Hiking in Ireland – 4

I stayed in my hotel room for breakfast, since I had leftover pizza.

Thus I was in place to spot a new bird, the European Shag (what we would call a “Cormorant”).

Looks like another day of hiking in the rain!

Our first “wee ramble” was to a site that demonstrated the typical syncretism between superstitious and Christian traditions that are prevalent in Ireland.

“Disert” or “Dysert” means “place of solitude,” and the site was first a place of pilgrimage for medieval monks, for study and prayer.

The stiles were very hiker-friendly, but effective to keep the sheep from wandering.

Our guide Shane explained the power of the Hawthorn, or “fairy tree,” which is both feared and beloved. It is considered extreme bad luck to cut one down. Farmers will leave them standing in the center of fields, and roads have been diverted around them.

We skipped the remnants of the actual gravesite, and stopped at a centuries-old altar. The Catholic mass is celebrated here on the first Saturday in June.

Supposedly men carry the rounded stones from the altar to the nearby well 3X and back to test (or enhance?) their virility.

Holy water — good for eye diseases and general blessing.

A stone to lie on for curing backaches.

And here you grab a rock and then circle through the arch 3X, then replace the stone on top–for luck and more general healing and blessing. It probably helps to say some Pater Nosters and Hail Mary’s while you’re at it.

She’s weaving a St. Brigid’s cross, in case all the other rituals weren’t working for her, I guess.

Our second wee ramble was along country roads in Ardnamona Woods.

Nancy volunteered as “sweep”, the last person in a hiking group, to make sure no one gets left behind.

I searched in vain for birds out in the marshes of Lough Eske.

We took a break from the soggy weather in a ritzy hotel–for a restroom stop and a special treat.

There’s jam, and there’s whipped cream. So there must be . . . . . . .

SCONES!

Then it was back out for a bit more walking.

One of the infamous “famine pots” that served soup during The Great Hunger of 1845-1851. It’s not called a “famine” by most of the Irish today, because during this time, although the potato harvest was compromised by the blight, other food crops and mutton were still being exported out of the country by the British.

The Choctaw Indian Nation is remembered with great appreciation, among other foreigners who sent money to Ireland to help feed the people there.

To be certain, I could’ve been hiking in western Washington.

After we got back to Donegal, Nancy and I took an afternoon walk along the River Eske.

It was too wet to actually sit to eat our picnic lunch, so we munched while walking.

The river flows into Donegal Bay.

At the far end of our walk, Nancy spotted an Eurasian Curlew out in the mudflats.

And that DID make me smile, despite the less-favorable weather!