Wikipedia on the glittery grey expanse to our left:
"Bantry Bay, long inlet of the Atlantic Ocean, southwestern County Cork, Ireland. The bay has a maximum length of 30 miles (48 km) and is 10 miles (16 km) wide at its broadest point; it separates the Beara peninsula to the north from the Sheep's Head peninsula to the south and is surrounded by mountains."
What the piece fails to mention are the bay's two islands, both large enough to support permanent populations. We like small islands, so we made plans to take the bikes across by ferry and have a pedal about. Whiddy Island is the smaller of the two. Its population has diminished over recent years to 20 people and a flock of feral goats. In the event we never managed to make the short trip there from Bantry, we don't do rainy cycle rides.
However, we did make it over to Bere island, which we could see clearly from the Castletownbere motorhome area; its rocky hills were only a few hundred metres away, sheltering the town's natural harbour from Atlantic storms. On the way back from MacCarthy's Bar we called in at the ferry landing and checked the times - outwards at 11.30am, back at 3.30pm. The island seemed to have a few places for lunch, the forecast for tomorrow was fair, which is as good as it gets hereabouts; we had a plan.
Next morning we presented ourselves at the quayside at about 11.15. The ferry had docked, the front ramp was open, but there was no-one to be seen. Then a few others turned up, all on foot, though the craft's small deck is large enough to accommodate half a dozen cars or a couple of vans. We all boarded and waited for something to happen.
A man arrived and began collecting fares. "Eat Truro Feesh" he asserted when it came to our turn. Gill looked puzzled, I wondered why someone in one of Ireland's premier fishing ports was so positive about Cornwall's. He repeated the phrase more slowly for the benefit of dense English people - Eeat... Trooros.. Feetch. It clicked! 'Eight euros each!' He took the cash and moved on. We presumed he was associated with the ferry and not some local drunk on the make, but we couldn't be sure, he had no identification and we hadn't been given a ticket.
It took less than ten minutes to cross the narrow channel between Castletownbere and the island. Apart from the ferry landing, a couple of wooden buildings on the pier and a few houses scattered across the hillside beyond, there is not much to the western end of Bere Island. The nearest thing to a settlement, Rerrin, is a few kilometres east at the opposite end of the island A rival operation, "Murphy's Ferry' operates a service from different pier located near Castletownbere Golf Club, about five kilometres east of the village.
It soon became obvious that it would have made more sense to use Murphy's ferry rather than the boat from Castletownbere harbour. We had two problems. Firstly, the small café up the hill from the jetty was closed despite Google maps asserting the opposite. We hadn't even brought a bottle of water with us. It would have been easy enough to cycle over to Rerrin where there was a small shop and a another café. However the hill between here and there looked mightily steep, and a challenge for Gill at the moment. She is on a waiting list to talk to an orthopedic surgeon about her knee, but given the state of the NHS it could be a year or more before her appointment.
A signpost to the Bere Island heritage centre pointed up the hill, it was a few hundred metres away and the incline not so steep. Part way there I stopped to take a photo of the view across the water to Castletownbere on the mainland. A man was weeding his garden nearby, and began to chat. People do in Ireland, no English social awkwardness here! Well, apart from on my part, because like the guy on the ferry earlier, it was difficult to understand his local dialect. I wondered if Gaelic maybe the first language of older people hereabouts, though unlike the Dingle peninsula to the north, Beara is not officially designated as Gaeltacht area. I tried as best I could to smile and nod in the right places, I think we had a conversation about the beautiful view, but I can't be sure.
The island's heritage centre is based in the island's former National School. It is excellent, opened about 15 years ago it was deemed important enough for the President of Ireland herself to attend the inauguration. Five or so tall information boards tell the island's story from earliest times to the present day. In the 1840's Bere island had a population of 2,200, was self sufficient in food
With a mild climate influenced by the Gulf Stream a wide range of produce was grown, but the staple was potatoes supplemented by pork and fish. The effects of failure of the potato crop and resultant famine are stark, a decade later the population had halved. It has declined ever since, though augmented from time to time by military personnel; over the years the island has housed a naval base, large gun emplacements and POWs during the civil war.
The curator was very friendly, we chatted about this and that - how the centre had recently installed a fast fibre network and established a co-working space, that the island's population had stabilised in recent years to around 180 and the primary school had about 20 children now. Maybe the culture of remote working prompted by the pandemic gives hope to remote communities threatened by second home ownership, Airbnb and ageing populations, connectivity making Schumaker's vision of a globe of villages rather than a global village a possible future rather than a utopian dream.
Our conversation also provided some practical information. We knew from the information board at the ferry landing that today - 1st June - marked the start of the summer timetable. What was unclear how this affected the ferry scedule that as the times posted up seemed identical to the winter one. It transpired that there was usually a bit of a time delay in publishing the new timetable, but the afternoon ferry back to the mainland was now at 2.30 not 3.30. It was fortunate that the curator mentioned this otherwise we would have been marooned here until late afternoon without food or water. So the earlier sailing actually worked better for us Even so we still had almost two hours to kill before the next boat.
We cycled towards the western point of Bere Island, stared at the ruins of the old gun emplacements, and considered walking along the coast path towards Ardnakinna Lighthouse. The path looked uneven and the stile over the high dry stone wall rickety and steep. Not dodgy knee friendly, so we mooched about staring at the wild flowers - "Pyramidal orchids! Early spotted are more common back home," Gill advised.
We found a couple of boulders, sat down and stared at the view. The clouds parted above the Slieve Miskish mountains, somewhat reluctantly the sun broke through; momentarily it felt not quite so chilly. We have concluded that a warm day here is essentially an aspirational concept.
After a while we decided to return to the jetty, it took less than five minutes on our bikes so we still had around half an hour until the next ferry. We found a nearby picnic table and resumed staring at the same view but from a different angle.
A few minutes later a lone hiker arrived. She had completed the 'western ring' hike that passes the Ardnakinna Lighthouse. "How was it?" I enquired. Good, but steep in some bits and boggy in others came the reply. The circuit is about 11km, it had clearly been a bit of challenge as she then lay down flat on a nearby concrete bench, but continued the conversation. This felt a slightly peculiar, especially as it was a bit of a one sided exchange. She asked a few questions about what we were doing in Ireland, which we were happy to answer, but when we enquired what her plans were, her replies were vague and evasive. She exuded an air of superiority somehow, as if she was accustomed to being in charge. In mid sentence she suddenly rolled off the bench and stood up straight. "Time for the boat!" She announced, and strode off.
"Perhaps she is somebody important, or a famous actress," Gill mused. It was true, there was something theatrical about her demeanour.
A few minutes later we wheeled our bikes down the jetty too. This time a white van and a couple of cars squeezed onto the small boat. No-one bothered to collect fares or check tickets, clearly the 'eat Truro feesh' had been for a return. In fact the curator in the heritage centre had explained the arrangement along the lines that every visitor who used the ferry was going to have to return to the mainland at some point, so what was the point of having fares for a single journey or anything as needlessly bureaucratic as a ticket. Irish logic!
We arrived back in Castletownbere around threeish, a little earlier than anticipated. Aside from needing a few bits and pieces from a supermarket we had no other plans. Aldi and Lidl seem to dominate food shopping in Ireland with a few big Tesco's in cities and big towns. Are there any higher quality supermarkets here, we had wondered the other day, like Pingu Doce in Portugal and Waitrose back home? There is, and we stumbled upon one accidentally at the far end of Castletownbere's straggling high street.
We had passed-by SuperValu stores assuming that they were bargain basement like Kwiksave used to be. They're not, far from it in fact. The shops feel spacious with wide aisles, reminiscent of Spain's Mercadona chain. SuperValu's produce is top notch, great looking fruit 'n veg and fresh meat and fish, quite a lot locally sourced. The chain makes a point of showcasing the area's producers - farmers, bakers, cheesemakers. As well as that they stock a good range basics and 'world foods'. As would expect the prices are higher than in Aldi and Lidl, but only in the off-licence are they eyewatering, otherwise, given the quantity and range on offer they do live up to the promise of their brand name.
The stores appear to be franchises not branches, Murphy's Supervalu here in Castletownbere, the outlet down the road in Bantry badged-up as 'O'Keeffe's. It seems to be an impressive hybrid of national chain and local grocery store.
Back at the van Gill resumed her impossible knitting puzzle involving circular needles and a novella length pattern translated from Slovakian downloaded from Etsy. I became bored and decided to go solo to the a nearby Bronze Age monument. Derreenataggart Stone Circle was marked on Google maps about 2kms from where we were parked.
There is no footpath, you need to use minor roads to reach it. My experience of driving down Irish country lanes had convinced me that only people with a death wish would be happy to walk along one, but I was open to persuasion. In fact I'd already had a brief conversation yesterday with the guy parked next to us about walking to the remains. As we arrived back with our shopping, he and his girlfriend came past, they were wearing chunky trainers and small day sacs, I guessed they had taken a small hike to the place and more importantly not been flattened by a white van man called Seamus. They assured me that the country roads were quiet and it was an easy walk, but there were cows grazing on the site. I am not too keen on cattle, in fact I am wary of any animal bigger than a rabbit, and even then, from bitter experience I know bunnies can be very vicious when cornered. Nevertheless, throwing caution to the wind I decided to visit the stones.
It wasn't far but the lanes were steep. Beyond the village there was a great view of the mountains, but because of the lie of the land I was soon out of sight of the sea; I could easily have been in a remote valley miles from the coast. I used Google maps to navigate. It indicated the stone circle was a few metres down a farm track on my left. The view became even more spectacular, the nearby coast reappeared stretching away beyond the Ardnakinna Lighthouse on Bere Island
Over the fence a small herd of cattle grazed, but there was no stone circle. I returned to the road and was just about head back when I saw a well camouflaged green finger post half hidden in the hedgerow opposite - there it was, Derreenataggart Stone Circle and not a cow to be seen! It's unwise to rely on Google maps for finding your way about in rural areas because their accuracy depends on having a good mobile signal and that is rarely the case.
A notice next to the stones stated that the monument was three thousand years old, but gave little other useful information. By my reckoning that made it late bronze age, and I wondered if the Allihies copper mine situated in the far west of the peninsula had been worked that far back. It would explain why Beara has a cluster of Bronze Age monuments.
The situation of the stones is magnificent, with a prospect of the sea and ringed by mountains. Like many sites of ancient ritual there is something powerful about them, a tad unsettling, the sense that cultures come and go, nothing is forever, our age will pass, as will we.
Though it was only a little more than two kilometres to the stones, because of the steep hill and inadvertent detour it took longer than anticipated to reach it. I WhatsApped Gill to say I was heading back, it was an endearingly silly exchange.
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