Day 8, Dingle to Doolin.

A chilly and crisp morning dawned. The skies were leaden. The rain held off but threatened. I unplugged the van from the power connection which we used to recharge our onboard batteries, computers and other gizmos. The water tank was refilled. Leia, our border collie was strapped into her harness and her seatbelt strap that fixes her harness to a seat belt anchor was attached to stop her being thrown about should I need to break heavily. All the cupboards have double locking to avoid spilling their contents when hitting the first bump. They were checked. We now have our pre departure routine set up perfectly. The sat nav was programmed with our final destination of Doolin. I don’t follow its instructions unless I get lost as we tend to turn off the beaten track to go and explore when the fancy takes us and the incessant “turn left, turn back” and so forth would drive me nuts. It does however give me a sense of the estimated time of arrival at journeys end.

We departed on the road back to Dingle. It is the only road available to me.

Skirting north of the town we then climbed steadily towards the Connor Pass. The road snaked its way along the hillsides gaining altitude all the time. A sign at the bottom of the climb forbids vehicles over 1.9 metres wide and more than 4 metres high. I could not see why. The road looked easy enough. Halfway up to the summit another sign warns that this is your last chance to turn back. We continued. At the summit is a small car park. You need to stop. No really you must. For the views are stunning.

Looking south you can see Dingle nestled in the bay. Looking north lies the small town of Cloghane. But the main feature is the wind. It blows stiffly from the north up the hills straight into your face. It brings tears to your eyes. It stings your cheeks. It makes you feel alive. The air is thick, cold and wet. It is fantastic. Orographic cloud forms around you. Not on the scale of Table Mountain in Cape Town or over the Rock of Gibraltar. But being so close it was impressive enough.

It is only on the descent on the north side do you understand the warnings seen on the way up. Much of the road is narrow single track. More than that though the road is at times blasted into the rock face. Whilst the road at tyre level may be just wide enough, it is the sheer rock face that threatens to rip open the roof of any camper van foolhardy enough to ignore the warning signs. It was a slow descent. Careful does it. But worth every minute of it. A sheer drop on the passenger side is only protected by barbed wire on wooden posts. Designed not to hold an erring campervan should you overdo it. More to make a nasty mess of your paintwork before the drop of hundreds of feet does the rest to your bodywork. Debbie refused to look!

The road then descends along the north side of the Dingle peninsular into the rather nondescript large town of Tralee. From here it follows a rather flat and verdant landscape to the small town of Tarbert on the southern side of the River Shannon estuary. The wind sock on the end of the pier was drooping. That boded well for the crossing. A wind sock parallel to the horizon is not what my good lady would want to see.

Here you can take a ferry across to Killimer on the north side. You could avoid the ferry by going through the city of Limerick some distance to the east up river and drive another couple of hours to boot. But wheres the fun in that. I watched the ferry manoeuvre and dock. Smooth.

We boarded the Shannon Breeze for the short trip across the river. Two large power stations loom on each shore, one coal fired and the other oil fired. We stayed in the car for the heavens opened and it was more comfortable to do so. I could not help myself watching the operations. The dog slept through it all.

Now the heavens really opened. It lashed down. It made for slow driving as the visibility in the spray was poor. Passing through the rather grey town of Kilrush we pushed on to Kilkee where we stopped for a rest and to let the dog out. The wind came straight off the Atlantic and while Debbie prepared a lunch I took the dog along the beach for a walk.

It seems to me that in the past Kilkee (not to be confused by Kilkeel on the east coast) was a place to behold but has fallen on poorer times now. The sea front benches have rotten planks and the houses all looked weather beaten. But it is another of those places that you come across that has a few hidden secrets. Like Russell Crowe unveiling a statue to Richard Harris here. Theres more here to read.

We moved up the coast. The plan was to visit the renowned Cliffs of Moher. We had read about them and were looking forward to seeing them. We arrived at the entrance to the carpark .15 Euros to enter if you please.

This is what we saw.

Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Sod all in fact. We were up in the clouds where the visibility was around 50 feet. A car park attendant did their best to usher us into the car park where we would be fleeced 15 Euros to see nothing at all. But still they tried. We declined and moved on to Doolin. My original choice for the night was a car park where in the past, according to various websites, motorhomes were welcome. A new sign saying ‘bugger off’ in more polite language meant finding somewhere else to stay.

O’Connors Riverside Caravan and Camping park were much more welcoming. Right across from it lies Fitz’s pub and bistro. So another day came to an end with us in the pub and the dog guarding the motorhome.

The highlights today were definitely Connor Pass and the Shannon crossing. The scenery in the latter half of the day was rather ordinary mainly due to the continuing poor weather. Surely it must break soon. Chin Chin!