Day 16 - Slieve League and Studio Donegal

Monday, 30 September 2019

This morning we're heading to the coast. We're trying to be a bit more restrained on the gluttony front. The delicious fresh breads on the breakfast buffet don't make that easy but I resist. The sweet dark brown wheaten breads in Ireland have been wonderful all along the way. I thought it would be the quality and variety of potato dishes available that created a key culinary memory, but no, it's the wheaten breads. 

It's yet another early start for us today because we've booked the first tour of the day with Sliab Liag Boat Trips. Paddy's warned us to allow plenty of time from Ardara because there's roadwork, so we're allowing what he suggested and more. Don't want to be late, there's some scenic driving along the way my research tells me.  The road ahead has us watching as a dense blanket of cloud sits along the crest of a range over to the west. 

I'm getting cocky, or perhaps it's fatigue from the long string of short stays. I didn't check the manifesto when we were leaving and somehow the name that popped into my head to program the navigation is Killybegs. We're a fair way progressed on the drive before I realise I should have been heading to Teelin. Ooops. Damn, we missed driving Glengesh Pass. I rationalise it away of course,  we've avoided the roadwork and the weather is fairly misty today, perhaps it's not great visibility through the pass. 

Approaching the Rusty Mackeral

We make the turns to Teelin and find our way around the water to Teelin Pier passing the Rusty Mackeral which looks so inviting with the artwork on the side of the building as we approach. 

Teelin Estuary/Harbour

It's cold and slightly damp and very quiet at the pier and we are little early. We watch the clouds drift over the peaks and wander around the area, admiring the shallow boats pulled into the lee of protectively solid walls. 

Teelin Harbour in the late 19th century was the leading cod fishing port in Ireland, landing even more fish than Killbegs in that great era of over fishing. Now, Teelin is better known for the quality of its fiddle playing, and perhaps Paddy's boat trips out to Slieve League. 

Teelin Pier

We get a hint as to the perils of a life on the water and the devout faith of the community as we contemplate a little glass cased alter with holy statue. A white van comes racing down the approach road and parks. Greetings and clarifications of identity. We board the boat. Paddy's waiting for some people who phoned last night that wan't us was it? It wasn't but we'll be a small party anyway. Paddy ducks off to do a bit of this and that while we wait so we disembark and prowl around for a while longer but eventually we're all here and heading out into the harbour, feeling very lucky that the conditions are so calm. 

The rocks of the coastline reflect a turbulent geological past. Layers of rock are broken and uplifted, or in other places look like roughly kneaded scone dough. Silver ribbons of fresh water fall down to the rocky shore, having soaked through the coastal heath now in autumn colour. 

Looking at the map on the wall of the boat cabin we hear tales of rebellions and storms and ships blown at least 12 inches off course that explain the whys and wherefores of signal towers pimpling the coast. The British had to fight hard to keep control of this island as the tussle between the British and the French empires caught this land and it's people in quite a tug of war, while the Irishmen themselves sought to somehow manipulate the situation to the advantage of their own freedom, over an extended period in the late 18th and early 19th Century. 

We round the point and come into sight of the Slieve League cliffs, which loom higher and higher over us, their summit wreathed in cloud. The most striking effect of them is the colour. Intense green and gold, contrasted with black and white and grey. We hear stories about incredibly hardy local women who would climb down these cliffs to salvage materials washed up from wrecks along the coast. It's hard to imagine climbing and and down the cliffs at all, let alone carrying a load and at times an awkward load at that. 

We pose for photos with the cliffs behind us as we the boat maintains a seaward heading. Though none on board are from the US we all smile and laugh at George Washington's profile in the distant headland, only visible when the boat is sitting in just the right spot. Within a few clicks of the camera shutter the effect is not so clear.

Cruising back past a cute little fishing boat we have more opportunities to fill memory cards with images, as if we didn't take more than we need as it is. Mostly Hubby and I have been staying out in the open, we've come to spend time on the water more than in the boat cabin. I put my nose in and the observation is made that the three from cold climates know to keep inside out of the weather. They are more lightly dressed than we are. We are warm as toast with our coats and hoods. Conversation turns to the weather forecasts over the coming week. An intense hurricane has formed in the Eastern Atlantic. The Irish coast usually gets the weakened tail of hurricanes formed in the west off the coast of Florida, now Lorenzo is expected to hit the coast here in a few days time. Paddy and other boat owners will need to take evasive action to protect their vessels from destructive wind and seas. It will end the season as the boats run along the coast to head up river where they can be left to rest on the tidal sands away from the sea, they're much safer there. Paddy explains what he does in the off-season. What an interesting life.  I'm not sure whether to be pleased or frustrated that we'll miss the first named storm of the season and the wild conditions it will generate. No point pondering what ifs though is there. It would be silly to be sorry this outing on the water has worked out so well.
The homeward leg of any journey always goes much more quickly than the outward one. Back on dry land we thank Paddy. this is definitely a wonderful way to view Slieve League. At the car we stop briefly to talk to a woman who is on the next trip with Paddy and point out where she needs to be. We load up and commence the deliberations about where to have lunch.

Hubby's keen to give the Rusty Mackerel a go. We're a bit early for lunch and perhaps this accounts for the free spaces in the parking area across the road.  We wander into the bar where there is a peat fire burning and staff bustling. This early there's only a couple of items on the menu, full lunch service being a while away yet and we really don't want to hang about until then. It's fine. We'd likely have chosen chowder anyway. We head into the next room and settle on a table. There's only a couple of women already installed at a table over in the corner and they are well advanced on their meal. The ambience of this place is brilliant. Cosy and rustic, it's not hard to imagine it full of rowdy voices and craic. I'm not overly hungry and the chowder is not as flavourful as others we've had, reminding me a bit too much of the fish soup my mother used to make when I was a kid. Hubby gets a serve and half mine to boot. I don't need much more than the beautiful sweet brown wheaten bread.

We wonder as we leave the Rusty Mackerel whether we need to go up to Bunglass Point. The staff in the Rusty Mackerel have given us some tips. Lots of people stop at the car park before the gate thinking that's required and they're obliged to walk to the lookout. It's actually fine to go through the gate and then you can drive all the way up. You just need to make sure you close the gate behind you. So that's what we do. I'm very fond of roads which create interesting pictures as they curve and shrug their way across a landscape. Minimal interference with the topography isn't great for speed, but it does add to the charm of the road.

In the carpark nearest the viewpoint, there's a portable souvenir shop set up selling woollens and tweeds. No doubt hoping to capitalise on the convenience and the wind chill in equal measure. We are drawn across to the views and I'm surprised to find that the cliffs look even more impressive viewed from the land where there is deep sense of scale and distance. I had actually expected the reverse. 

We stand and view the Giant's Chair and Table and it's definitely seen at it's best from above. Below, I watch as Paddy and the Nuala Star move across the dark water. They're moving pretty fast. I hang about admiring the view and stalking the sheep that are grazing, unperturbed by the busy tourist traffic, as Hubby takes a little wander along the view walk trail.

Soon Hubby's back, reporting that he didn't gain much advantage from the effort and we climb back into the car to ride the black snake road back down to the gate, where the volume of traffic means we hand the open gate from one pair of hands to the next rather than actually open or close it.
Next stop is Studio Donegal where I'm keen to check out their yarns and blankets. It's a busy little spot and we are obliged to park around on the side of the building, tucked in where I'm obliged to get out of the car before Hubby parks properly. There's another religious statue in an alcove cut into the side of the hill. This must be, or at least have been, a very devout community. As we walk quickly down the tarmac in light rain, a large opening in the building frees the clickety clack of the working loom to drift out over the village, adding considerably to the charm of the place. The building itself is a bit run down looking, the consistent rain no doubt providing challenges for presentation, it doesn't seem as tourist slick as Triona in Ardara. We cautiously open the door into the shop and are welcomed warmly. A beautiful skein of purple/red yarn sitting on the nearby table catches my eye. It's a heavier weight than I would normally use. A man, who I think is the owner, greets us as he passes through and encourages us to head upstairs to see the weaving in progress. We don't need to be asked twice! Up we go and there we find a couple of men busily working. We strike up a conversation and much to my surprise, Hubby's leading for our side this time. It's normally me that's the chatty one. It's apparently difficult to attract young people to work at hand weaving, and this is possibly the greatest threat to maintaining the traditional way. I do hope that the music of the hand looms continues in this village for a long long time to come. Eventually we head into another area where spinning of the yarn is undertaken, the weaver explaining the process as it progresses around the machinery. Then we see where the loaded spools are stored. It's been a very interesting visit, but now it's time to head back down to the shop and grapple with my indecision. Hubby navigates of course, lord knows where I would end up, left to my own devices in the northern hemisphere.
I'm looking for blankets or throws and we move back into that area and find some truly lovely full sized blankets which they market as bed covers, and indeed, perhaps although once you may have covered a blanket with a quilt, today, if you were to buy a hand woven blanket, they are too much of a luxury and too beautiful to hide under something machine made. I'm sorely tempted by the beautiful blues. It's terribly hard to make a decision. So the answer is simple. Defer decision making while I go and admire the yarns. We fondle the fingering weight yarns with their slight variation in thickness and heathered colouring, holding them up to the natural light we admire the richness of the colours. My selections made in that department, it's time to bite the bullet in the blanket room.

Studio Donegal posts internationally. It's very expensive to do this to Australia, especially for the amount we've bought, but better that than stress about the weight and potential damage from suitcase zippers. We'll have another lovely parcel arriving in the week or so after we get home.
Next stop Killybegs where I'm keen to get a better look at the fishing fleet. It's still raining as we pull up. It's a shame the seafood shack isn't open today, but the boats are very impressive. We never see anything like this at home. They must take an enormous harvest from the sea to make them viable.

Trophy shots in the bag, we're back on our way to Donegal town when I spot the most remarkable sheep. Driving past its field, I do a double take. "Check out that sheep!"  We've whizzed past but I demand a turn back and luckily the beauty queen sheep is used to the attention and maintains her pose for the paparazzi. The symetry of her markings and the clear definition between black and white is very striking.

Beauty Queen Sheep

She stands her ground for several minutes and eventually decides it's time to move along on the red carpet. Others in the field are clearly wondering if I'm thinking of offering them something to eat. Hangers on, clearly. "We know Beauty Queen sheep, and we're prepared to spill all her private secrets for a carrot". They move towards me hesitantly, clearly intending to confirm the details of the deal  before making the effort to come right over.  I'm wating with camera poised for them to get into a pleasing arrangement, for which I recive only mimimal cooperation. 

The one in the middle is suing her beautician

We take a slow pass through the diamond in Donegal town. A bit of a poke around would no doubt be fun, but we've spend quite enough over the last couple of days and we're keen to get to tonight's base and settle in. Maybe best just not to be tempted. But we don't get far before I call another impromptu stop. Our path to Lough Eske Castle Hotel takes us right past a hardware store with parking at the door. We are not going to get a more convenient opportunity than this. My suggestions earlier in our trip of "Perhaps we could go to the hardware store..." have fallen like drips of water on granite. But this time, my foot is being applied firmly on the metaphorical brake. Hubby parks with a vibe of pained tolerance. I'm retrieving the photo on my phone, handily taken at Hillsborough Castle to avoid communication difficulties.  I haven't been able to find these at home. "Do you have these in stock?" Happily the response is yes, and a guided walk to the shelf location. Suffice to say, they have don't have any in stock when I leave!

Well, that was an extremely satisfying stop. Happy as a clam I sit in the passenger seat like a cheshire cat as we motor down narrow single lane road, tarmac supporting a central strip of damp moss, my goodness, would you look at that...

The entrance to Lough Eske Castle is impressive and there's a huge statue of a dragon on the lawn, leaping salmon in a fountain on the drive. We pull up in front of the stairs and a man hurries down to hold an umbrella over me as I alight from the car. Gosh. I wasn't expecting that, but it's very welcome. We walk across to check in and get a run down on the new downstairs bar where they have live music in the evenings, invitation to use the free recreation areas, pool and so forth. I already regret not booking longer here. This is amazing. I always suspected I'd feel a bit out of place in 5 star hotels: What will I wear? Will my manners be appropriate? Will I be comfortable with being waited on hand and foot to that extent? ..but I've never felt more welcome, despite being, no doubt, a somewhat dishevelled traveller.  Even though the service and assistance is at a high level, I sense no vibe of class distinction, just warmth and genuine hospitality. 

Back out at the car, car keys are handed over for valet parking and we help load our lighter items of luggage onto a cute little buggy. It's not expected we will help, we know that, but many hands make light work and we're just not comfortable standing watching while someone else does the lot, especially when it speeds the process up in rainy weather! "Hop on!" our driver says. So we climb on the back seat of the buggy, protected from the rain as we head over to our room. I decide that we should take a selfie. I am pretty new to this sort of thing and quite extraordinarily incompetent at the task. It never fails to make Hubby break into hysterics, watching me struggle to aim the camera lens in a direction that equates more or less with the location of our heads.  

Pulled up outside our room, we follow through the private air lock into was has been a conversion of mews older than European knowledge of the land of our birth. Our room is huge and comfortable. The gardens are beautiful and there's an abundance of statuary. The rain encourages a rest before dinner. We perform our nightly rituatual of battery charging and downloading of photographs. We flop onto the bed. Oh, it's beautifully comfortable, not to mention enormous. 

The time flies past and soon enough its time to change for dinner and dash across the courtyard to avoid too much of a heavenly damping down. Hubby leads the way down a long corridor to the restaurant. Another warm greeting, and we're seated at a table for two. The restauarant is quite busy, but not noisy, which is a relief.  The quality of the food is another. We're not winning any points for adventure tonight, each making utterly predictable choices from the options listed: Caramelised Onion and cheddar tart with Shallot and Walnut, a fluffy confection not at all what I was expecting but very enjoyable; Donegal crab on toast, accomanied by apple, avocado, gem and green goddess dressing;  Duck with onion, white bean and bacon obviously for Hubby... or is it? Because the final main involves Grass fed beef fillet with Shitake Mushrooms. Shitake mushrooms, if not overcooked, do not trigger my abhorence of mushrooms. Luckily. We have been persistently slack at remembering to photograph menus this trip, so I can only report that our desserts were very nice!

Another dash through the rain back to our courtyard room, some intensive resting is in order. We've another busy day tomorrow.