Walking the Dunloe Gap

The Gap of Dunloe

By the time we got to the riding stables at the top of the Gap of  Dunloe, Maggie and I had a single pair of gloves between us. She wore the right one, I wore the left (our writing hands) and kept the other hands deep in anorak pockets against the March chill. We were seventeen, and on a hitching holiday across Southern Ireland (as the Republic of Ireland was called then). We'd stayed in Youth Hostels where the wind had blown through ill-fitting windows and hitched our way to Bantry Bay via Waterford and Cork, taking lifts from lorry drivers, garrulous primary school teachers and a farmer who told us to 'get in the back with the pig', and now we were in Kerry, hoping to see the famous lakes. We were looking at the sign which said… Pony and Trap Through the Gap; Five Shillings…

'This might be our quaintest ride yet,' I said to Maggie. She nodded, but we were both wrong, even stranger vehicular contraptions awaited us. 

. 'Fancy the ride between the highest mountains in Ireland?' A man with a blue paisley scarf to keep his neck from the cold was waiving his hand expansively. 'McGillycuddy Reeks to your left and Purple Mountain to your right; Killarney’s got the highest peaks in all of Ireland.

'We're trying to get the the Youth Hostel,' we replied. I don't think we really understood the significance of the Gap of Dunloe', its wealth of legends, its sheer beauty, but by the time the man had hitched his horse to his trap, we were beginning to get the idea. 'Dun Loe; from the Irish "Dún Lóich", the fort of Lóich, an ancient Tribal chief.'

Very soon, we were behind him, sheltered from the wind in the cosy trap, but with a magnificent view as our tan horse trotted down the metalled road. 'We're passing Kate Kearney’s Cottage soon,' the man called out. 'Famous in her time. Would you like to stop there?'

I fancy our driver had an 'arrangement' with the cottage, nowadays a pub and a place where most people start their journey. He pulled his horse in, and we got out and bought a postcard. Kate Kerney was a great beauty in the days before the 1840s famine, but she was famous for her 'Mountain Dew', a poitín distilled from potatoes.

'It was said to be fierce and wild, the trap driver told us,  'requiring not less than seven times its own quantity of water to tame and subdue it.'

'Was it moonshine,' we asked, enthralled. 

'Illegal even in those days, and probably lethal, too.'  

He started up the horse and we travelled on into the gap. You'll see a lot of derelict cottages,' he said. 'From the hungry forties. Have you heard of those times?' 

Maggie and I fell silent, taken up by how the waters of a small lake reflected  the mountain tops on either side of the gap. 'They are blue,' Maggie said.

'They're further off than you'd think. The great glaciers formed this gap during Ireland's last ice. He pointed away from the road. 'See the massive boulders scattered about the valley? That's what the glacier left. And this is Auger Lake, the first of the five corrie lakes that feed out of the River Loe.'

We reached a wonky bridge than spanned river. 'You can throw a coin in if you want,' said the driver. 'This is a wishing bridge.' 

He watched us, as we got down and leaned over the wall, staring at the way the water foamed and gushed over the rocky bed. Then we searched our pockets for the lowest denomination of coin we could find. We were taking this holiday on a shoestring, but a lucky wish on the River Loe was something we had to do. Finally, I found a penny; the old kind, of course, with King George's head on it. I spinned it in and wished that I would come back some day and do this all again. 

As we set off again, the driver said, 'For an extra five shillings, I'll take you all the way to Lord Brandon’s Cottage, where you can get a boat across the Killarney lakes.' 

But we knew we couldn't afford that. And we'd seen the lakes on horseback the previous day. 'We need to get to the youth hostel,' I repeated. 

'I can't take you that far. But if we make a sprint of it, we should catch up with the farm cart that passes Moll’s Gap at four in the afternoon.'

 Sure enough, as we reached the bottom of the valley and joined the road, a horse-drawn cart was easing its way towards us. Our driver hailed it and the old carthorse came to a welcome halt.

'I can take you past the entrance to the hostel, as it's on my way,' the farmer told us. 'Can you get up on top my load?' 

To our teenage delight, we scrambled up the wheels of the cart and found ourselves sitting among a heap of turnips. They smelled of the earth (and were covered in it) and the tanginess of swede. We waved good bye to the trap driver and the lovely tan pony, and continued our journey by turnip cart.

Thirty-five years later, Jim and I returned to Ireland, to stay with my cousin who lived in Kerry. I really wanted to show them the Gap of Dunloe. So we picked up a very similar pony trap from  Kate Kearney’s Cottage and went down through the gap once more, taking the full 8 mile trip to Lord Brandon’s Cottage, which turned out to be where the poor man was on house arrest for many years. We climbed down into what seemed a very rickety motorised wooden boat called the Hollie Belle. Our boatman was named Donal and promised us he knew everything  about the lakes. He set up a patter of information as the outboard motor sprang into life. We countered across the three lakes of Killarney, under the stone bridges, through the old weir which is shallow and fast, and difficult to navigate, past islands where goats chewed thoughtfully and ruined houses rose up behind. We sailed close to a cliff side to see an eagle soaring above us. 

'We're, about to arrive at Ross Castle,' Donal began, 'And so I'll tell you the legend of   O’Donoghue Mor, who build the castle in 15th century. They say he still exists in a deep slumber under the waters of Lough Leane, and on the first morning of May every seven years he rises from the lake on his magnificent white horse and circles the lake. Anyone catching a glimpse of him is said to be assured of good fortune for the rest of their lives.' He grinned. 'But I'm here most May the firsts, and I can't say I've been lucky yet.'

We laid out our picnic in the castle grounds and then drowsed for a bit before we set out to walk the shorter route around Lough Leane. As we walked, my cousin and husband chatted, and I fell into a dream of a song. By the time we got back to the castle,  I was desperate for a pen and paper to write down my new song...The Kerry Colours

I wove the Kerry colours into my mother’s hat

And we went up to the mossy bank where the hurling lads were sat.

We took our ease,

By the lake-side trees

Drinking Spanish wine and mead,

And the sun it passed into the west,

But no one took much heed.

Chorus

Those days are long behind me now,

The people far apart,

But the kiss is warm upon my brow

And the smile’s still in my heart.

With whitethorn all around us, its blossoms smelt of love,

The great lake sparkled down below our ferny, dappled grove.

The girls all led,

On a bracken bed

Singing songs that were so fair,

While the boys all laughed and nudged their arms, 

Making garlands for our hair.

The night-time came, the darkness grew round the Kerry lads and girls.

A stillness rose from the huddled shapes that on the ground were curled.

I heard the lake

Its lapping make,

And Killarney’s lights glowed red,

The stars hung huge above me, forming patterns in my head.

My lover’s face was very close, like jet I saw his eye.

I’ll love you, sweet, he whispered me, until the lake runs dry.

I yearned to say,

At close of day

How I’d always love him back,

I’ll love you ‘til Killarney lake will flood the Dunloe Gap.

All around my love and I, the whisperings began.

The whisperings of the Kerry pairs, each Colleen and her man.

The sounds that grew,

To the dark air flew

Their passion sworn for sooth,

For the young in love live in their hearts and their wishes form their truth.

Chorus

Those days are long behind me now,

The people far apart,

But the kiss is warm upon my brow

And the smile’s still in my heart.