Ireland in Depth

So how was I to know that there are two Irelands? I quickly learned there are: The Republic of Ireland and its nearest neighbor, Northern Ireland. We visited the larger Republic of Ireland, an independent state covering the lower 80% of the island and not the six counties comprising Northern Ireland that surround Belfast and remain a part of England. The most important tourist sites are in the lower part, The Republic of Ireland.

We began our tour in the port city of Galway on the west coast at the base of the famed Galway Bay, that expanse of water forever immortalized by Bing Crosby. From there we circumnavigated the island ending our visit in the largest of its cities, Dublin. We liked the smaller cities and the beautiful countryside best, especially the never-ending parade of small farms and expansive pasture fields. There are surely more sheep and cows in Ireland than people.

Galway was an engaging small city that seemed big with its hundreds of tiny shops and historical venues. Many of the storefronts were original, medieval buildings made from stone. The most interesting was the front of a house owned by a Lord Mayor of the city several hundred years ago. The Lord Mayor gained renown after he used the upper window of his house as a gallows to hang a criminal accused of murdering a Spanish sailor. Since the Spanish were the most important trading partners of the Galway Irish, the Lord Mayor was not about to let anything interfere with continued success in trade. Besides, he said, he loved justice and the Spanish demanded retribution.

The problem was that Galway’s executioner refused to carry out the hanging. The reason: the criminal was the Lord Mayor’s son. The Lord Mayor decided that if the Public Executioner wouldn’t do his job, he would perform the task himself. He did and the deed was forever recorded in history. The name of the dedicated politician who executed his own son by hanging – Lord Mayor Lynch.

Galway’s Cathedral (in a town of 15,000 people)

After Galway we visited the region of Connemara to the north and learned about the Irish potato famine of 1845. The potato blight and the actions of the wealthy landowners resulted in the deaths of a million Irish people and the immigration of another million. A large share of the immigrants came to the U.S. in their desperate search for food. One of the moving sites that we saw was a monument to U.S. citizens who collected money to support the Irish during the famine and emigration. The U. S. citizens who helped were identified, they were Choctaw Indians who had endured similar, unspeakable hardships as a result of eviction from their native lands some years earlier.

Sculpture Commemorating Irish Famine

One of the most beautiful spots we visited was Kylemore Abbey, a former castle owned by a wealthy Irishman who spent a fortune for his wife. Sadly, she died at age 46 shortly after the castle was completed. The castle was fronted by a lake and surrounded by beautiful gardens. Interestingly, the construction of the castle was one of the few projects completed during the famine and the owner helped provide work for many hungry Irish during the several years of its construction.

Kylemore Abbey

Of course, no visit to Ireland would be complete without a visit to Blarney Castle. I decided not to kiss the Blarney stone as I preferred to avoid the slobber, lipstick and drool from the thousand or who bent over backwards to kiss the stone for its gift of blarney. Marjorie said I have enough already.

Blarney Castle

One of the best things about our tour was our tour director who gave us a running commentary on Ireland during our bus rides. He explained current events and noted that Ireland has the best government money could buy. He said the Irish are easily confused. For instance, you can confuse an Irishman by leaning two shovels against a wall and telling him to take his pick. He made our tour convenient also. He directed the bus driver to park anywhere after turning on his “park-anywhere flashers.”

The Dingle Peninsula in the southwest of the island offers the most attractive scenery anywhere as the tall cliffs and rolling hillsides frame the ocean with all its colors.

Pasture lands along the coastal area of Dingle

We enjoyed watching a sheep dog in action at one of the many farms. The Border Collies that are used are fearless in controlling the sheep and work their hearts out for nothing more than an occasional head pat from the master.

Another beautiful spot on the island is the famed county and national park named Kilarney. (Numerous sites in North America have been named after Kilarney.) Kilarney hosts three lakes and a river and is surrounded by mountains. It is not nearly as large as some of our national parks but it is impressive for a small island nation that is the approximate size of Indiana.

Looking Down at one of Kilarney’s Lakes

U.S. history is inextricable linked to Ireland’s past because of the huge numbers of Irish immigrants to our shores. Many of our political leaders, sports figures, entertainers and other notorious folks are of Irish descent. Many Irish expressions and place names have come into our language. When we visited the village of Cove (the last port of call of Titanic and Lusitania) we learned that a famous warrior, Strongbow, traveled there to provide support during a rebellion. Strongbow told his Irish hosts that he would arrive by sea at one of two nearby landing sites. “I’ll land either by Hook or by Crook,” he said, referring to nearby landing sites.

Memorial to Titanic Passengers at Cove

One of the noted Irish sites that we didn’t visit were the Aran Islands off the coast. (One of our party was a man who writes for a fishing magazine. He visited the islands during our tour to go fishing.) The islands are noted for fishing and for the wonderful wool sweaters that originated from there. The story of the sweaters is worth repeating.

The islanders who lived on the islands have always been ocean-going fishermen who ventured out in small boats. Like many coastal areas, the sea can become rough in a matter of minutes and being caught out in small boats can be life threatening. Bodies lost at sea were sometimes recovered months later with only a vestige of the original flesh remaining. The wives solved the problem of identifying remains by sending their husbands out with distinctive sweaters that were knitted with unique designs. Nowadays, the sweaters are knitted for tourists like me that show off the skills of the knitters.

Our tour ended at Dublin, capital city of The Republic of Ireland. Dublin had less to offer me than the other towns since it is like other modern cities around the globe with the possible exception that it seems to have more pubs per square mile than other places.
And of course they are all wonderful with their emphasis on old furnishings, old buildings and old music played by musicians who seem to enjoy playing. The beer isn’t bad either.

Guinness Tanker Heading into the Brewery for a Refill – we were following.

We liked Ireland and the folks there seemed to like us. We recommend it as a vacation spot.

Grandpa Bill

Sept. North Woods Journal

North Woods Journal

September, 2011

1

The Great Exploration & Fishing Trip of 2011

Having just returned in one piece from our 2011

camping/fishing/exploration venture in the

North Woods, it is time for me to unleash my

pen while you settle back for an account of the

rigors and adventure of a true tale in the true

north.

We prepared for our adventure some weeks

ago as we sorted through our old survival gear.

We felt we needed to be fully prepared for

exposure to black flies, wild animals, and long

periods with inadequate food and drink, not to

mention chance encounters with half-crazed

humans. And those risks would be just with the

drive to the woods.

Our destination was Algonquin Provincial Park

in northeast Ontario: 5 hours north of Toronto,

2 hours east of the Georgian Bay and just south

of the river used by the voyagers in their quest

for North American furs. Our itinerary was to

paddle from west to east on two rivers and

three lakes for a distance of some 40 miles.

Embarkation Point: Little Tea Lake.

This route was suggested by our outfitter. He

sealed the choice of routes when he offered me

the use of his fishing pole since I had forgotten

mine. “Good fishing,” he opined as he counted

my money for the fishing license. It turned out

that he was something of a sadist; giving me a

fishing pole with two exposed treble hooks and

then delivering us to the starting point an hour

and a half distant by car He chuckled as he

dropped off the canoes and hurried away

before we had a chance to discuss the option of

returning home and lying to our friends about

completing the trip.

Consigned to our fate, we drug our heavy gear

to the canoe, loaded it without sinking the boat,

and began our epic adventure on the first of

several lakes. It was pleasant the first hour and

as I paddled I imagined myself a voyager loaded

with furs headed toward Mackinaw and a cash

reward. The second hour was a little less

pleasant; the first lake seemed unending and

the canoe was moving awfully slowly. Finally,

we reached the far shore to discover that the

route to the next lake was via a river and the

river had several impassable rapids.

The solution was to unload the canoe, shoulder

the gear and hike around the rapids and then

back to the river. Simple, eh? Not so simple if

the path around the rapids is up a hill, through

the forest and over a rock-strewn path that no

self-respecting voyager would ever use more

than once, or so it seemed to me. Nevertheless,

there was no cure for it and so I proceeded to

carry the gear including the awkward fishing

North Woods Journal

September, 2011

2

pole with the treble hooks dangling close to my

face. When I arrived at the river after the first of

three rapids I discovered that there was no

ferrying service for our canoe. I retraced my

steps…

and carried the canoe over the hill, through the

forest and around the rocks to the river,

entirely forgetting the part about the voyagers

and how much fun I was having.

The next paddle down the river was entirely too

short as we came to another of those #

^&!%d

rapids and the big rocks that impeded our

progress. So it was back to the unloading,

carrying, etc.

Stopped by the rocks and rapids

After three portages on the river and a weed

filled channel that grabbed my paddle on every

stroke, we finally made it to Big Tea Lake. Our

aim was to camp on one of the many islands

that dotted the lake. Mercifully, we found one

without too much difficulty and so one more

time I unloaded the boat, carried the gear and

lifted, eerrr… dragged the canoe ashore for a

much needed rest and evening cocktails. I was

too tired to fish so I dropped the fishing pole

along with the gear and suddenly noticed that

the treble hooks had ensnared the fabric of the

straps of my pack.

The air all around turned blue for a moment

while I considered the impact of spending a

night in the tent with a fishing pole thrust

through the door while it was firmly connected

to some of my equipment. I might have left that

situation till morning if I had been able to get to

my food. Since the prospect of an evening

without suste

nance wasn’t appealing, I

searched through my gear to discover my trusty

knife with 14 special blades and began to

extricate my pack from the clutches of the

fishing pole. Ultimately, I was successful so that

the evening passed without further frustration

and I was able to nurse my sore muscles.

The next day came early and so we broke camp,

loaded gear and began the paddle toward the

next lake. After an hour of paddling, we came to

the end of Big Tea Lake and found the portage

that led to the next lake, Manitou. This

thousand foot portage carried us up the

obligatory hill and then down to the lake where

we spread our eatables on a large grey rock and

had our lunch of tuna, cold lake water, and a

few cookies that were only partially crushed by

the weight of the pack.

North Woods Journal

September, 2011

3

We found another island in Manitou Lake

where we stopped to set up camp. After dinner

I snapped the fishing pole together for an

expected pleasant evening spent in reeling in a

few lunkers for the following day’s meal. After

less than a dozen casts I felt a tug on the line.

Surely I had a big one. I tugged the line and it

seemed to tug back. I waited a moment but the

line went quiet. I tugged again and the line

seemed firm so I waited once more.

After several minutes of this back and forth

tugging, it finally dawned on me that the treble

hooks had once again become ensnared. This

time the offending ensnarement was either a

large rock or a log at the bottom of the lake.

“Ah ha!” I chortled, as I determined that no

simple log or rock would destroy my fishing and

my chance for immortality in capturing the

largest fish of season. I was wrong. In the event,

I walked down the beach, stumbled on some

rocks and broke the fishing line with my one

and only borrowed lure still firmly engaged in

holding fast to a sunken obstacle put there by

the devil.

I spent the evening by the fire, calculating the

cost of the lost lure and the excuse that I would

generate for having lost it. The aggravation was

lost when the sun went down to reveal a

greater pleasure:

The next day was like the previous: more

paddling and carrying of gear. In early afternoon

the weather had changed for the worse and we

decided to camp early.

Clouds come to earth with rain

The rain brought storms and wind making us

wind-bound to our island. It wasn

’t at all

unpleasant as we played games, read books,

and relaxed our sore muscles. The wind lifted

the next day to reveal a perfectly calm lake,

ideal for continuing our journey.

Calm water for rest of the journey

North Woods Journal

September, 2011

4

We paddled to the end of Manitou Lake for

another river and another series of portages.

One was the longest of our trip, nearly 1200

meters or ¾ of a mile. By this time our muscles

had grown accustomed to the insults of

portaging and so the up and downhill trips were

manageable. However, at one of the portages, I

noticed that my pack had fallen over.

Unfortunately, the unlucky fishing pole now

minus the lure with the nasty treble hooks, was

lying beside the pack when it fell.

I noticed something different when I reached to

pick up my pack and the rest of the gear

including the fishing pole - the spinning reel

came apart in my hand. That

&-$33@d heavy

pack had broken the reel clean into two pieces!

Now I had to face the sadist again and pay for

his broken reel. No doubt he would claim that it

was an expensive reel; probably not suitable for

use by an inexperienced camping tenderfoot

and it was too bad that the broken reel and lost

lure had spoiled my fishing. Then he would

assume a troubled look as he collected my

money and mentally catalogued a funny story

for his fellow outfitters during the winter

’s

drinking. The shame of it all!

Instantly, it all came together for me. When we

finished our trip in two more days I strode

confidently to the outfitter with my wallet in

hand to pay for the damaged reel and lost lure.

“

You were right,” I said. “The fishing was great. I

would

’a landed him but he was so big he plum

broke this old reel of yours. What do I owe?

”

Grandpa BIll