On the 22nd July 1996 John and I set sail in our 21 foot drop keel yacht for Inis Oir from the Galway Boat Club in lovely sunny weather with a gentle northerly breeze. On our left, and to the south, were the slate grey hills of the Burren that they ran all the way
A grey sky lay over the Twelve Bens mountains, and Roundstone was drowning in the humidity of an August afternoon. It hadn’t rained in Connemara for five long weeks, but the ferocious sky above Roundstone Bay forewarned the village of the monumental downpour to come. Jimmy remembered his grandad out on Inishnee, across the bay
It’s amazing how you can spend your whole life passing through a space, and still know so little of it. Caught up in the clamour of everyday life, you often overlook the backstreets and the laneways. The nooks and crannies off the beaten path from which we seldom stray. The lockdown changed that for lots
Sitting here in a shady spot, the sun is sparkling over the water. The Cathedral is in full view as is the weir with that wonderful curving sweep. The Salmon Weir bridge downstream has locals and tourists hanging over it, looking for elusive salmon on their way upstream. To my right, the water is quiet
Growing up I was incredibly lucky with the location of our house. We lived right beside the River Shannon and Lough Derg. From a noticeably young age my brothers and my dad would take me out with them in the boat, or even just go for a swim in the lake. We were members of
2006 was the centenary of Fr. Pat O’Loughlin’s arrival in Gurteen. Fr. Pat was a colourful individual, responsible for many projects in the parish, among them, a series of Sunday afternoon dances on the islet at the centre of Loughnahinch Lake. Two boats carried patrons to and from the dances and the all-in fee was
A white enamel mug with a blue rim sat on a little stone with a tuft of grass shading it. Always turned upside down, ensuring that no insect would invade it, when not in use. This mug had a small chip on the bottom of it exposing a dark rust colour. This colour was similar
Growing up by the shores of Lough Mask provided me with a collection of unique and happy memories. Those hazy summer mornings were spent saving hay with family members, awaiting a trail of young people in twos and threes. Heading back the road with their towels rolled under their arms. No texts to communicate your
My Father’s wellies are making a soft rhythmic sound as they flap against the back of his corduroy trousers, it is a balmy summer evening after a light shower. I must be four or five years old. Hand in hand, we are walking back to my Grandma’s house from another fishing adventure. She has walked
Is páiste na farraige mé. Is I mí lúil ar bhád iascaireacht idir Inis Mór agus Ros a Mhíl a rugadh mé. Mi an t-uisce má chreideann tú i gcomharthaí na Sloidiaca. Táim comportach leis an bhfarraige ó thús mo shaol. Is í m’áit shabhálta í agus is aoibhinn liom a bheith ar an uisce.
I gaze out my village window at the rippling waves of grey-green luminescence that carry the ocean tide into Roundstone Bay. The witnessing of these daily tides takes on a greater importance now in this time of Corona virus lockdown. The repetitive daily cycles, governed by the moon and the ceaseless spinning of our planet,
On the 1 of December 1977 at 8am Uncle Paddy and I rowed out of Killeenaran pier heading for the Clarinbridge oyster bed a mile away. Our craft was a traditional Galway Bay flat which had seen better days. It had lain rotting since my father had retired from dredging oysters ten years previously. Thanks