This in itself wasn't really a problem but combined with the fact that I hadn’t eaten meant I was going to do this when virtually no energy. In other words I was going to "bonk".
To assist ships through the dangerous Atlantic waters a signal station was completed at Mizens Head in 1910. The station was automated in 1993 and an exhibition, Mizen Vision, was established in the old keepers quarters.The light station, at the end of the head, is a 10 minute walk from the Mizen Head visitor center. It costs €5 to walk down and its worth paying; apart from the Mizen Vision exhibition, the scenary is far more dramatic beyond the gate. Look out for dolphins, seals and sea birds. Whales are frequently seen off Mizen head in July and August. A few hills lie between the turn-off and Mizen Head including a 4.6km climb from the inlet near Barleycove beach. The return trip offers spectacular views of the peninsular
The return trip against the headwind and with zero energy was exhausting and as I cranked out each kilometre it was agony on the legs. Every journey no mater how long is comprised of single steps or as in my case single rotations of the wheel and after what seemed an eternity I was at last in view of Bantry Bay.
Exhausted I eventually arrived in Glengarriff where I gratefully booked into my bed and breakfast, had a shower, something to eat and then watched the rugby before falling asleep.
Looking back on the day apart from "bonking" the main thing that was sad was that because of all the time I had lost due to the wind I didn’t have time to do Sheeps Head, maybe another day but I somehow doubt it.
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