Rain was spattering off the tent when we woke up, but it soon cleared, given that we were right on the beach we went for a swim. The tent was dry by the time we had breakfast and were ready to go. It cleared up to a really nice day but there was a strong breeze in our faces as the prevailing south westerlies kicked in, we were now well in the west and the terrain was very hilly all day, we were either climbing or descending all the time. We stopped in Rosscarbury for lunch, West Cork has a really great artisan food culture, and is the birthplace of farmhouse cheese in Ireland, mainly driven by a wave of French, German and Dutch immigrants in the 1970s. I spent a lot of childhood holidays in West Cork and my first job was here so the area is familiar to me, we have also holidayed here but it’s a long time since we have been in this part of Ireland. Anyhow back to lunch, it was great, with amazing coffee in a very trendy cafe.
From Rosscarbury we went to Drombeg Stone circle which is an almost intact megalithic stone circle. We met our first touring cyclists there, a French family, with the dad on a Pino Hase tandem with a young daughter on the front, the other kids and the mum had their own bikes and panniers, they were having a great time.
Outside Drombeg Stone Circle, the red flowers behind us are Fushias which are the symbol of West Cork
After Drombeg we cycled to Glandore, there is a big drop into Glandore with a great view over the bay. It’s a popular sailing spot and is known as the Riveria of Ireland, the Gulf Stream washes into all these bays on the south west coast giving them a different micro-climate and a slightly tropical feel. Across the narrow bridge to Union Hall a busy fishing port, there was a rowing festival there and we watched that for a while.
Next stop was Castletownsend, there is a savage hill down into the village, feels like falling, to add to the thrill there is a huge tree with a stone wall around it half way down. A brake failure and collision with said tree would be less than ideal, we made it safely down, accompanied by the smell of hot metal from the rims and discs. There is beautiful house down by the water where the authors Somerville and Ross lived, famous for their book ‘The Irish RM’.
Back up the very steep hill, and into the bustling market town of Skibbereen for supplies, it was raining so we didn’t hang around. We decided to try to find somewhere to camp around Lough Hyne, this is a marine lake and was designated Ireland’s first marine nature reserve in 1981. Its surrounded by steep hills. (Am I going on a lot about steep hills?) We cycled by the beach in Tragumna, there is a big coastguard station in Tragumna and it looked very busy with all hands on deck. On to Lough Hyne, we were tempted to go for a dip in the crystal clear water, but the lake floor covered in black spiky urchins curbed tempation. There was a perfect camping spot on an old dock, unfortunately there was a perfectly legible ‘No camping’ sign there too, being law abiding we moved on. The lake is beautiful we coudln’t find a flat spot anywhere. A little Harbour at on the sea side of the lake looked like a possibility, Harbours are often good for wild camping. The Harbour consisted of a flat pad of concrete, the quasar is semi-free standing so we could have probably made it work but we decided to look for a better place, the perfect becoming the enemy of the good. Back up the hill, very steep, on up the next hill even steeper and eventually we couldn’t cycle any more and more or less fell off the bike because we were moving too slowly. A minor row ensued, with the captain and stoker each blaming the other for not applying enough effort. We pushed a bit, tried again, fell off again, pushed some more, tired hungry, frustrated, not talking, a low point of the trip so far. We eventually hit a gradient we could manage and set off with the agreement that the next acceptable spot would do. Just over the top of the hill there was a semi-flat rushey spot, it was a bit rough but had a million dollar view. Home for the night, set up camp, cooked pasta yet again, tasted fabulous yet again, and hit the hay.
West Cork in the sunshine, little did we know that this was about to become a scarce commodity!
