Kenmare Bay and Kilmackillogue Harbour, thence to Glanmore Lake by
road skirting Lord Lansdowne's demesne, returning by Furniss
(ancient smelting works) and Carriganine Road. _20s._
It is particularly requested that visitors requiring cars will give
not less than an hour's notice at the office.
SOUTHERN HOTEL, KENMARE.
HIRE FOR FIXED DISTANCES (Driver's fee included)
Two-horse carriage. One-horse car.
From Kenmare to Parknasilla, _20s._ _10s._
" " Killarney, _28s._ _14s._
" " Glengarriff, _28s._ _14s._
" " Caragh Lake, -- _25s._
" " Waterville, _50s._ _2s._
Fifty per cent. additional for return journey.
To Glengarriff the coach runs by very beautiful scenery, terminating in
the lovely creek of the bay at ~Eccles' Hotel~ and by the fair height
where ~Roche's Hotel~ commands the view. From Glengarriff the coach may
be continued to Bantry, and the train then taken direct to Cork, along
the East Bandon line; or the road may be taken through the beautiful
Pass of Keimaneigh--the "Pass of the Deer"--and by the lovely lake of
Gougane Barra to Macroom. Here the Cork and Macroom Railway brings the
tourist back into the City of the Lee.
The road from Kenmare leads high out of the valley up the hill sides. We
command a good view of Kenmare Sound, and having passed under a number
of tunnels through the rock we cross the mearings into county Cork.
GLENGARRIFF
[Illustration: At Glengarriff.]
[Illustration: Otter Island, Glengarriff.]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Glengarriff.]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Glengarriff.]
[Illustration: Glengarriff Harbour]
[Illustration: Otter Rock Glengarriff]
[Illustration: Gougane Barra. Co Cork]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Gougane Barra.]
In a fair spot above the blue waters of the Bay of Bantry,
~Glengarriff~, as a health resort, vies with its charming young rival,
Parknasilla. Its climate, too, is softened by the nearness of the Gulf
Stream, and yew and arbutus, as well as tropical cryptogamia and Alpine
plants, overgrow every available spot along the sides of the rough
defile. It is come-at-able from Cork by train to Bantry and then coach,
or by coach from Killarney or Kenmare. Apart from the beauty of the
situation and the mildness of its climate, Glengarriff possesses
splendid facilities for sea bathing and boating. There is excellent
hotel accommodation both at Eccles', on the shore of the bay, and at
Roche's, in the midst of beautiful grounds, through which the Owvane, or
"fair river," flows, making on its way a wild cascade. The drive from
Glengarriff to Gougane Barra, through the Pass of Keimaneigh, "the path
of the deer," is one of the great excursions to be made. ~Gougane
Barra~, the shrine of Saint Finbarr, is in the midst of a lonely lake
near the source of the Lee. It is still the scene of "patrons" on Saint
Finbarr's day, and Mass is celebrated in the open air in the middle of
the lake. There is good trout fishing in the Allua and other streams in
the Desmond Valley. Callaghan, the poet, has sung of it--
"There is a green island in lone Gougane Barra,
Where Allua of songs rushes forth as an arrow;
In deep-valleyed Desmond--a thousand wild fountains
Come down to that lake, from their home in the mountains;
There grows the wild ash, and a time-stricken willow
Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow;
As, like some gay child, that sad monitor scorning,
It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning.
And its zone of dark hills--oh! to see them all bright'ning;
When the tempest flings out its red banner of lightning;
And the waters rush down, mid the thunders deep rattle,
Like clans from their hills at the voice of the battle;
And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming,
And wildly from Mullagh the eagles are screaming."...
The "green island" is a little over half an acre in extent. In its
centre is a quadrangle, with walls at parts fourteen feet thick, in
which are eight cells or cloisters rudely arched over. Within, on a
raised platform, is a large cross with five steps ascending to it. There
is a large flagstone here with an inscription, giving directions how
"the rounds" are to be performed on the vigil and forenoon of the feast
days of St. Finbarr and St. John the Baptist, to whom there is a
special cultos all over Munster. The road from Gougane runs through
Inchigeela and Ballingeary by a wild stretch of river inches, called the
Gearagh, to Macroom, where the old Castle and Convent are worth
visiting. In the latter the kindergarten system has been introduced with
great success. It is also here that the Gaelic Feis or Festival is held
for the locality, which contains a large percentage of Irish-speaking
people, including numbers of children. From Macroom train runs direct to
Cork. In the visitors' book at Inchigeela Hotel some vagabond rhymester
penned the following farewell:--
Sweet Inchigeela, fare thee well, to-morrow we depart
On Mrs. Brophy's outside car, for Gougane B. we start;
I add my mite of doggerel to all I have read here,
And put my X to all that's writ of this hotel's good cheer.
O charming Inchigeela, were mine the poet's pen,
How I would do the Longfellow, in praising rock and glen;
Among thy mountains, hills, and lakes, six happy days we passed,
And sigh to think the day draws near that's doomed to be the last.
We've climbed the rocky mountains, we've plodded o'er the plain,
We've bid a wild defiance to the drizzling, drenching rain;
And yielding to the influence of your coquettish weather,
We've grilled beneath the sunshine on thy "tick" infected heather.
O lovely Inchigeela! O cosy Lake Hotel!
O Hannah! best of waiting-maids, and civilest as well;
O were I not so sleepy, a great deal more I'd say,
But I must grasp my pilgrim's staff and wend my onward way.
From ~Cromwell's Bridge~, at Glengarriff, the road runs to Berehaven,
where there is an old Castle of the O'Sullivan's and some splendid
caves. Cromwell's Bridge, of which one arch only now remains intact, is
said to have been built here to facilitate the march of the Protector on
his return from Dunboy Castle, he having threatened, if the bridge was
not erected on his return, he would hang a man for every hour he was
delayed. ~Bantry~, or the White Strand, is a thriving town, a pleasant
drive from Glengarriff. Here the French fleet, with Wolfe Tone on board,
purported landing in the winter of 1797; but, like the Armada, were
scattered by a hurricane. Bantry House, the residence of the
White-Hedges family, is beautifully situated on the side of the bay.
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Cromwell's Bridge,
Glengarriff.]
The Cork and Bandon Railway from Bantry is connected with most of the
towns on the Cork coast. From Skibberreen, the famous fishing village of
~Baltimore~ may be visited. The Piscatorial School is doing good work,
and is an enduring monument to the philanthropy of the Baroness
Burdett-Coutts. Innisherin Island, in Baltimore Harbour, was an old
fortress of the O'Driscolls--and in particular of "Finnen O'Driscoll,
the Rover"--of whom it is told:--
"The men of Clan-London brought over
Their strong ships to make him a slave;
He met them by Mizen's wild headlands,
And the sharks gnaw their bones 'neath the wave."
Baltimore was sacked in the early seventeenth century by Algerine
pirates, and all the able-bodied inhabitants sold into slavery. These
pirates were finally put down by the intrepidity of the Commonwealth
seamen. Kinsale, also on the coast, is a remarkable old town; there
James II. landed on his ill-fated visit to Ireland. Bandon, beautifully
situated on the broad river of that name, was long the Derry of the
South. The memory of these "good old times" only now remains, and Bandon
is the centre of many successful industries.
For information as to Sport to be had in the Killarney District,
see end of this volume, where particulars are given as to Cycling,
Fishing, &c.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Coaching in Kerry]
[Illustration]
The Lakes and Fiords of Kerry.
The Grand Atlantic Tour--Caragh, Cahirciveen, Valencia, Waterville,
Parknasilla, Kenmare, &c.
The beauty of Killarney is not without a rival, and that even "next
door" to it in its very own kingdom of Kerry. Leaving behind the
soft-swelling hills, deep-eyed lakes and dark mountains, we speed
southward and westward to other lakes and mountains kindred to what we
have already seen. It is for these lovely lands that the Gulf Stream
crosses the Atlantic to kiss, that we are making over the wide-armed
railway which clasps the most picturesque scenery in the country within
its embrace. Starting from Killarney for Valencia, we leave the train to
continue its journey northwards to Tralee, at Farranfore Junction. While
changing into the carriages for the south-west coast, where
"The mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another,"
one look round reveals the amphitheatre of hills. Westward, whither we
are going, the hills above Glenbeigh point our road to where the
Atlantic meets the shore. To the eastward, where the morn, in russet
mantle clad, walks o'er the dew, the line of far-piercing spears,
Mangerton, Torc, Glena, Toomies, and the Reeks extend. At Killorglin
(twenty-four miles rail), with a wide-spanning viaduct, we cross the
Laune, wending its way from the Lakes to Dingle Bay. Here the ruins of
an old Knights Templar Castle remain to remind us of the historic past.
For five-and-twenty miles from this place onward, the route runs over
the southern shore-line of Dingle Bay. Some five miles from Killorglin,
in a secluded nest of old trees beneath the mountains, lies ~Caragh
Lake~.
"Long, long ago, beyond the space
Of twice ten hundred years;
In Erin old there lived a race
Taller than Roman spears."
[Illustration: Fishing in Caragh River]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Caragh River and Lake.]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Southern Hotel, Caragh Lake.]
And in their romances and love-songs, Caragh was tenderly mentioned, for
was it not here that Dermot sheltered Grania in the bowers of the
quicken-trees? All who have read the fine old Finnian romance, "The
Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grainne," which tells the iliad of their flight
across ancient Erin, will remember that here on the shores of Kerry he
met his enemies and discomfited them. In the mists westward from the
lake is the hill-summit, Seefin, where the disconsolate son of MacCool
sat. For long this little paradise has remained forgotten by
scenery-seeking men, but now that it is re-discovered, it will enthral
all comers. The lake, sheltered under the cloak of the hills, is six
miles long, and all around its coasts are things of beauty, green velvet
mosses, dark broom and heather-clad hills, with rowan trees interspersed
throughout. The grisly mountains are glistening with silver
threads--small streams that hasten to see themselves reflected in the
lake. Far from the busy haunts of men, in a sleepy hollow only five
minutes' walk from the railway station, the ~Southern Hotel~ Company
has secured a delightful site for their fine hotel. If nature has done
great things for Caragh, "filthy lucre," too, has done much, and here is
everything to help the invalid, the sportsman, or "the common or garden"
tourist to take advantage of the charming pleasure and health resort.
For the fisherman there are almost endless opportunities. There is
excellent salmon and trout fishing in the Caragh Lake, and also in the
Caragh, Carahbeg, Ougarriv, and Meelagh Rivers, while within easy reach
are Lakes Acoose, Cloon, Coomlonkir, Oulagh, Loughnakirkna, Corravoula,
and Nabrackdarrig, all of which would gladden the heart of old Izaac
Walton. Over twenty-five thousand acres of the best shooting in Kerry is
reserved for the use of guests. It comprises principally grouse,
woodcock, snipe, duck, wild goose, and plover. Both banks of the Caragh
River, which is carefully preserved, have also been secured. ~Dooks~, in
the vicinity, has been selected for an excellent nine-hole golf course,
of which guests, as honorary members, are entitled to take advantage. A
flag-station on the railway brings the links within easy walking
distance. The grand strand along the shore gives every opportunity of
bathing. Across the beautiful Dingle Bay rises Mount Brandon (3,127
feet), and Dunmore Head, out at the edge of the ocean, has the Blasket
Islands scattered around its coast, the treacherous rocks of which were
so fatal to the Spanish Armada. By car from the hotel to Blackstones
Bridge, returning by boat through the lake, is a short tour of many
attractions. Beneath, at one side, lie the bright waters of the bay; on
the other the dark waters of the lake. The Killorglin road is reached
about a mile from Acoose Lake, and then following the declivity by a
mountain stream, we get a good view of Gort-na-gloran Mountain, on the
east of the lake, and see in the distance the fishing hamlet of Glencar,
with the Glencar Hotel high up on pasture ground, surrounded by a cordon
of green fir trees. Except in the Swiss valleys and parts of Norway,
there is no scenery in Europe to compare with an inland route from
Caragh to Parknasilla. It lies across the mountains
"Where the wandering water gushes
In the hills above Glencar;
In pools among the rushes,
That scarce could bathe a star,"
through wild scenery between the gorges of the mountains, and into
Ballaghbeama Pass. Beneath, in a winding valley, lies Lough Brin,
turning from which we come into the valley of the Eskdhu, or Blackwater,
and follow it amid the beeches until it falls into the sea.
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Pass of Ballaghbeama.]
Leaving Caragh Lake, the railway line follows the flow of the river, the
next station being ~Glenbeigh~, where there is a growing watering-place.
The strand is particularly fine, extending over two miles. There is a
good hotel, with golf links, beside plenty of fishing and boating.
~Coomasaharn~--the wonderful lake in the vicinity--it has been correctly
said is surrounded by precipices more awful than anything to be found
nearer home than the Alps or Pyrenees--clinging to the mountain side, at
a height of several hundred feet above the sea, with here a cutting or
embankment, and there a mountain gorge, in which a lovely waterfall is
almost lost to sight in a labyrinth of foliage.
~Mountain Stage~ and ~Kells~ are passed, and the train glides down an
incline to Cahirciveen and Valentia Harbour. ~Cahirciveen~, the
birthplace of Daniel O'Connell, is the most westerly town in the three
kingdoms. It lies with its back up against the Iveragh Mountains, and
facing the blue waters of Dingle Bay. Only since the road was cut across
the hills to Valentia in later years has it come to be of importance. In
1803 there were only fifteen houses here, and the beginning of its
uprise in the world was when O'Connell got it made a market town. But in
legends of the past it is a place of fame, and received its name from
Sive, one of the beautiful daughters of the great monarch, Owen More.
~Carhan House~, where the Liberator spent his childhood (but was not
actually born, as alleged), the ruins of which now only remain, may be
seen a short distance outside the town.
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ On the Coast near Glenbeigh.]
Two charming fishing harbours under Knocktubber Mountain are worth
seeing, Councroum, "the Haven's Bend," and Coonana, which is called
after the woman who bore the great Finn. Here, the mighty fighter of the
old days, "Conn of the Hundred Battles," fought no less than thirteen of
his fields, and three pre-historic forts remain to bear testimony to the
past--Cahir-na-cahal, Cahirgal, and Castlequinn.
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Glenbeigh.]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Lake Coomasaharn.]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Cahirciveen.]
Ballycarbery's ruined castle, too, deserves attention. In ancient times
it was the fortress of Carbery O'Shea, whose tide-swept tomb is still to
be seen. Then it passed into the hands of Owen More's descendants, and
from them to the O'Connells. When the Spaniards sent their "ale" over to
Erin, and the Kerry women borrowed one another's cloaks to go to Spain
to sell eggs and dulisc, Ballycarbery, commanding the harbour's mouth,
was a place frequented by mariners and merchantmen from many a Spanish
port. There is a story of Morgan of the Wine and a Spanish Captain worth
re-telling. Two O'Connells lived in Ballycarbery together, one brother,
Shawn, occupying the lower portion, and the other, Morgan, living in the
upper apartments. Both at the same moment invited a Spanish captain, who
had come into the port, to dine with them. The foreigner, embarrassed by
their hospitality, and not wishing to show an undue preference--as
neither brother would give way--agreed to give his company to whichever
gentleman had his repast cooked first. The brothers repaired with speed
to the castle, and Morgan was chagrined when he had mounted to his
rooms, to find that Shawn had barricaded the entrance behind him, to
prevent his servants from drawing water to cook the dinner. But he
was not to be foiled, for, broaching a cask of wine, he cooked in it
what he wanted, and as his dinner was first prepared, the Spaniard and
his brother Shawn were his guests! In the wars of the Commonwealth the
castle was reduced. ~Derriana Lake~, in the bed of the mountains--with
wisps of mist on its further shores--is like a dream picture. The fair
isle floating in its centre is freighted down with oak and arbutus trees
standing out in relief against the mountain, and reflected in the
mirror-faced waters. The coloured setting of the surroundings is
exquisite. The cliffs bristle crest high with rigid firs, the young oak
copse is entangled with an undergrowth of guelder rose, and in the
sedges near the heron-frequented reeds, white water lilies open their
wonderful eyes. Close by, ~Cloonaghlin Lake~, when it is dark with
mountain shadows and frowning clouds, is sufficiently desolate to awe
the least susceptible, but when auspiciously the sky is brightened, we
feel--
"Truly the light is sweet, and
A pleasant thing it is for the
Eyes to behold the sun."
The shadows recede into the depths of the water or the hollows of the
hills, the many colours of the trees show themselves; and song-birds
begin anew their music, as though a great hawk had been near, and had
passed them by scathless.
VALENCIA ISLAND
May truly be termed the "Next parish to America," and should be visited
for its noble cliffs, wild headlands, and wonderful jungle of fuschia
trees. From Valencia Harbour a ferry, manned for upwards of a century by
the O'Neills, brings passengers and mails across to Knightstown, the
principal village, and a busy port of industry during the fishing
season. Glenleam, the Knight of Kerry's residence--about one mile
inland--is surrounded by beautiful gardens, where, besides arbutus and
myrtle, many tropical exotics thrive. The fuschias form a thick glade,
and the trunks of several of them almost defy the ordinary axe or saw.
There are on the island, besides holy wells, a number of soutterains and
cairns, that
"Sit upon the ground
To tell sad stories of the death of kings."
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ At Valencia.]
[Illustration: _Photos, Cuthbert, Valencia._ Valencia Harbour. Fishing
Fleet. Entrance to Valencia Harbour.]
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Cliffs at Valencia.]
Irish is freely spoken on the island, and if properly introduced, the
visitor may be able to hear many old stories of Finn and his companions,
the Gabawn Saior, and other heroes of the peasants' heart. Thick as
mists at morn legends hover about the island, and beyond the great Slate
quarries may be seen many caves of great interest. There is a tradition
on the island that St. Vincent Ferrar landed there. The harbour offers a
deep and sheltered anchorage, and was formerly much frequented by
smugglers, whose cave is still shown. Paul Jones often put in here, and
on one occasion pressed into his service a number of fishermen, whom he
took from the neighbouring fishing grounds. None of them returned except
one, who had long been imprisoned in France, but he came home "with a
stocking full of doubloons," and his children's children are still known
as "The Paul Jones's."
At ~Brayhead~,
"Where the broad ocean leans against the land,"
there is a splendid view from nearly eight hundred feet above the sea.
The rocks around the coast, encircled with white foam, make a beautiful
contrast to the grey and emerald and gold of the sandy coves and green
hills.
[Illustration: _Photo, Lawrence, Dublin._ Cliffs at Valencia.]
Dolus and Bolus Heads reach far into the ocean. The ~Skelligs~, "the
most western of Christ's fortresses in the ancient world," raise their
heads to the south, while northwards the Great Blasket, a mountainous
island, and its eleven brothers, with Innisvic Killane, may be seen. On
the 10th September, 1588, the Armada ship, _Our Lady of the Rosary_, of
1,000 tons, was wrecked in the Blasket Sound; among the many who
perished was the Prince of Askule, natural son to King Philip of Spain.
Around the coast line there have been many wrecks, and not a few are the
pathetic stories still told of them on the island.
The last wreck of importance gave another opportunity for the intrepid
islanders to show what stern stuff they were made of. Under the
captaincy of Mr. Alexander O'Driscoll, the volunteers put off to the
wreck, and despite of a sea running high, and the buffeting of a great
storm, saved the lives of the crew, and rendered full salvage. While on
the island, a visit should be paid to the Anglo-American Cable Company's
Station, care being taken beforehand to go through the formality of
applying to the Managing Director (26, Old Bond-street, London, E.C.)
for an order. Every facility is extended by the courteous local
officials.
THE SKELLIGS--ST. MICHAEL'S ROCK.
From Valencia, or from across the channel at Portmagee, where there is a
thriving fish-curing industry, the Skelligs can be reached in favourable
weather. Standing high above the green billows that encircle them with
collars of white foam, they repay every trouble taken to inspect them.
The ~Little Skellig~, a fantastic rock, with a great arch like a flying
buttress under which for centuries the seas have churned deep, is almost
inaccessible. It is a great breeding ground for gannet, with which,
during the breeding season, its sides are white as the waves below.
[Illustration: GE Skellig.]
So unused are these magnificent birds to being disturbed by intruders
that even when within oar's length of them, they remain passive and
unscared. The ~Great Skellig~ swings high its cliffs seven hundred feet
above the water. Clinging to the ridge of its impressive rocks "like
swallows' nests" are the round roofs of the beehive cells which of old
formed a citadel of Christianity. To Saint Michael the Archangel,
guardian against all the powers of darkness, the isle is dedicated. Its
history is of old date, for here Milesius buried the beloved son, Ir,
that the thieving waters robbed of his soul. Here "the slanting,
full-sailing ships" of Daire, on their way to the great battle of Ventry
Harbour, paused in their march along the deep. Here, too, in recording
times, was the great hero-king of the Norse, Olaf Iryggveson, baptized.
A little cove, deep in the recess of a cavern, makes a landing stage,
only to be attempted at favourable times. An easy path leads halfway
round the island; then, mounting a flight of steps, the visitor beholds,
spread before him, a green valley, the one patch of richness on the
desolate rock. This is Christ's Saddle, from which, with reverent
hearts, the "Way of the Cross" may be traversed, ending in the heart of
Skellig-Michael. Each of the fourteen Stations have descriptive Gaelic
names, such as "The Stone of Pain," where our Saviour falls the first
time; "The Rock of the Woman's Piercing Caoine," where His Mother and
the Holy Women have met. Lonely and deserted, none should enter these
hallowed places but with feelings of reverence.
WATERVILLE.