THE LAKES AND THE MOUNTAINS
No one has ever realized the enchantment of Killarney or fallen under
its spell who has not been upon its waters. As the boat glides into
the Upper Lake, all that has ever been said of its varied beauty seems
poor compared to the reality. The mountains which surround it on every
side give indescribable grandeur to its scenery--so much so that,
added to the contrasted beauty of its wooded isles, it is on the whole
conceded that it bears the golden apple from its sister lakes;
certainly, as the boatmen row from point to point, you say so, and
memory, bringing back the vision in after days--perhaps in the hot and
dusty thoroughfare--confirms the verdict.
The Upper Lake contains twelve small islands, some of them of such a
height that at a distance they resemble so many lofty towers standing
in the waters, their summits crowned with bright green wreaths of the
arbutus and many another verdant shrub and tree. In other aspects they
appear to represent the ruins of stately palaces. To add to this
effect, their edges are so much worn by the dashing of water against
them, and by rains washing away the earth, and "time hath so
disjointed these marble rocks," that some hang in such curious fashion
as to represent a rude architectural formation.
The extraordinary verdure, not only of the isles, but of the
mountains, is even more striking viewed from these lonely waters than
where man has left more perceptible trace of his presence. It seems
incredible that giant fern, tree-shrubs, and plants should flourish in
tropical profusion at the great heights to which they attain, and
without the artificial aid which is impossible.
This wonderful foliage is the glory of all the islands, but here it
throws into intense relief the sublimity inseparable from great
mountain scenery, and even in point of height the MacGillicuddy's
Reeks can claim greatness. More than a hundred years ago Holmes, in
his _Tour in Ireland_, records his first glimpse of the noble range:
"Their peaks immersed in mist and storms, along their prodigious
furrows the cataracts, swollen by recent rains, tumbling with fury and
glistening like liquid silver; in a little time the peaks piercing
through the clouds, the grey mists slow descending like a great
curtain, through which the sun darted his rays."
[Illustration: AT THE FOOT OF MANGERTON MOUNTAIN, KILLARNEY.]
The Purple Mountain, always beautiful and changeful in aspect as the
lakes themselves, looks down from the north, while on the other side
rises Torc's noble outline, and further off great Mangerton.
Many of the mountains are densely wooded to a great height--giant
ferns, the rowan, holly, yew, juniper. Above all the arbutus grow in a
tangle of profusion, and on rocks where no earth appears. How the
steep rocks and crags can give root-hold to this forestry of green is
a marvel to the beholder, the roots being simply filaments entwining
themselves round crevices in the stone, holding on with a grim
tenacity which defies the wildest storm--better even than the forest
tree. The birds of the air have dropped their seeds, or the winds
carried them to this their home, and they will not let it go. Here
will they stay as long, perchance, as the rocks themselves.
"I expected the loveliness I met," said an English visitor to
Killarney lately, "and I believe the strongest impression made on me
was by those beautiful tropical shrubs in mid-air, as they seemed, and
with no apparent hold on the soil."
The arbutus is supposed by some to have come from Spain and to have
been cultivated in the first instance by the early monks; but the more
general belief is that it was indigenous. It is not to be found of
spontaneous growth nearer to Ireland than the very south of France and
Italy, and only as a shrub, while about the lakes and mountains here
it often becomes a large and tall tree. Pliny mentions it as
extraordinary that it should thus grow in Arabia, and Petra Bellonus
also observes this as occurring on Mount Athos in Macedonia. But it
seems to love its Irish home best, and to revel in the luxuriant
growth which makes it so noticeable in Killarney's leafy forests.
The blossoms of the arbutus grow in clusters of white bells, not
unlike those of the lily of the valley, in great abundance, and
nestling under bunches of bright green leaves. It has, at the same
time, ripe and green fruit on its branches, first a deep pale yellow,
deepening, as it advances to ripeness, then a brilliant scarlet
like that of a strawberry. Autumn and winter are the seasons of its
greatest bloom and beauty.
[Illustration: O'SULLIVAN'S PUNCHBOWL, KILLARNEY.]
A most beautiful cascade at the western end of the lake tumbles down
the mountain side and empties itself in a dazzling sheet of foam into
its waters. The music of its fall seems very close as the boat passes
the various isles, and you are told the legends connected with them.
One in particular, MacCarthy's Island, is pointed out as the last
refuge of one of the great family. We will find other memories of this
powerful sept in many a local tradition. Here a battle was fought, a
fort taken or lost, triumph or defeat, and then you are pointed to a
grave--the end of it all!
But on the Upper Lake it is hard to think of anything but the lovely,
lonely scenery--lonelier because of the everlasting hills which
compass it around.
Eagle Island was once the haunt of these royal birds, and still the
golden eagle has not forsaken it, though less seldom seen. Ronayne
Island is named after one who lived there, apart from his fellow-men,
in self-chosen solitude. At each point there is something to relate,
while every turn produces a change in outline or colour so as almost
to form a fresh scene. Many a lovely little bay and channel are
explored, till too soon the boat passes the last islet, enters the
last bay, rounds the last promontory.
A very narrow part of the passage occurs here where this promontory
juts out, leaving a breadth of only about thirty feet. It is called
Coleman's Eye. Some legendary person is said to have leaped across the
stream here, leaving his footprints on the rock beyond.
And now, with long look and reluctant farewell, we are on the Long
Range, the river connecting the Upper with its sister lakes.
In Holmes' _Tour_ he thus characterizes the Long Range: "I should
distinguish the Upper Lake as being the most sublime, the Lower the
most beautiful, and Muckross Lake the most picturesque, the winding
passage leading to the Upper containing a surprising combination of
the three, probably not to be exceeded by any spot in the world."
The Long Range is about two miles in length. Its margins are gemmed
with water-lilies, snowy and golden. Here the _Osmunda regalia_ is
seen growing almost in forests, and of great size, its branches, as
well as those of the alder, birch, yew, arbutus, and many another,
entwining as if they grew from a common root. Other rare ferns, some
peculiar to Kerry, as the Brutle fern (_Trichomanes speciosum_),
completely clothe the wild crags on either side. But it is hopeless to
attempt specifying the variety of foliage, the different shades of
green, the masses of heather and gorse, which in all stages of their
bloom, their first spring glory, or the no less lovely golden and
brown tints of autumn, make the most rugged mountain sides beautiful.
And let not the little "bog down" be forgotten which around Killarney
makes the bogs resemble waving fields of snow. "Light of love" the
peasant girls call this bog rush, for a breath sends its down floating
lightly away. A little white tuft of silky cotton, from its shortness
of no practical use in the work-a-day world, so it lives its life
unharmed, gay as the bog-land dwellers themselves.
Very wild and grand is the scenery here. Rocks in a hundred forms
appear as the banks are passed, and behind, at nearer or further
distance, rise the greater mountain heights.
The boat passes several islets, named from resemblance, real or
imaginary, The Jolly Boat, The Cannon Rock, The Man-of-War Rock--a
mass like a vessel, keel uppermost. Soon the far-famed Eagle's Nest is
reached, a rugged, precipitous cliff 1,700 feet high. Here the eagles
still have their nest, for Nature has secured them from the hand of
man. It is a very majestic rock, thickly clothed with evergreens
nearly to the summit, where, however, heath and a few scattered shrubs
hide the nest, and show the great outline, the rugged mass, in stern
sublimity. Here the Killarney Echo is best heard.
Perhaps among the many writers who have tried to describe the effect
produced by this echo, Mrs. Hall gives the most vivid impression. She
says: "The bugler first played a single note; it was caught up and
repeated loudly; softly, again loudly; again softly, and then as if by
a hundred instruments rolling around and above the mountains, and
dying softly away. Then a few notes were blown, a multitude of voices
replied, sometimes pausing, then mingling in a strain of sublime
grandeur and delicate sweetness. Then came the firing of a cannon,
when every mountain around seemed instinct with angry life, and
replied in voices of thunder, the sound being multiplied a
thousandfold, first a terrific growl, then a fearful crash, both
caught up and returned by the surrounding hills, while those nearest
became silent, awaiting the oncoming of those that were distant, then
dropping to a gentle lull, as if the winds only created them, then
breaking forth again into a combined and terrific roar."
[Illustration: MUCKROSS LAKE AND GLENA MOUNTAIN FROM TORC
COTTAGE--EARLY MORNING.]
Soon after passing Eagle's Nest the end of the Long Range is reached,
and the stream divides, skirting round Dinish Island into Lough Leane
on the left side, to the right passing under Old Weir Bridge into
Muckross Lake.
The Old Weir Bridge consists of two arches; only one affords a passage
for boats, and as the water of the Upper Lake rushes into Muckross
Lake on its way to the sea through the Laune, the current is extremely
rapid, and it is quite usual for tourists to disembark and walk,
meeting the boat on the other side. Those with strong nerves, however,
enjoy "shooting the rapids." You then find yourself in Torc (or
Muckross) Lake, and opposite Dinish Island, on which is a pretty
cottage, where it is usual to halt for rest and refreshment. The chief
feature of the latter is salmon, broiled in cutlets on a fire made of
arbutus, the slices skewered on a spray of the same, which is said to
impart a delicious flavour to the fish.
There are so many objects of interest clustered around the Lakes that
it is vain trying to compress them into the description of a day's
excursion. When time is an object, the tourist can manage to "do" the
whole three lakes, but if time permits, the point we have now reached
should be the limit of his first day, and a row home over the lovely
waters of Lough Leane to Ross Island is a fitting close to it. The
grand old Castle never looks so picturesque as in the evening glow;
let it be his last memory of the day.
[Illustration: MUCKROSS, KILLARNEY.
From above Torc Waterfall, showing the upper and lower lakes with
the peninsula which divides them.]