Malcolm Rogers heads west for a tour of Achill Island.
It had been over 25 years since I was last on Achill Island — and
I was interested to see how Dooega, Doogort and Dooagh were doing in
the meantime, and whether Achill Sound was, well, as sound as it used
to be.
Perhaps it is this special property of Achill which prompted the
owner of the Bervie Guest accommodation to fall into conversation with
me at length about the poet Paul Durcan (a frequent visitor to these
parts) as well as filling in the details of Nobel prizewinner Heinrich
Böll’s lengthy sojourn on the island.
This time the weather was much better! Last time I was here the wind
bent me double.
Mind you, the slightly squelchy feel in the ground off the main road
seemed to suggest that this fine weather might still be a fairly unusual
event. And to get the full impact of Achill, you have to stray into
the boggy uplands. There are no official pathways, but it’s hard to
get lost. There are virtually no trees, and the snarling Atlantic is
near enough always in view.
For a fairly easy climb topped off with magnificent views, leave
from just above Keem Strand to the north of the island. You can see
the Sheefrey Hills and the Mweelrea Mountains, with Clare Island, Inishturk
and Inishark and Bill’s Rocks with the Twelve Bens behind them.
Heading towards the Megalithic tombs at the top of the island you
soon reach the loughs of Nakereega and Bunnafreva, described by Robert
Lloyd Praeger in The Way I Went as one of the most exhilarating walks
anywhere. And it would be hard to argue with that.
The beaches are without parallel and perfect for ambling along. White
strands stretch for miles, with the sea purple and 40 shades of blue.
The traditional leather boat, the currach, is still used and looks so
fragile that only a madman would take to these treacherous waters in
one.
As I drove away from Keem Strand on day three of my Achill odyssey,
the grey clouds were locking into place and a steady drizzle filled
the air. I declined a visit to the Spanish Armada memorial, and boycotted
Captain Boycott’s Corrymore House — the very house which gave the English
language the word ‘boycott’.
But as the weather was closing in, my mission now was to get to Bervie,
my guest house in Keel. I can’t recommend the place highly enough. It’s
the sort of snug lodgings where you don’t care if it is a fine soft
day outside. The conservatory, and many of the other rooms look directly
onto the strand and onto the Atlantic. There is direct access onto the
beach for an early morning walk before a gargantuan breakfast.
Afternoon teas are a speciality, and I scoffed wheaten bread and
cakes from Elizabeth Barrett’s kitchen and watched as the Atlantic grew
greyer and the far hills disappeared from view across Clew Bay.
Bervie Guest Accommodation, the Strand, Keel, Achill Island, Co.
Mayo. Tel: 00 353 98 43114.
www.bervieachill.com.
