Hup Donegal!
Coming through the speakers: My Favorite Faded Fantasy by Damien Rice. It was close to midnight when I pulled up to the cliffs of the Slieve League. The stars were overhead. A full moon. Alone. This song came on the radio. I didn't turn the car off until it was over.
The sun was setting in (London)Derry. After walking the old city walls, I had it in me to check out the protest murals on the other side of town. Only, I didn’t. Northern Ireland was a wonderful host, but my mind was on the Republic. Like a star-crossed lover, I snuck out of the Kingdom after daylight and was in the warm embrace of Ireland and the “town” of Termon, County Donegal, two hours later.
Termon consists of a gas station, a general store, a pub, and a bed and breakfast, all in one building. Convenience is king! I checked in to the room late, but Irish hospitality overruled the clock and I was immediately offered a room and dinner in the pub.My seat was next to Charlie, one of those guys where the light burned a little brighter in the heart than the head. We talked GAA. He watched the Donegal match there in the pub with the rest of the town, "shoulder to shoulder" he said. One of his friends might have had a few too many Guinness’ in celebration and ended up driving his TRACTOR into a ditch on the way home. Because people in Donegal don't drive cars, they drive tractors. The tiny rural community gathered the next day to help him pull it out. And that, that right there, that’s Donegal. We drank together into the night, unwilling to let the other drink alone.The most hugest, freshest full Irish breakfast greeted me the next morning. As the only guest in the house, I felt almost guilty having them open the kitchen and even offered to help with the dishes. They wouldn’t hear of it and got me on my way.
Glenveagh National Park was just down the road. The landscape leading into the park was like nothing I’d ever encountered. Inland, rocky, barren, desolate, but not like the American West. The climate was favorable to habitation, but I can’t remember encountering animals, much less people. It was such a strange disconnect. I hiked through the glacially-formed valley and passed a castle that sat at the foot of the lake.
Mt. Errigal, the highest “mountain” in Donegal, peaked out from beyond the horizon. How could I not?! So I set out on the worst-marked trail I’ve ever encountered. Within twenty minutes, I was knee deep in my first bog experience. Here’s the deal with bogs: it looks solid. A little mucky, but at least solid. It’s not. You can never tell when your next step will take you two feet underground. And bog water… Jaysus… it’s stinky and mucky and doesn’t wash off. I was later told that falling in a bog was good luck. Better luck would have been to not fall in the bog, but maybe that's the luck of the Irish.
The surest footing seemed to be by the creek, so I followed that as far as it would take me. After that, I just went up. Sheep greeted me at the peak, as did a view that reached all the way to the sea. The trail wasn’t as desolate as other parts of Donegal, but I certainly didn’t hear many accents like mine. At every pass, it was expected to stay and chat for a few minutes; a simple ‘hello’ wouldn’t do. Not many people outside of Donegal make it up to the county, lending everything a small-town feel. It seemed as if everyone knew each other (and I’ve been told that’s not far from truth). I lingered on the peak a bit longer than anticipated, but just couldn’t leave that view. I eventually ventured back while in the company of a delightful mother/daughter pair.
The road beckoned, and I cut through glacial valleys as the sun began to set. My mind wandered and my heart filled with such joy that tears began to fill in my eyes. I was happy. Truly happy, and tried to appreciate every second that the Irish countryside gave me.The stars began to appear, and with them, a full moon. I spent that evening in a town near the Slieve League, the highest seaside cliffs in Europe. Unable to wait for daylight to experience them, I grabbed a dinner of boxed Chinese food and brought it out to an overlook. The sea was quiet. The lights of a ship passed along the horizon. I tried to figure out which direction was home.
The view was even more impressive in daylight. A perfect sense of the romantic sublime overcame me. From a perch high above the cliffs, I looked down at the calm sea. Terrifying beauty created by violent acts of force. And there I sat, fragile, precarious, and awestruck on the edge of the world.