Walk to Bothan Sròn Smearasmal

At 11 am, Saturday, July 12, I will lead a walk to the beehive shielings of Bothan Sròn Smearasmal (North Harris). There are over a hundred beehive shielings on Lewis and Harris, but only a handful retain their beautiful, corbelled domes. The central cell at Sròn Smearasmal is one of the best examples with an intact dome.

The Smearasmal cells are important in the history of corbelled shielings, as they were the first ones that Captain FWL Thomas documented in the 1850s. Captain Thomas (Royal Navy) performed hydrographic surveys of the west coast of Lewis and Harris. His duties provided opportunities for exploration ashore, and after hearing of a circular stone hut near the head of Loch Mhiabhaig, he decided to find it. He failed on the first attempt but found it on his second. That started his subsequent journeys to, and published descriptions of, the cells of Lewis and Harris.

The round-trip distance is about 4 km and involves a climb of 140 metres (450 ft) over rough, trackless, and sometimes steep terrain. Please have appropriate footwear and water. The walk will begin at the parking area on the road to Huisinis at the start of the track to Loch Bhoisimid.

For more information, see the following page on the Islands Book Trust Website:

https://islandsbooktrust.org/pages/events-1

The Harris Eagle Observatory & the Sron Smearasmal Beehive

During my visit to Lewis and Harris in May I set out one Sunday to revisit the stellar beehive cell of Sron Smearasmal. Eleven years had passed since I was last there, and I was curious to see if it was still intact. Another site I wanted to visit was the North Harris Eagle Observatory.

The walk started by following the track to Loch Bhoisimid. After passing through the kissing gate - unfortunately, there was no one to kiss - I headed north along the track.

A kilometre into the walk I came to the bridge over Abhainn Mhiabhaig, which marks the halfway point to the observatory.  

The observatory was soon spotted in the distance, below the looming prow of Sron Scourst. 

After 30 minutes of walking, I reached the observatory. Timber-built, with a turf roof, it has large picture windows that allow for expansive views to the north and west.

Being a weekend, the observatory was full of people. The only place to sit was on a bench at the back, which still provided a good view.

After spending some time in the observatory - without spotting any birds - I returned south along the track to the bridge over Abhainn Mhiabhaig. The bridge is a good place to start the climb to the Sron Smearasmal beehive. The cell lies a kilometre west of the track and involves an elevation gain of 170 metres. It was hot and humid, but a steady breeze kept the midges at bay

There are two cells here (NB 0900 0749). One is completely intact but only the foundation remains of the second. The intact cell is four metres in diameter at its base, two metres high to the top of the dome, and has four cupboards built into its lower walls. 

Although it has collapsed, the second cell has a unique feature, a two-metre-deep rectangular compartment that may have been a sleeping place. You can see its entrance in the previous photo. 

Although over a decade had passed since my last visit, the cell looked the same, unlike the cell at Clar Beag, that I returned to a few years ago only to discover that it had collapsed. I crawled into the cell, cracked open a can of Export, and listened as the wind blew through gaps in the cell wall.

From the cell, a gentle descent to the south across the heather-covered hillside led to the highway and the waiting car. As related in Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides, the last time I was here was also a Sunday. I had been unable to find a meal and had to settle for a banana sandwich and tea from my B&B hostess. I was better prepared this time. I had booked a table, and an hour later dined at the Harris Hotel. The steak pie and a pint were much better than that banana sandwich and tea,

A Shot of Rum

Two weeks ago I had a few hours of shore leave on Rum. Not enough time to do much. But time enough to do something exciting. After passing in front of the sad-looking and fenced-off Kinloch Castle, I made my way to the bridge over the Kinloch River. Once over the bridge, a turn to the left led to the start of the North Nature Trail. A thousand feet later, at an elevation of 100 feet, the trail made a hard left turn to the west. It was time to leave the easy track and dive into the hard wilderness.

Hard wilderness may seem an exaggeration. But it was hard, it was wild, with seemingly endless stretches of three-foot-tall hummocks of grass. Each hummock hid one of three things: a deep hole, a patch of swamp, or a stream. It was slow going, made easier now and then by deer trails. How in the hell deer ran along these paths without plunging into a hole and breaking a leg is a mystery.

It was a swelteringly hot day. Whenever I stopped to cool off the midges and clegs showed up in force, so the respites were short. The despairing challenge of the hummocks was interspersed with sections of blessedly shaded woodland. But it was not much of a blessing, as it required multiple detours around impassable swaths of trees. Here and there dead stumps rose from the ground. Whenever I grabbed one for support it crumbled to dust. Dead and dried. I felt dead and dried. I was also worried about ticks, so avoided sitting on the ground to rest, as I ascended eastward across the shoulder of Meall a’ Ghoirtein.

A half-hour later, I reached the tree line at an elevation of 300 feet. The GPS indicated I had another 200 feet to climb and a quarter mile of terrain to cross to reach my destination. Twenty minutes later I noticed a structure built upon a strange, arch-shaped boulder. The boulder was ten feet by five, and the structure was what I’d been searching for: an intact beehive cell, eight feet high at its centre.

There are nearly 400 shieling huts on Rum, and over a hundred of them were circular cells. Only about three of the beehive type are still intact, and this cell, high on the slopes above Kinloch Castle, is one of them. It was a stunning location, with a wide view over the mouth of Loch Scresort. Most of Eigg could also be seen, with the high prow of An Sgùrr pointing skyward.

There was a low, lintelled entrance on the east side of the cell. Ticks be damned, I crawled inside. The interior was blissfully cool, and mysteriously shielded from the barrage of persistent midges. The dome was not perfectly built, and several gaps allowed shafts of sunlight to illuminate the interior.

The floor was covered with a thick layer of dried thatch, which would make it a comfortable place to nap. Large, flat stones lay under the thatch; stones that strangely clanked when any pressure was applied, hinting that there may be storage chambers below them. I was beat in the heat and had limited time, so was not in the mood to nap or look under the stones.

The cell was once part of a shieling village, and the ruins of several other structures dotted the nearby hillside. It seemed like an odd place for shielings, on the steeply sloping ground below Meall a’ Ghoirtein. But the hill’s name hints at why the settlement was here, as it roughly translates to the Hill of Cultivation (OS Name Book, Argyll Vol. 63, p.67). It was a beautiful spot, with an open view over Loch Scresort. The loch was as calm as a mill pond, and along with several sailing yachts I could see our ship, Hjalmar Bjorge, lying at anchor. 

The reinforcements the midges had called for then showed up in force. It was time to "run away, run away". On the way back to the pier I wandered around the fenced-off Kinloch Castle. On its porch lay several mouldering benches. The sight of one of them took me back to another sunny day, twenty-six years before. It was 1997, and my wife and I had just returned from the fifteen-mile round-trip walk to see the mausoleum at Harris. We were staying in the ‘Sir William Bass’ bedroom on the southwest corner of the castle’s top floor. Before going in to freshen up, with ankles afire from the long, stony walk, we rested on a white bench beside the main entrance. (The following photo is from 1997.)

Over a quarter-century had passed since that day of memory. The bench was now faded and cracked, as was the castle.

I walked around to peer up at the windows of the turreted Bass Bedroom and wondered what it looked like today—probably faded and cracked. Plans are afoot to renovate the castle. I hope they succeed. I’d like to bring Shawna back to Rum someday to stay, once again, in that grand bedroom, before I, too, am faded and cracked.

Note: My thanks to John Love for the information on the location of the cell.

The Beehive of Both a' Ghriosamul - A Message in a Bottle

In section 2.6.2 of Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides I wrote about a visit to the remote cell at Both a' Ghriosamul. It lies two miles east of Kinlochresort and requires a dedicated effort to reach. I visited the cell on May 21, 2019, and after crawling into it I found a couple of old, empty bottles. One had once held whisky, and the other looked to have been for something medicinal.

It was a blazing hot day, and so I sheltered from the sun inside the cell for a half-hour. As I did, I caught up on my journal, and since the pen was at hand, decided to leave a note for the next visitor. I tore a blank page from the back of the journal, wrote a few lines, then shoved it into the medicine bottle. After crawling out of the cell I made my way back to my campsite at Airigh an t-Sluic.

I had forgotten all about the note I wrote in 2019 until I received an e-mail on May 21, 2023: four years to the day from when I left it in the cell. The message was from Anna Mackenzie of Lewis who, along with her friend Murdo Macleod, were using my book to find the cell. On entering it they discovered my message in a bottle, and kindly sent me this photo of a note from the past.

I am delighted that the book is inspiring people to seek out these mostly forgotten cells. I would love to hear from anyone else who has done that.

Way back, in what seems like a galaxy far, far away, I wrote about a night when I was saved from hypothermia. A night when a soggy hiker stumbled upon a mostly intact shieling to shelter for the night. (See the July 28, 2017 post, which you should read first). The shieling was on the southern slopes of Beinn Rathacliet, four miles east of Carloway of Lewis. I had made the two-day hike in what became a failed attempt to find a beehive cell I'd read about in the area.

A reader recently asked if I ever found the cell. As the following story will relate, the short answer is, no. The long answer is, yes.

* * *

The failed hike occurred in July of 2017. Not finding the beehive was a big disappointment, and so a year later I once again tried to find it. It was August of 2018 when I set out from the end of the road at Pairc Siaboast, where I'd ended the one-night shieling walk the year before.

This time the pack was much lighter, as I was going to make an out-and-back day hike. I still did not know the location of the cell I'd sought the year before. But I thought there was a good chance I'd find it if I circled around Beinn Bhragair, where the map showed two large shieling sites: Gearraidh Choinnich and Gearraidh Mhàolan.

Under gray, unsettled skies, I started along the mile-and-a-half track that wends its way through Gleann Mòr Shiaboist. The track ended at the Shiaboist waterworks, where I started out across the moorland towards the saddle between Beinn Bhragair and Beinn Choinnich. It was then that things took a turn for the worse.

First came the wind. Then came the rain. Then came the exhaustion.

I'd not yet fully recovered from a three-day hike through Morsgail I'd completed the day before. It had been three days of wet weather and boggy terrain; three days that had sapped my strength. All that caught up to me five minutes after starting across the heathered terrain towards Beinn Bhragair when I stopped to put on waterproofs. Due to the rain and clouds, I could barely see my destination: the dark pass east of Beinn Bhragair. It was only a mile away, but the hard part was that I'd have to climb 500 feet. Easy peasy on a nice day, but at that moment, tired and sweating heavily in my rain gear, it felt as if I had to scale Everest.

I decided to turn back. I told myself it was because any photos taken on that wet and grey day would turn out wet and grey, and they would. But the truth was I was too old to carry on in those conditions. But old enough to know the right thing to do would be to come back on a better day the following year, when the journey would be something to enjoy, not endure.

Little did I know that COVID would have something to say about that. Several years were to pass before I once again traversed the heights of Beinn Bhragair to search for that elusive cell.

— Four Years Pass: It is now 2022 —

As it turned out, when I'd spent that rainy night in the shieling in 2017, I'd missed the cell I'd been seeking by a half mile. I learned that in the summer of 2021, just after Beehive Cell Dwellings of the Hebrides was published. I was contacted by James Crawford, who had restored the beehives of Cnoc Dubh and Eilean Fir Crothair. Among many other things, James told me the location of the cell. It was at Gearraidh Mhàolan, a shieling site south of the summit of Beinn Bhragair.

And so, in the summer of 2022, I once again walked the track to Siabost waterworks. But this time it was a dry day, not a rain cloud in sight. After traversing the west flank of Beinn Bhragair, I made the steep climb through bracken and heather to the saddle between Beinn Bhragair and Beinn Rathacleit. After cresting a few false summits, I came to a green, triangular-shaped oasis in the bog that overlooked a vast, level section of moorland. It would have been the perfect place to pitch a tent - a haven in the wilderness. And it was there that I found the elusive beehive (NB 2677 4284), along with the foundations of two other cells robbed of their stones long ago.

The beehive had obviously been tampered with. An iron pipe, possibly once used as a chimney by the cell's last occupants when it was a shieling, lay atop the ruin. Time had not been kind. The cell was reduced to about 75% of the height it had in a photo from the 1970s, and the interior was so clogged with stones fallen from the dome that there was no way to safely enter.

I left the cell and crossed the marshy saddle between Beinn Mhaol and Beinn Rathacleit, then descended to Uishal. On turning a corner, a familiar sight came into view: the shieling of my one night five years before.

It looked quite different, as it had been given some love since my last visit. The turf roof that had a big hole in it had been repaired and a fiberglass skylight installed. Also different was the door: there was one. In 2017, there was just an iron bar placed diagonally across the entrance to keep out the sheep. The shieling now sported a shiny aluminum door, held in place by that same iron bar. After removing the door, I stepped inside to discover that all the junk had been cleared away.

The next three photos show the interior as I found it in 2017. (The third photo shows the sheep skull that had grinned at me during that cold, restless night in 2017).

The following photos show the cleaned up interior found in 2022.

I was happy to discover that the eerie sheep skull had been given a proper burial somewhere. After securing the door firmly in place I started the three-mile walk back to the car.

Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides - Book Review

Note: I will be pausing the blog until May, when I hope to be able to share the stories of some new Hebridean adventures. 

* * *

The following review of Beehive Dwellings of the Hebrides appeared in the Stornoway Gazette. The review was written by Frank Rennie, who has allowed me to reproduce it here. The book can be purchased via the following link: 

https://acairbooks.com/books/books/non-fiction-books/nature-non-fiction-books/beehive-dwellings-of-the-hebrides/

__________________________________________________________

Stornoway Gazette, August 29, 2021

There sometimes appears a book that you return to again and again, browsing the pages to discover (and re-discover) the delights of the contents. This is one of those books. This is a book for armchair reading that will inspire you to check the weather forecast and look out your old walking boots, because you will want to investigate for yourself the gems listed in these pages. There has been very little written about the beehive structures of the Hebrides, and much of what has been published is in a format of academic writing that may capture the details, but often lacks the excitement and the essence of exploring these buildings in their natural landscape. This book by Marc Calhoun does both, superbly. At 260 pages of large format text and beautifully illustrated with 285 colour photographs, plus diagrams, and orientation sketch maps, this is undoubtedly the most comprehensive, and the most readable, account of the beehives yet produced. It is not a small, pocket-sized publication, but rather a well-documented account to spread out on your lap in your favourite armchair and savour the planning of innumerable journeys to view the locations for yourself.

The text is written in an easy, informal style, but it takes the reader along on the journey of the expeditions and explorations of his 20+ years of visiting these strange structures. The beehive dwellings get their name from the curious domed structure of their dry-stone construction, like small, rounded, dumps of stone on the landscape of the moor and hill. In reality, they were used for several different purposes, from small summer shielings to storage rooms, or as cells of the early Celtic clerics, and possibly even some of them as the homes of the earliest hunter-gathering communities to settle in these islands. All of this contributes to a rich heritage in stone that, although resilient in its building components, is fragile in its construction and even more tenuous in its recorded history. In Lewis, Harris, and North Uist, in the scattered islands of the Inner Hebrides and the outliers of the far northwest, the author has visited, catalogued, and described a hundred or so beehive structures, giving each a short text accompanied by a precise grid reference and map description, and where relevant the identification number in the Canmore archaeological archive.

You may be surprised to find that you can write so much about such simple ruins, but you would be mistaken. If you know the region at all, you will want to turn to your favourite location(s) (the list is presented geographically) and study how to find the beehives in that area, (if there are any, for these are uncommon relics of the past). There is a fair chance that, unless you have prior knowledge, you may have walked close by a tumbled-down beehive without realising it. If you are not familiar with the off-road parts of these islands, but you like walking and you have even a passing interest in heritage or archaeology, then you will likely next reach for your collection of OS maps to prepare for your next walking trip.

One of the beauties of this publication is that not only is it the most comprehensive account to date of the beehive dwellings over the whole range of the Inner and Outer Hebrides, (including a detailed appendix giving the sources of further archaeological and historical information on each area) but that the author has personally visited each location. His enthusiasm and dedication to charting the history and geographical distribution of these ancient buildings is evident throughout the book. The text is sprinkled with passing references to the appearance of a structure, or the views from the door, or simply a memory of a visit, and these anecdotes bring to life the discoveries. As you flip through the pages, the wonderful colour photographs highlight different aspects of interest (archaeological, architectural, and historical) and provide an important record of this aspect of our heritage that has generally been neglected (apart from the dry descriptions in old academic journals). The author has a word of caution about visiting some of these sites, because the dry-stone walls are sometimes precariously balanced after years of neglect, but the locations of most of them mean that we are unlikely to see a flood of visitors seeking to clamber over the remains. Part of the attraction in these buildings is also part of the reason that they were built, and why they have lasted intact for so long, namely that they are generally far from roads and villages. Simply getting to the sites (and being able to find the structure once you get there!) will require more than a little effort, and is a large part of the reward for that effort. If you are not able to trek the moor to see them in real life, this book, for the first time,  provides a satisfying proxy to enjoy the journey from your armchair.

This is a scholarly publication that is a pleasure to read simply for fun. I am dipping into it, in no particular order, and the multiple joys that this book contains are suggesting not one, but many day trips and island walks that will combine physical and mental stimulation in the outdoors during the coming months. This book will be available for consultation on my coffee table for quite some time before it gets archived on my bookshelf.

Marc Calhoun Beehive dwellings of the Hebrides: A photographic record.
Acair: Stornoway. ISBN 9-781-78907-077-4 £20.00

Cleit nam Bothan Aird

A full year has passed since my last trip to the islands. I hope it won't be that long before I get back. It is photos like the one below that keep me planning return trips; trips that will be better than ever. That's because looking at photos like this make me realize how complacent I'd become, taking for granted that every year I'd be able to throw a pack on my back and find an island campsite with views like this. 

The photo shows the view to the sea from the summit of Cleit nam Bothan Aird, which lies a mile east of the head of Loch Tealasbhaigh. The large loch in the foreground is Loch na Caillich. In the far distance is the island of Scarp, and off to its right end lies the little island of Cearstaigh. No one can look at a photo like that and not want to sit on that panoramic spot and watch as the sun sets over the sea between St Kilda and the Flannans. I will no longer take something like that for granted, and will treat the next time as if it was the last.

The view the other way was just as memorable: in the foreground is a splendid example of the beehive builder's art, with the high hills of Harris in the far distance.

Loch an Ath Ruaidh

In May of 2017 I camped for two nights by a beautiful loch in the remote interior of southwest Lewis. I had not planned to camp there. I'd wanted to make it all the way to the Aird Mhor, at the mouth of Loch Reasort. The hike had started at Kinlochrog. But due to the difficult terrain, after eight hours of hiking I'd only traversed ten miles. My legs were shot, and the pack seemed to get heavier with every step. It was getting late, and Aird Mhor was still another two hilly miles west. So I decided to call it a day and find a campsite. 

Circumstances create memories. The campsite I found was absolutely amazing. It was on the grassy shore of a little loch; a loch hidden in a cradle of hills; hills rich with deer, grouse, snipe, and the occasional eagle.  Oh, and one other thing - hills full of shielings and beehive cells.

The name of the loch is Loch an Ath Ruaidh, the loch of the red-stone ford. It is compact, only about four acres in size. Early hunter-gatherers appreciated this site; plenty of game, fresh water, and shelter provided by the surrounding hills. They liked it so much they built six beehive dwellings around the loch. The following photo, taken near a beehive on the north end of the loch, shows the locations of several of the cells.

Loch an Ath Ruaidh remains one of my favorite Hebridean campsites. I was fortunate in 2017, as it was sunny, with just enough of a breeze to keep the midges away. When I returned to the loch two years later, it was a cold, wet, and windy day. I decided to camp in a different location, as I did not want to ruin the memory of what had been a perfect island campsite. 

What follows are photos of Loch an Ath Ruaidh from 2017. My little blue tent shows up in all but the final photo. That one shows the only company I had during three sunny days in the Aird Mhor.

Islay to Cork - Day 15 - The Dingle Way

On Friday, September 20, we woke to promising sunshine. After breakfast I jumped ship and walked to the Oifig Failte, the tourist welcome center. I was hoping to have a cab take me out to Slea Head, ten miles to the west, then walk the Dingle Way back to town. The friendly attendant at the tourist office called a cab for me and, while waiting for its arrival, I was joined by six others also wanting a cab. Fifteen minutes later a large, black, unmarked van showed up, and we all squeezed inside - sounds a bit like the beginning of a murder mystery . . .  they were never seen again . . .

The van sped out of town along the highway to Slea Head. Four of the passengers were dropped at Ventry to walk the Dingle Way west to Dunquin, the opposite direction I would be going. Fifteen minutes later we came to a stop next to a large tour bus surrounded by people. Gulp... This was my stop: the west end of the Glen Fahan beehive cell cluster. Turns out it's a regular stop for tour buses; the people piling out for a chance to see a beehive cell, pet a lamb, and use the toilet.

I waited in line to pay the three-euro fee, and then along with two dozen others walked up to the first cell. Only fifty feet from the road, it was one of the most complete and exquisite cells in existence. It was swarming with people, so there was no way to get a good photo. I thought I'd wait for them to leave, as they had only been given fifteen minutes to look around. But this group had no sooner started to depart than guess what - three more buses arrived - disgorging over a 100 people; the owner of the property eagerly collecting three euros from each one. In the thirty minutes I was there he must have collected 400 euros.

Fortunately there were many more beehives well out of range of the bus-bound tourists. The Dingle Way traversed the hillside 600 feet above the road, but before climbing up to the path I managed to get a fairly good photo of the road-side beehive. But I have to admit I photoshopped out one tourist who was determined to linger to the last minute.

As I climbed the hillside I passed another beautiful example of the beehive-builders art. This one with an encircling kerb that once supported a turf covering.

One of the Fahan Beehives - The Dingle Way can be seen at upper right

I found the path and started walking back towards Dingle - the route following a grassy swath through heather and spiky gorse. A sheep dog suddenly bounded up and started leading the way. Ignoring my attempts to chase him off, he would accompany me for the first mile. Along the way we passed several examples of massive multi-chambered cells, their domes long since collapsed.

My guide leads the way

That first mile included an astounding number of beehives dotting the hillside on both sides of the Glen Fahan River.

At the river ford I heard a whistle and a shout. The dog's ears perked up, and he dashed back the way we'd come. I saw a man on a quad bike far below - the dog's owner - I'd lost my guide.

Crossing the Glen Fahan River

Twenty miles to the south, hidden in the haze, was the island of Skellig Michael (see these posts). There is some thought that the beehives of Glen Fahan were used to shelter pilgrims who'd come to make the pilgrimages to Skellig Michael and Mount Brandon. On Skellig are the well-preserved ruins of a monastic settlement dating to the 6th century, and it was a pilgrimage site well into the 18th century. You can read more on the subject of the use of beehive cells as pilgrim accommodations in Peter Harbison's excellent Pilgrimage in Ireland. If the subject of Skellig Michael appeals, there are two books I highly recommend: Geoffrey Moorhouse's Sun Dancing; and The Forgotten Hermitage of Skellig Michael by Horn, Marshall and York. (You can find an on-line version of the latter here.)

Looking south from Glen Fahan - Skellig hidden in the sea haze

Great Blasket in the distance (right)

Leaving the beehives behind I traversed the flanks of Mount Eagle as I carried on east. It was beautiful terrain, and it felt so good to be afoot for a long walk after so much sea travel. Two miles into the walk the path made a steep descent to the highway, where a sign indicated I had no choice but to follow the busy road. It was an unpleasant walk of fifteen minutes, buses and cars zipping by, before a sign indicated the route left the highway to follow a grassy path into farmland.

The Dingle Way continues to the east

As I walked the next section of the Dingle Way I once again appreciated Scotland and its right to roam. Many of the fields the trail passed had no-trespassing signs of some sort. Several signs proclaimed This is Not a Playground! The only warning symbol missing from these signs was one indicating radioactive waste was present. I'd not be taking any shortcuts on this walk.

One landowner had gone as far as hiring a big beefy security guard.

The path led to a quiet county lane that ended at the white sands of Ventry Strand: the name Ventry a corruption of the Gaelic Fionn Traigh (white beach). The wind had been strong all day, and a kite surfer was making the most of it.

In the time it took to walk the strand, a mile of gentle sand, the kite surfer had made four transits. The strong wind occasionally flinging him twenty feet into the air. The town of Ventry lay at the head of the strand. In the mood for some refreshment I stopped at the Ventry Inn for a pint.

The rest of the Dingle Way was a three-mile walk on quiet country lanes. But the walk got a bit noisy when the route came to the highway on the western outskirts of Dingle. From here on the route followed busy roads. As I crossed the bridge over the Milltown River I encountered our guide Chris on the lookout for wildlife.

I was tempted here to take a look at the nearby Dingle Distillery, housed in an old sawmill on the banks of the river. But after four hours afoot my legs were shot, and I decided to find a restaurant where I could rest up and enjoy a pint and some fish and chips.

I did find some fish and chips, but they were ghastly - the skin-on variety. I am firmly on the skin-off side when it comes to the great fish and chips debate. On the plus side, the local stout I had was fantastic.

On the way back to the marina I passed this statue of Fungie the dolphin.

Dingle tourism has lived off Fungie for decades. He was first seen in 1983, so the dolphin was at least twenty years old when I saw him here in 2003. Bottlenose dolphins generally live for about twenty-five years. So if Fungie is still alive he must have very good genes, as he'd be nearly forty years old.

Another pub-crawl followed dinner. It was Friday night, and the town was filled with tourists seeking out live music. Many of the fifteen pubs in town had performers, and a group of us from Hjalmar Bjorge managed to get a table in one of them. Dingle malt whiskey was on offer, but at 18 Euros a dram I gave it a pass.

Overcast cold skies loomed overhead as we left the marina the following morning. Cork, our final destination, was 150 miles away, and with the coming storm we needed to be there in two days. As we motored out of Dingle we had no idea where we'd be spending the night, just that we had to cover about eighty miles before dropping the hook. More adventures lay ahead.

Leaving Dingle