Mystical Waters and Canal Cruising Along the Shannon-Erne Waterways by Vourneen Taylor
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Curious swans welcome us aboard our rented six-berth luxury cruiser named Caprice Number 15. Their pristine white feathers are jewelled by beads of water from the Shannon River. Once on board, we excitedly run from bedroom to bathroom opening cupboards and sliding drawers exclaiming, "look there's even a telly," or "wow, we've even got a microwave."
After thorough instructions from our relaxed company representative, we are left to our own devices. The Caprice would be our hotel, restaurant and sole means of transport for the next couple of days.
My boyfriend and I are members of a small minority group called ‘carless’. The ‘carless community’ can be defined as people who do not possess a car or cannot drive one. We are often discriminated against when it comes to holidays, so I was delighted to find out that a boating holiday in Ireland does not require a license or any boating experience.
Recently, I realised just how little I had visited in Ireland because of transport restrictions. My Dutch boyfriend was also keen to explore some "small villages with pubs in the middle of nowhere," but normally, we could never reach these types of remote places without a car.
So when I suggested a cruise down the Shannon, I got an immediate positive response and soon recruited some crew from the Netherlands, who had a bit more experience with boats than I had. They had not, however, experienced anything quite like the mystical and scenic Shannon Erne waterways.
The Shannon River is the longest river in Ireland and stretches 240 miles. It starts as a meagre stream in Cavan and winds its way southward, ending as a wide, powerful river at the mouth of the estuary in Limerick City. The Shannon River is named after "Sinann" a Celtic mythical goddess.
She was originally a mortal woman who searched for the Well of Knowledge. When she found it, the well reacted in anger at her unauthorised access and, as she opened the cover, the water flowed out and became the Shannon River. It also killed her and transformed her into the goddess Sinann. With the myths of the Shannon lingering in my head, I swiftly put on my neon orange life jacket, just in case.
I have one of the two en-suite rooms, fitted with wardrobe, shelving, a bed that can be pushed together as a double and a mattress that is more comfortable than it looks. It is a compact room but has everything I need. As I unpack, a fresh breeze comes in the room, and I look up to see the passing scenery.
There is no movement onboard, just the low hum of the engine. I double-check that we are actually cruising by sticking my head out of the window like a dog. A blast of air and sunshine hits my face. We are heading towards our first destination: Boyle Marina and Lough Key. Grabbing the camera, I climb the ladder to the top deck and, in paparazzi style, start shooting away at the majestic scenery unfolding around me.
A line from a poem by Aubrey de Vere pops into my head: "The Shannon swept onwards broad and clear." As the river widens and opens onto Lough Key, spotlights of sun rays shine down on the islands in a heavenly fashion. The emerald green and purple hills jump out from the contrasting sky. Sunset approaches, and warm orange tones tint the clouds. Hills rise now, like plump pillows, from the water. A steaming bowl of pasta and a glass of red wine, served by one of my fellow mates, help to soak up the remainder of the setting sun.
There is definitely something in the air in these parts. Everyone is relaxed; it seems as if it is contagious as we all succumb to the rhythm of life onboard. We arrive with a little bump at our first mooring of the trip at Boyle Harbour. The Harbour has recently been awarded "Best Marina Development" for increasing tourism, enhancing life in the area and providing a facility that represents progress in the community.
The investment of 3.4m Euro provided a service block with toilets, showers, laundry rooms, upgraded facilities and accessibility. It is now possible to navigate to the sea at Limerick, to the sea at New Ross in Co. Wexford (via the Grand Canal and Barrow Navigation) or to Dublin along the Grand Canal.
Due to the investment in the Waterways, new marinas include developments in Kilglass, Co. Roscommon, Portrunny on Lough Ree and Garrykennedy on Lough Derg, which provides 2,800m of additional moorings on the Shannon Navigation.
The population of Boyle is only 4,500, but there are a significant amount of facilities and attractions for a town of its size. Our ‘carless’ group enjoyed the 20-minute stroll into town passing Old Abbey Ruins and the King’s House, which was lit up at night. A whistling local dog walker and hundreds of singing birds provided accompanying music for the journey.
The highly recommended Kate Lavin's Pub on Patrick Street doesn’t disappoint. This authentic family-run pub rations its opening hours from 8 pm to closing time, which can vary depending on how nice you are to Harvey, the proprietor, or one of his sons. As we are his only customers, he puts on some music for our enjoyment and explains the origin of the selection of empty Belgian bottles behind the counter.
The eclectic decor adds character to the warm, cosy atmosphere. An unused door is held shut by electrical tape and a collage of photos, posters and memorabilia hang from the walls. The shelf above the till is slanted at a 45-degree angle to cope with the new, modern till and pint glasses neatly stacked on top.
Our crawl continues on to a dubious looking Scanlons pub, which reveals a lively interior. Upon opening the door, two girls, who may have had one too many, give a highly entertaining rendition of Mariah Carey on top of the pool table much to the enjoyment of the local farmers lining the bar.
Much chin-rubbing and head-scratching is had at the girls’ antics. A guy at the bar draws a map of Ireland on the back of a torn beer mat, which is surprisingly accurate considering the amount of Guinness he’s consumed. The map is to try and explain the size of the Netherlands in comparison to Ireland to my Dutch friends.
A giant line in blue biro pen crossing the length of Ireland indicates the Shannon River. Closing time here, like most bars west of Dublin, is a mere suggestion that is not really enforced. So an hour or more after official closing time, I leave the locals still drinking at the bar and saunter boat-wards to our cabins for a restful night’s sleep.
With clear blue skies, we cruise to the forest park of Lough Key. A joy again for the ‘carless’ as we just pulled up, step off the boat and into the park. Light trickles through the green foliage, giant trees peer down at us, and twisted branches and giant roots provide excellent climbing facilities.
We discover climbers, creepers, butterflies, ornate bridges and foliage of a thousand different green hues. Lough Key surrounds aptly named Castle Island, where castle ruins stand proud -- lording over the lake and surrounding land.
A simple childhood thrill returns as we run towards the playground in the grounds of the park and dare each other to be the first on the swings. Then we go in search of fairies, because, if fairies were to be found anywhere, I was sure we would find them under "Fairy Bridge" in the "Bog Garden" or along the dirt track to the ring fort.
Instead we discover strange neon orange bobbles, which lay on the green moss, maybe laid by fairies or other creatures or just an unusual fungus, who knows? We return to the boat and the Swans check in on us again as if to say goodbye.
There is an Irish myth called the Children of Lir. Legend has it that the evil Queen used her magical powers to turn the Children of King Lir into swans, and the children were forced to live on the lake for 900 years. Only in the light of a full moon could they briefly change into their human form.
We pull up outside Cathy's pub in Leitrim. After a few Jamesons in front of a turf fire, I see a full moon shining brightly, the reflection glistening like white ribbon in the inky river. Suddenly I hear a splash followed by the ripples in the water.
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
-WB Yeats - Wild Swans at Coole