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Published: March 25th 2014
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Gliding on the GoBus, through the streets leading out of Dublin, I relaxed and began to imagine what the weekend ahead would be like. I’ve been to Connemara a few times and spent a week on an Irish language course in Carraroe, but I have never stayed on an island for a weekend. I was delighted to be joining another couple at our friend’s cottage on Turbot Island. This took place in August 2013 but I’m only writing about it now.
The GoBus was great and got me from Dublin to Galway for only €10, with free WiFi onboard and sockets beside some seats. I had booked the Eyre Square Town House online and found it easily, only 5 minutes walk from the bus station. It was lovely and super-quiet with every comfort provided from a kettle, tea bags, to cable TV and a fabulous shower. I usually travel alone so single rooms can be quite expensive. This room was €40 for the night and I will definitely stay there again.
Friday noon I took the bus for just one-and-a-half hours to Clifden. My friends met me off the bus and we went to Mitchell’s famous seafood restaurant across
the street. We had a light lunch of seafood chowder and homemade brown bread. It was delicious and fortified us for the boat ride ahead. The sun was shining as we drove the 4 miles out the Clifden peninsula to the boat launch. We pulled on waterproof overalls and headed out on the 15 minute ride to the island. The water was “a little choppy” and as the waves splashed over the sides I was absolutely drenched to the skin! But it was worth it as we rounded a bend and I had my first view of Turbot Island with green fields sparkling in the sun.
There are only six inhabited homes on the island and my friends John and Kathleen have owned one of them for 16 years. John told us that their stays in the cottage were fairly Spartan until electricity was brought to the island in 2003. With electricity it became feasible to hire tradesmen to renovate the cottage and install loft bedrooms. John brought over a lot of the concrete blocks himself, boatload by boatload. The cottage is very spacious and comfortable now and so well-insulated we didn’t really need to light a fire all
weekend - but we couldn’t resist.
Once our wet clothes were hanging on the line and flapping in the breeze we were anxious to explore the island. As we climbed over pink granite boulders on the shore John told us some of the history of the island.
Apparently the residents survived the Famine (1845 - 1848) because they were able to fish. In 1841 the population was 146 and in the next 10 years it increased to 169.The residents of other islands had become totally dependent on potatoes and when the crop failed they had few food options. We debated the persistent mystery as to why the hungry people didn’t learn to fish. We settled for John’s view that they had a fatalist mindset and accepted “God’s will.”
We were enjoying warm sunshine but it wasn’t hard to imagine how difficult island farming and fishing must have been over the winter months when the wind scours the land and chills the bones. Housework must have been very arduous too with no electricity and only oil lamps for light. Children collected driftwood logs from the shores for firewood and what little bogland the island had was harvested for
turf.
The population of the island gradually decline in the 20
th Century, from 129 in 1901 to 89 in 1951. In 1984 three men from three different island families drowned while fishing. The islanders were devastated and the 30 families finally accepted the government’s offer of housing on the mainland across the bay. They were not a particularly close-knit community so they were happy to leave behind the hardships of the island for the advantages of life on the mainland.
By the time we finished our walk dinner was ready. We ate at a table in the glass sun porch with a panoramic view of the bay from Clifden to the east and the lighthouse blinking to the west. We stayed watching and chatting as the dusk settled and distant lights came on. All the fresh sea air made us feel very sleepy so we retired early. It was lovely to listen to the waves lap the shore as I drifted off the sleep.
The next morning we were eager to explore the other end of the island where the Protestant community lived. A number of the original stone houses are still standing. The island consists of
pink granite and the round stones are plentiful along the shore. True craftsmanship can be seen in the ruins of the school and in a tiny one-room cottage. At the other end of the island the concrete Catholic school stands abandoned with its schoolyard divided into girls’ and boys’ sides, each with its own outhouse. Six holiday homes have been renovated and their white walls glisten in the sunshine. It was fun to peek in the windows of the vacant homes and admire the renovations
Some of the former residents still farm the island. They swim their cows over in the springtime and back to the mainland in the fall. That practice has all but died out nowadays. Apparently the larger Inishturk Island nearby provides grazing for many sheep each year. I understand that you have to bind a sheep’s four legs together on board to prevent her from stomping a hole in the floor and capsizing the boat. There is no beach there so, once unbound, the sheep have to scramble up onto the grassland.
There isn’t a lot of wildlife on the island and no mice. However there are rabbits and corncrakes have returned after an
absence of many years. This is very significant and ornithologists are studying the habitats, to the disgust of the farmers who value their privacy and resent interference from outsiders. We saw some fox spoor and wondered if the farmers had introduced a fox to drive off the corncrakes and ornithologists.
We walked back to the house via "the highway”, a wide, grass-covered laneway that runs down the middle of the island. After lunch the sea was so calm that we took a spin in the boat along the mainland shoreline and past neighbouring uninhabited islands.
We had collected driftwood as we walked, the men hoisting logs onto their shoulders. In the evening we lit a fire and chatted into the night, proposing solutions to the world’s problems.
I went outside to breather the night air and stood in the middle of the field listening to the sound of silence. I gazed at the deep blue velvet cloak overhead, stitched with crystal clear diamonds. The scent of the sea was almost narcotic. It was an oasis of calm and I felt like a fly caught in amber.
Sunday morning we had time for a last walk along
the beach before we had to prepare for departure. The swirling patterns on the smooth stones were so striking I was tempted to take a few home to enhance my flower garden. My mobile phone rang as we returned to the cottage but the reception was weak. I went outside and climbed up on a flat-topped boulder so I could hear better. When I returned to
terra firma John said that my perch had been one of the original field corner markers
It was a calm ride to the mainland and the drive on the Sky Road to Clifden was lovely, especially seeing the Twelve Bens towering over the town. We continued on to Galway, through the spectacular scenery of Connemara.
I was so happy to have had this wonderful opportunity to experience somewhere new in Ireland. As I stored my suitcase full of memories on the Dublin bus I hoped that, long after I return to my “real” life in the city, the spell of Turbot Island will continue.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Near Connemara
Loved the history of the area and the story of building onto the house. Island life is rugged especially in these parts. I wish you had published this a day earlier as we were in the Connemara area yesterday along with Leenane, Cleegan, and Clifden. We would have gone to Mitchell's for lunch. We spent the night in Galway and enjoyed listening to music at Tig Coili. All is well in Ireland. Sorry we missed you.