There are places we go that take us back in time, where the sounds and smells, and the feel of the ground under our feet says ‘you are home’. The Camac has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. It has been part of my family history. It is the
I was 12 when it happened, so cast your mind back to 1974! We lived on a dairy farm but had a field two miles away. Every day after I arrived home from school, my Mother would have a well-prepared hot meal waiting for me but once consumed, I would walk to this field to
I love steering a barge through the winding countryside canalways. I enjoy seeing the cows and horses wandering alongside, the occasional bemused dog and of course the rare kingfisher flash of blue. I often wonder at how horses used to pull massive M-boats, with only a hint at their majesty remaining in the ridges and
Once my mother was visiting her sister in hot, sunny Florida. She was really looking forward to her holiday and seeing her sister. They were going to go on a road trip to Key West on the southern tip of Florida which is popular with tourists. During their stay, they saw an advertisement to do
I walked, heading South West, on the little road that ran along the edge of Bunduff lake in North Sligo. It is one of those lanes with a spine of grass running down the middle. Locally, the road is called “The Frolic”. No one knows why it is called that. Perhaps a hark back to
It was a warm school day. I knew that because I was only six or seven years old, and I was, indeed, in school. Senior Infants, to be exact. Behind my school, there was a small garden area- although given my tiny size, it may as well have been an Olympic stadium. It was filled
After an enjoyable evening fishing on the river Slaney, four anglers met in Deanes Bar, Bunclody. Whilst enjoying a few pints of the black stuff, the conversation turned to what had happened during the day’s fishing on the river. As they continued to enjoy their pints, each of the men claimed to have a great
Allow me to recall the culmination of events in the village of Mountshannon, on the western shore of Lough Derg. On this night in the early hours of June 2 2008, perhaps a hundred souls or more, most born and bred there, many others long blown in, a few for the first time, danced with
Scéalaí: Cad is ainm duit? Bradán: Airgead is aimn dom. Scéalaí: Sin ainm ait! Bradán: Tá dath airgead nó geal ar mo chraiceann. Scéalaí: Cad as tú? Bradán: Sin scéal fada. Inseoidh mé an scéal duit anois… I mí Deireadh Fómhair I 2018 bhí tuile san tSiúir. Bhí m’athair agus mo mhátháir sa fharraige timpeall
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
Late last spring, when schooling and work had taken its toll on the whole family, I needed space. I needed solitude. Ideally somewhere wild, in nature, with flowing water. The canoe was hauled from under the hedge and loaded onto the roof-rack. Two tie-straps later and about as many minutes’ drive to the river Fergus
A young boy, to the ducks, threw some bread. “Not so close!” his parents berated. But too hard did he throw, Went head over toe, And sulked his way home, saturated.