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| Uphill And Down In West Cork | |
By KIERAN T. O'REILLY
WINDS whipped and bullied from every direction as I reached the summit pass on Seefin mountain, in southwestern Ireland. I pulled my jacket from my bicycle's carrier rack and confronted the wild scene. On my right, Bantry Bay stretched four slate-gray miles to the Beara Peninsula, framed by the Caha range; on my left, the road plunged to the lush-green valley of Kilcrohane; behind and in front of me were the purple-heathered hills and mountains that ridge the peninsula. Unexpectedly, I spotted a seat of polished stone with a Gaelic inscription: ''Mary Robinson, President officially opened the Sheep's Head Coastal Route, July 10, 1996.''
Last August, on my annual visit to Ireland I had picked the lively harbor town of Bantry, West Cork, as a hub for cycling three peninsulas that thrust ragged claws into the Atlantic. Though they are the same latitude as Labrador, these fingers of land are warmed by the the Gulf Stream, insuring a temperate climate where palm trees, Monterrey pines, fuchsia and subtropical flowers thrive. While I explored parts of all three peninsulas -- Beara, Mizen and Sheep's Head -- it was Sheep's Head, closest to Bantry, that allowed the most time among furzy hillsides and rocky promontories. I planned to bike about 33 miles along the Sheep's Head Peninsula, but the distances, small on a map, magnify from the toiling seat of a bicycle.
And so I began the day with a hearty breakfast of plump pork sausages, bacon, eggs, homemade wheaten bread and golden French pancakes. Rosemary Macauley, the owner of the guesthouse where my wife, Mary, and I were staying, is known not only for the quality of her breakfasts, but also for the accommodations. High on a hillside, her modern stucco country house with arched stone entrance, Dunauley, overlooks the roofs of Bantry town and an expanse of greenswarded countryside and Whiddy Island, embraced by Beara and Sheep's Head Peninsulas. The spacious dining room and lounge offers views of Bantry Bay, while our cozy, tastefully appointed bedroom (with bath) looked out on a small rose garden. Guests settled in comfortable armchairs around the fire in the evening to chat or watch TV. At Rosemary's suggestion, I hiked down the steep roads to Kramer's Bicycle and Furniture Shop, where cabinets, tables and chairs crowd one room and road, touring, mountain, hybrid and children's bikes, the other. Kees Kramer, a wry Dutchman, and his wife, Tosca, were so taken with Bantry when they visited 11 years ago that they sold their farm in the Netherlands and settled there.
The rental of a hybrid -- part touring, part mountain bike -- includes a pump and a long, slim tin box, which contains a puncture-repair kit. A trial spin revealed a persistent squeak. ''Never mind,'' said Mr. Kramer's assistant, Kingsley Baker, hoisting it on a repair frame. ''We'll fix that.'' Assured by their aura of expertise, I pedaled off, only to find the squeak returned and the brakes screeched. But assuming they wouldn't impede my journey, I headed eastward on Route N-71, past bustling Wolfe Tone Square, the crowded Snug bar (our nightly haunt for delicious traditional food and boisterous Irish ballads), the harbor with blue and red fishing boats and the entrance to Bantry House, the ancestral home of the Earls of Bantry. I then climbed a taxing two and a half miles to Goat's Path. High hedges straddle this secondary route along the western side of the peninsula.
Berried brambles, briars, yellow-tipped gorse, hazel, hawthorn, rowan and holly tussle atop grassy mounds, enlivened with montbretia, purple-thimbled foxglove, pink butterwort, common mallow and purple and crimson wild fuchsia, known in Gaelic as ''Deora De,'' or ''Tears of God.'' According to the poet Greg Delanty, fuchsia, originally introduced from South America, has ''wildfired the land.'' Intermittently, iron gates revealed rolling patchworks of green fields, stretching over hills and valleys, or herds of brown-and-white cows framed against the sky. The heathland, bristling with gorse and purpled with heather, rose, while the rippled bay appeared on the right, bringing in the crisp, clear air that buoyed my spirits and braced my lungs and legs for the long, slow assault on Seefin.
Beyond the abandoned schoolhouse of Gortalassa, only an occasional farmhouse huddled in the lonely lee of the hillside. Before the Great Irish Famine of 1845-1850, more than 8,300 people lived here; today, there are a mere 1,200. ''A Guide to the Sheep's Head Way,'' published locally, details the disaster: ''In 1846, there were 69 marriages and 344 baptisms and in 1847 . . . 19 marriages and 56 baptisms.'' South of Gearhies Harbor, low stone walls, topped only with clumps of heather and wind-flayed gorse, straggled along the roadside. In the distance beyond Glanlough, the furze-covered promontory of Foilantarif, surrounded by vivid patches of small green fields, thrusts its head downward into the sea. I assume the name relates to the Gaelic word for bull (tarbh, pronounced like the word tariff ) because it closely resembles the animal's head. The Goat's Path, around 14 feet wide at the start, narrows, threading shrunken fields thronged with scraggly furze and rocks. Two hours of gradual but continuous ascent called for a stop at the Dun-Oir (Gaelic for Fort of Gold) Crafts and Coffee Shop.
There, I chatted with the quiet young couple from southern Germany who bought this once dilapidated farmhouse 15 years ago. Living in one room during summers, they refurbished the others, lightly staining wood floors, replastering walls a speckled white and adding country furnishings. They also transformed the adjoining cattle shed into a shop and work place, where, 250 feet above the sweeping bay, they mold and shape winsome ceramic gnomes for craft fairs. Near Gortnakilla Pier, the Goat's Path rises at what seemed a 45-degree angle to the summit pass. Despite my determination, I was compelled to hike half of the three-quarter-mile climb; eventually, I pushed my bike to the top of the pass. Seefin means ''the seat of Finn,'' after the legendary giant, Finn MacCool, stories of whom stirred my schoolboy dreams. In his youth, he could outrun deer or speed through forests leaving twigs unstirred. Grown, he led the Fianna warrior band to battle and in hunts for wild boar and deer, helped by his massive wolfhounds, Bran and Sceolaing, high as his shoulders.
The ''Guide to Sheep's Head Way'' says ''we thought it appropriate to have a seat ready for him when he returns to us to hunt again. In the meantime, you are more than welcome to use it.'' Venturing down the precipitous incline to Kilcrohane, I applied my brakes so hard they screamed in revolt. But after 15 minutes of sharp twists and turns, I wove my way into the warm, welcoming sun trap of Eileen Fitzpatrick's pub. On this sheltered side of the peninsula, daffodils bloom by the third week in January. Between pulling pints of black stout for local patrons in the dim interior and serving vacationers at sunny outdoor tables, Eileen brought me a salad sandwich -- an Irish specialty that is a mixture of lettuce, egg, tomato and scallions, creamed with mayonnaise.
Wherever I traveled on all three peninsulas, the quality of pub food was superb. Time and diminishing energy compelled me to head homeward by the road that skirts Dunmanus Bay on the southern edge of the peninsula. Along the bay beyond the village of Ahakista, the Air Memorial Garden commemorates the 329 victims of the Air-India crash 120 miles off the coast on June 23, 1985. A wall of polished stone enshrines their names. Nearby, a circular monument records the lines (originally in Latin) found by the County Cork sculptor Ken Thompson while researching sundials: ''Time flies Suns rise and shadows fall Let it pass by Love reigns forever overall.'' I turned to watch sunlight splay through beds of clouds, silvering the Bay. In a nearby cove, water lapped gently and parents watched as children paddled or swam. The village of Durrus presents itself with a blaze of color -- houses, shops and pubs sporting bright sherbet walls and windows, festooned with baskets and boxes of billowing flowers. Noticing a sign -- ''Bantry 10 km.'' -- I was dumbstruck. I'd thought I was much nearer home than six miles. So I sat with a group of imbibing vacationers on a wall, opposite the beer garden of O'Sullivan's lime- and lilac-colored pub, where the Pot Belly folk group harmonized Irish ballads and plucked and strummed jigs, reels and hornpipes, including ''The Teetotaler.'' Refreshed, I set out on the last stage of my ride.
Eventually, I came to the main route, the N-71 to Bantry (2.5 miles), which fortunately slopes mostly downhill. But after the security of the byroads, I was disturbed by the cars flashing by and the many patches of loose stones on the shoulder of the road. After reaching Bantry, I slid off the saddle and walked slowly up the steep milelong hill to Seskin. The entire journey had taken about seven hours. A few days after my bike trip, while enjoying a quiet lunch in the nearby village of Glengarriff, I heard a loudspeaker announce that Junior Tour Cycle Race participants (18 and younger) would pass through on a stage of their tour of Ireland. A crew of motorcycle advance men soon roared into town, bustling with military efficiency, barking orders and relaying information. The leading group of 10 or so cyclists burst into view several minutes later -- their lithe bodies pitched on incredibly high saddles -- positioning themselves for the final 10-mile assault to Bantry.
Laboring up the long steep hill from the village afterward, I followed their route. Unexpectedly, a soft voice encouraged me, ''Keep it going.'' Turning, I saw the smiling face of the lone young woman in the race, followed by a shepherding support car. Though last by many miles, she seemed joyful. I felt a surge of kinship with this cycling comrade, and I found the gentle words of encouragement, to someone more than three times her age, quite moving. By the time I reached the top of the hill, she had long passed, the vistas had widened and the late-afternoon sky was swimming with light.
To see Sheep's Head, by car or by bike Getting There The Sheep's Head Peninsula is about 220 miles from Dublin and 95 miles from Cork. Dan Dooley Car Rental, with offices at Shannon, Dublin and Cork airports, offers weekly rates for a standard-transmission compact starting at $189 to $343 depending on season; for automatic transmission, $273 to $483. Add 12 percent value added tax. In the United States call (800) 331-9301.
These rates are firm, but prices that follow are at exchange rate of .625 punt to the dollar. Bicycles can be rented at Kramers Bicycle Hire, Newtown, Bantry, County Cork, for $11.20 to $12.80 a day; with seven-day rental, one day free. Phone and fax (353-27) 50278.
''A Guide to the Sheep's Head Way'' has a map and detailed information on walking routes, history and the botany of the peninsula. It is available through Tom Whitty, Sheep's Head Way Development Committee, Kealties, Durrus, Bantry, County Cork, (353-27) 61052, and some Bantry stores. Mailed to the United States, it costs $11. Mr. Whitty also handles one of the package tours of the area, from Sheep's Head Walking Holidays. It offers five guided walks of the peninsula, a one-day bike trip and a day of fishing. The walks are at an easy pace and last four to five hours. The cost, $475 a person, includes seven nights at bed-and-breakfasts, box lunches and transfers to and from Cork City.
Lodging and Dining Dunauley, Seskin, Bantry, has two ground-floor rooms. One is a suite with a bedroom with one queen and one single bed, and a kitchen and dining area ($40 per person per night); the other is a double with a queen bed ($32). Upstairs are three rooms: one with a double bed and two with twin beds ($29). All have bathrooms, and rates include breakfast. Dunauley is open May 1 to Sept. 30; (353-27) 50290.
The menu at Sea View House Hotel, Ballylickey, Bantry, changes nightly but not the price ($41.50). Our scallops Parisienne and the fillets of lemon sole in vermouth sauce were followed by a dessert medley -- Bailey's Cream mousse with coffee sauce, cream meringue with butterscotch sauce and apple pie a la mode. The hotel has 17 rooms, a cottage that sleeps six and a lodge that sleeps four. Rates: $72 to $88 per person, including breakfast, or $104 to $112 a person, including dinner. Phone (353-27) 50073; fax (353-27) 51555.
The Snug, The Quay, Bantry, serves traditional Irish food in a crowded but friendly atmosphere. There is a full dinner menu but also bar food like cheddar cheese or smoked salmon and prawn platters. We especially liked the grilled Atlantic salmon in parsley butter, fried fillets of plaice and desserts like hot apple tart with whipped cream. Reservations were essential during August. Entrees are $8.80 to $16.80 and platters $9.50 to $14.50. Lunch dishes are about $6.55; (353-27) 50057. Fitzpatrick's Bar, Kilcrohane, Bantry, serves sandwiches (about $2) and beer ($3 a pint); (353-27) 67057.