| Watching the dolphins in delightful Dingle Malcolm
Rogers journeys to Dingle to hunt for the south west of Ireland’s
most enigmatic tourist attraction, Fungi the Dolphin.
 Dolphins are
credited with being the cleverest of all mammals. If you splash water
at one, he’ll splash it right back at you.
I’d go as far as saying that the whale music CD I bought last year
is in all likelihood a tribute band made up of dolphins.
I’ve long had a keen interest in these beautiful animals of the
deep. Maybe it’s their distinctive 1930s art-deco streamlined look,
or the fact they always look like they’re smiling; whatever it is,
they do it for me.
But despite my keen interest I’ve had very little success in seeing
any of the eight species which regularly visit Ireland’s shores.
I’ve even travelled to northerly latitudes with similar lack of
success. Last year myself and a companion spent a week in Iceland, braving
eight hours a day on a tiny boat in the middle of the Atlantic looking
for the slightest trace of a Cetacean. Not a squeak. Similarly the year
before, nine days in the Arctic Ocean on board a former Soviet submarine
tracker yielded nothing more than a few seagulls.
It was therefore with a baleful eye that I eyed up my fellow voyagers
about to depart Dingle pier aboard the Lady Laura. We were bound for the
harbour limits to visit Fungi, a bottle-nosed dolphin who has lived in
this part of the Gaeltacht since 1984. They say he’s been here so
long he can even understand Irish.
But I strongly suspected my presence on board guaranteed he would keep
his head down. I felt sorry for the other passengers, especially the two
young children on board whose hopes of spectacular views seemed sure to
be dashed as soon as Fungi sensed I was on board. Maybe I should have
held them to ransom — said I wouldn’t go if they all paid
me to stay on shore.
However it was the thought of money which was the only faintly promising
sign — skipper of the boat, John Brosnan, operated a “no see,
no pay” policy. Even after I explained that I was something of a
Jonah (or a non-Jonah, when you think about it), John remained suitably
upbeat.
And so it was that we set sail. Kate, a Dublin lady was aboard, as well
as a Paul Donnelly from South Africa, along with his cousins, plus some
local girls from the town and a couple from Limerick with their young
lad.
It was an early spring day, indeed better weather than many a day I’ve
seen in this part of the world in mid-summer.
Fungi must have sensed spring too, because there he was — against
all the odds — right there in front of the boat. His eponymous snout
glistened like porcelain in the water and his dorsal fin cut through the
water like a shark’s. And yet if we fell in, unlike a shark, Fungi
would do his best to lend a helping flipper. For he’s a helpful,
friendly fellow, and has even been photographed bringing gifts to divers
of still living fish, clasped gently within his jaws.
John Brosnan does swimming trips with the dolphin — he can provide
wet suits for the occasion.
Dolphins apparently like riding in the wake of a boat, and to demonstrate
this John sped the boat up and sure enough Fungi came alongside and showed
us his sleek ability.
Life with a porpoise
I gazed at Fungi for a long time, wondering what it’s all about.
Because it is a unique situation. Dolphins seem to be the only animal
which form an attachment for humans for no other reason than they like
us. We have pets, sure, but they get food and shelter as well as companionship.
We also have domesticated livestock who get food and shelter from us,
but then get it in the neck. But dolphins are looking for nothing, only
companionship. Fungi is not after food — in fact, he never accepts
gifts from divers, or fish thrown from returning trawlers. He has his
own food supply right there in the water — mackerel mostly, although
he’s not that fussy. But he asks nothing of us, only friendship
and a bit of sport.
Fungi rarely ventures far from the mouth of the harbour. They say that
at the time of his arrival the body of a young female bottlenose was washed
up locally. Dolphins are thought to show great fidelity in their relationships
and may only have one mate for life. Every June and July, schools of dolphins
are seen in the area, although usually further offshore, and once or twice
Fungi has been seen playing with them. His much-publicised fling with
a young dolphin, Smokey, ended sadly. Smokey left, but Fungi stayed.
Fungi, mind you, is not unique. There have been reports of friendly dolphins
for centuries. For many years around the turn of the 20th century, a dolphin
named Pelorus Jack guided ships through French Pass, off New Zealand.
This dangerous channel is so full of rocks and has such extremely strong
currents that it has been the site of literally hundreds of shipwrecks.
But none occurred when Pelorus Jack was at work.
Digs in Dingle
It’s not hard to find a place to stay in Dingle — hotels,
self-catering or bed & breakfast. The tourists are harvested in exactly
the same way as fish were harvested in the old days, or the hay was gathered
in from the fields. But they’ve been looking after visitors for
so long down here they’re very good at it.
I opted for Castlewood House, right out at the end of Dingle Bay, and
purely by coincidence found out that the hostess, Helen Heaton, is from
the Cooley Peninsula where I now reside.
The daughter of famous local artist Irene Woods she married Limerickman
Brian Heaton, and the pair of them have brought their extensive experience
(Dromoland Hotel, etc.) to this beautiful house on the shores of Dingle
Bay.
Each room is individually themed — an Italian room, an Oriental
room and so on — with exquisite antique furnishings and huge beds
you’d get lost in. Superbly equipped, the bathroom has a jacuzzi
which would cleanse your soul as well as your body — plus DVD, satellite
television and CD player (I put my whale music on).
It’s also very handy that Castlewood House is close to some amazing
walks — the five mile strand of Ventry Harbour is close by, if you
finally explore all of Dingle Bay. Handy, because Brian and Helen make
some of the finest breakfasts in beautiful surroundings. They say that
the murals in restaurants are about on a par with the food in art galleries,
and largely speaking I suppose that’s true. But really, the surroundings
in the breakfast room of Castlewood House make you wish you could have
every meal of he day there — oil paintings, watercolours, objets
d’art; and that’s before you even consider the natural beauty
outside. You look right across the bay, and out into the Atlantic. Stand
on your tip toes and you might just see New York.
The food is entirely suitable. The buffet table groans under a surfeit
of fruit, cereals, cheeses, hams and homemade breads (soda, of course).
For the main course you can have the full Irish, or opt for scrambled
eggs and smoked salmon or pancakes and maple syrup. The only problem with
a Castlewood breakfast is that about 12 hours later you’re beginning
to feel a bit peckish again.
You’ll want to explore Dingle (there are some terrific sessions
going full throttle every night of the week) or alternatively you can
just sit at the window of your room, schlooter a bottle of wine and watch
as the sun sets out beyond Macgillycuddy Reeks. Slowly the landscape turns
from its forty shades of green (although I believe the EU may insist we
decimalise up to 50) through to the sumptuous gold of a late winter evening.
The only life on the bay now is a few solitary herons, still looking as
if they’re trying to remember what they’re supposed to be
doing. Maybe they should ask Fungi.
Castlewood House, The Wood, Dingle, tel + 353 (0) 66 915 2788 castlewoodhouse@eircom.net.
Boat trips to see Fungi leave from the top of the pier in Dingle Town.
Trips last approximately an hour.
Tel + 353 (0) 66 9151967.
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