Monday, May 7th, 2018
Day 3: St Finbarr’s Way (Part 2) Kealkill to St Finbarr’s Oratory, Gougane Barra (10.5 miles)
It was a still, silent morning on the shores of Gougane Barra Lake, the source of the River Lee, lying in a basin carved out by ancient ice. It was quite the enchanting setting; mist hung on the tranquil waters and over Foilastookeen Mountain (540m), whose Irish name, ‘Faill an Stuaicín,’ means ‘cliff of the pinnacle.’
St Finbarr’s Oratory, on its own island at the edge of the lake and nestled beneath the mountain, marks the traditional site where the saint built his monastery in the 6th century. It was quite a fairy-tale setting, a place out of time.
St Finbarr’s Way comes down Foilastookeen, and I hoped the visibility would improve by the time I returned. St Finbarr’s Oratory stands near the ruins of a 17th-century hermitage on a tiny island overlooking the peaceful waters of the lake.
It was still early, so I left the cosy comforts of the beast to explore my tranquil surroundings.
Gougane Barra is an area of outstanding beauty, a forest park, and a heritage site. The tiny St Finbarr’s Oratory, more suited to the Austrian Tyrol, was built in 1903. The hermitage ruins date to around 1700 and include a holy well, 8 monks’ cells, and curious carved stones.
Information about these stones is scarce, but Google says that they are likely prayer stones that pilgrims would “circumambulate in a sunwise (deiseal) direction, performing a prescribed number of prayers or a specific ritual such as carving crosses into a stone.” A pilgrim altar stone once resided here, but was stolen in 2015.
In preparation for a long day ahead, I had breakfast at the Gougane Barra Hotel, sitting there among posh guests in my walking gear. Then I headed off back to Kealkill, with the very prompt and very lovely taxi driver Patrick.
As the Irish are prone to do, he was keen to engage in pleasant and lively conversation on the journey—the first real chat I’d had since arriving here. He dropped me at Carrignass Castle, and to my horror, he didn’t accept cards. I had no cash… “That’s ok, leave it for me at the hotel,” so sweet.
From the castle, the path led upwards for a couple of miles, on minor roads and through woodland plantations. An overzealous border collie rushed out of a farmhouse, eyes fixed on me, zigzagging back and forth, barking, determined to keep me moving onward and up the hill. Motivation sometimes finds you!
Here, the pilgrim markers stopped for a while, which always makes me nervous. Had I gone the wrong way? Had I missed a turn? But mostly the thought… shit, will I have to walk past that dog again?
A quick check of the map reassured me, and I soon saw markers off into the plantations and up into the hills. The gaiters went on; it was very boggy from here and quite a treacherous climb. The trail follows the Sron na Gaoithe loop for a while, then joins Beara Breiffne Way and Maughnasilly before climbing 500 metres onto the Conigar ridge.
Visibility was poor all day, worse on the ridge, clearing later in the day on the descent into Gougane Barra. From the ridge, the trail gently meandered through woodland, open boggy moorland, and tracks. So peaceful and empty, just me and nature—it was easy to get lost in thought, but important also to keep an eye on the route.
By noon, I’d walked 6 miles and stopped for lunch at a convenient shelter beside a waterfall. Cuckoos called across the landscape. A sign warned about the ascent. I suddenly questioned, “Should I be up here alone, and why didn’t I leave my name and number with the hotel?”
The climb up was not as bad as it sounded, gently winding up the hillside/mountainside to the summit. Although I was never quite sure where that was. I regretted eating lunch before the climb. Conditions and visibility were now very poor, and it didn’t help that someone hereabouts had nailed a sheep’s head to a post!!
Surely, whoever lived here couldn’t be all that bad? They had transformed the landscape with beautiful cherry trees. I heard Peacocks calling, and there were fine horses in the field. Although there were signs of life, I didn’t see a soul all day, but I was certain they saw me…
It never fails to amaze me that even in the most inhospitable places, there are still inhabitants… somewhere?
Trail markers along a fence led the way across Conigar Ridge. Eerily appearing out of the mist just when I needed one… until… one pointed away from the fence onto open moor. I followed the marker and couldn’t see any more. Two voices were now in my head: one that said, “You are lost in the mist; you are going to dieeee!” and the other saying, “Calm down, dear, backtrack and check your map.”
Retracing my steps, I could see that the last marker pointed away from the fence. It was loose and had probably moved to its current jaunty angle. A quick check of the map and footprints on the ground confirmed that I needed to follow the fence. Sure enough, more markers appeared.
It was a relief to finally start descending, but it was treacherous as the warning said. The stones and bog combined made it slippery. A few trips and slips, but thankfully no falls. I picked my route and footing very carefully. It didn’t help that my eyes kept misting up in the fog. A walking pole was essential to keep me steady and gauge the bog’s depth.
Finally, on more solid ground on lower slopes, the landscape, which had been hidden all day, gradually came into view. A spectacular walk, even with poor visibility, very atmospheric. I can only imagine the beauty on a clear day. At last, I caught sight of the lake and the church and wound my way back to the hotel on slopes filled with Jacob Sheep.
I returned in good spirits, stopping at the famous ‘award-winning toilets’ and rewarding myself with an Irish coffee at the Gougane Barra Hotel. After obtaining my first passport stamp, I needed to sort out some money for Patrick. If I ate, I could get cash back. A nice warm meal solved that dilemma and helped me decide whether to stay another night by the lake.
The lovely Patrick arrived later, with another van full of tourists, and I was able to pay him back. I felt greatly relieved. Later, snug in the van and feeling mighty full, I drifted off to sleep, the wind howling and rain drumming on the roof. It was my last night by the lake in Gougane Barra.
The next morning, I woke to strong winds; what a difference a day makes. The wind had cleared the mist, the water was choppy, and the sun broke through intermittently. It felt very Cornish, and a good day for a road trip, but I was sad to be leaving this bewitching place.
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