We heard the patter of rain on the roof of the van as we stirred.
Peering out with bleary eyes, yes it was raining. Actually stair rodding. It wasn’t a surprise to be honest, checking the weather apps had shown a long line of black cloud icons with double raindrops for today. It wasn’t going to be a nice day.
We packed up and headed to Ballina to check that out, hoping to have a wander around. It was a pleasant enough town, but not a tourist town and with the rain becoming heavier, we changed our minds. On reading the guide book last night, it mentioned a cafe in the coastal community of Easky so fancying a coffee and most likely a cake, we toddled off there, though we had an inkling that it might be closed after giving it a quick Google. Their website stated it was temporarily closed, though some site owners don’t keep their information up to date. Unfortunately this one did and as we pulled up, it looked very closed with its windows covered up. Back to the drawing board.
It was really quite misty and miserable with low cloud hanging low, erasing any scenery to be had. We didn’t have a clue what was out there – it could be flat as a pancake or have magnificent mountains. Occasionally the cloud lifted ever so lightly and you would get a hint of a silhouette – we were level with the Ox Mountains, was that a whiff of their foothills and they went even higher? We would never find out.
We arrived at Ballysadare, south of Sligo and found a coffee shop and a SuperValu opposite each other. We parked down a side road as there didn’t seem to be any public car parks and I nipped out to do a quick shop (another supermarket that was higgley piggley) before getting coffees to go and a couple of cakes. Hubby took The Pup for a wander. We met up again and headed off on the WAW, but didn’t go far when we came across a little parking area overlooking Ballysadare’s little estuary and had lunch. As we ate, the rain eased off and we could see a little further – Knocknarea, a local prominence standing at 327m and overlooking Strandhill appeared from the mist, which we weren’t expecting and looked back to see if the Ox mountains would make an appearance. Unfortunately no. Saving one the cafe’s cakes for later, we headed towards Knocknarea, looking for The Glen. The scenery as usual, was constantly and subtly changing from bare coastal fields to roads lined with hedgerows.
So we kept an eye out for The Glen, a hidden 1km walk along a narrow canyon. It’s not easy to find said the guide book, so we followed the written instructions, driving up the side of Knocknarea looking for a scenic lay-by some 600m from the junction. We pulled into a lay-by and hoping it was the right one, walked back down some 200m looking for a well on the right side. Sure enough, a little stone trough hugged the hedgerow and opposite was a little opening.
A propped opened metal gate with a severe sign that said “keep out, danger, falling rocks and trees“ had been evidently ignored as there was a narrow, but well worn path diving into the undergrowth. Foliage overhung the path, making a little green tunnel with a fair drop on one side. It was really quite pretty. Branches had fallen across the path, so we picked away across them and ducked under low branches until the path opened up with two walls of rock on either side. In the middle, several trees had been uprooted, their rootballs at 90 degree angles while their trunks blocked our way. We tried to see if we could find a way through and walk further along, but it was impossible. What a shame as it was really wonderful. Moss clung to everything, the flora and fauna dripping with moisture. You half expected a little fairy to appear – it was quite magical and had a serenity about it. Unable to go any further, we retraced our steps through the bushes and picked up the van.
The weather had closed in again (it was spitting while we investigated The Glen). We climbed higher around Knocknarea, still unable to see very far – we kept getting tantalising glimpses of the local area, but nothing more. It wasn’t a day for taking photos at all, though it was beautifully green and lush.
We decided to head to Glencar Waterfall which was just north east of Sligo and with all this rain, it should be reasonably spectacular. We neatly navigated our way through the city’s outer limits, getting held up slightly for some roadworks and where we had a little chuckle. We had come across a few roadworks on our little Irish trip and out, deep in the rural backwaters, the stopping of traffic was overseen by a man on each end of the works, with his-vis jacket, hard hat, walkie talkie and a stop/go sign which they twisted after consulting each other. We had commented that surely traffic lights would be easier, but maybe a bit of manpower was quicker to arrange than a traffic light permit out in the country. So imagine our surprise to find the manual traffic management in operation on a busy road in Sligo except these guys sported a large golfing umbrella to keep the deluge at bay!
We carried on following the route to Glencar – the misty rain obscuring this beautiful valley – it’s suppose to remind visitors of a Swiss valley apparently, but we could only see the bottoms of the trees. There was a parking area, cafe and toilets at Glencar and as we parked in a bay, we commented that we hadn’t been charged for parking at all at any of the tourist spots we had visited and all the public toilets were free too (and spotless as well). It was so refreshing. In the Lake District, you might as well just hand over your credit card to the National Park and let them drain it for you – there’s a hefty payment for almost everything which is a bit off putting, but here, it’s free. We tried to work out how they did it.
The waterfall notice board said it was a quick ten minute walk away and that no dogs were allowed. So we left The Pup in the van for that short time and did a quick dash – it was actually less than five minutes and the waterfall was impressive. A family were reading the board by the waterfall, but there was no one else – the rain was obviously putting people off, so it was lovely and quiet (must get fairly busy on a warm summer’s day) and we could look at the waterfall at our own pace. The rain started to fall heavy again and we retreated back to the Van.
The Pup had curled up on my seat and refused to move. I jumped in via the side door, peeled off my coat and between us, shoved The Pup off – she went to the back seat, gave us a withering look and sulked for the rest of the afternoon.
Not wanting to visit anywhere else that involved getting out of the van whilst it was raining, we settled on the idea of having a drive round, in the hope that the weather would lift – it was apparently quite spectacular around here – and we would be rewarded with a magnificent view. We plotted a route to Manorhamilton, then up the valley on the R280 up to Kinlough. It was on this road that the heavens really opened up and the rain lashed down. Somewhere out there was the 1,726ft Benbulben Mountain with its flat topped summit – we managed to get a hazy picture of it as 50mph when the cloud lifted slightly. At Kinlough, we did a right and headed down the side of Lough Melvin with the plan to go northwards to Ballyshannon, doing a big loop.
Just before Garrison at the end of the lough, we stopped for a cuppa, looking back over the Lough, and to devour the other cake left from this morning. The sky and water were the same grey colour and so melded together – there was no horizon. We packed away and carried on passing through Garrison, keeping to the 40 speed limit when a couple of impatient drivers overtook us and sped off. We snorted in disgust at them until it suddenly dawned on us, that all the road signage had changed abruptly – we had unknowingly just crossed back into Northern Ireland and therefore Britain (there’s no border signs or anything to declare that you’ve just left Europe) and we were back into good old British miles and familiar road signs. Even the satnav reverted back! Suddenly we felt very much at home – this could easily be England! Then we realised that we had been poodling at 25mph through the village instead of 40mph – no wonder those motorists overtook us!
We were still babbling over the weirdness of it all when within a few miles (or was it kilometres) at the village of Belleek, we parted company with Northern Ireland and the brief comfort of familiarity, and found ourselves back in Eire with the sudden change of road signage! It was like visiting another dimension – did that just happen?
By this time, it was nearly 5pm and we needed a place to rest our weary heads. As we were coming up to Ballyshannon, we decided to check out a campsite there. As we approached the entrance on the main road, we noticed that it was right next door to a huge electrical sub station – perhaps we just plugged our van straight into there. It wasn’t floating our boat so we decided to head to Bundoran just down the road as that boasted at least three options. However as we entered the town and through its main thoroughfare, it felt a little rundown and a bit too “kiss me quick”. The campsite was down a side road, next door to a cinema complex and a Lidl – we were starting to prefer the hum of 40,000 volts.
We resorted to Google and found a possible site in a place called Rossnowlough, north of Ballyshannon. The rain was relentless, wiping out everything as we followed the signs which took us again through Ballyshannon, this time through its handsome and attractive High Street and we were quietly impressed. Quite a lovely town. We were now in County Donegal and we weaved our way down little lanes, catching glimpses of the sea until we arrived at Rossnowlagh and the Boortree campsite, a small tidy little place near the beach and the cheapest site so far. We quickly set up and sat in the van as the rain continued to fall, making little sorties to the toilet or giving The Pup a quick walk – poor thing had been cooped up all day.
About 7.30pm and after a sophisticated tea of fajitas, the rain finally gave up and stopped. Hurrah. But with the skies remaining heavy and broody and everything was feeling a touch damp, we had no enthusiasm to go anywhere so curled up, quietly steaming up the van until darkness fell. Let’s hope for better weather tomorrow.
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