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Sunday Gannets

Sunday 25 June dawned bright with a fair amount of cloud – the white fluffy kind with occasional grey bits. There were sufficient breaks to give some glimpses of blue sky and the sun was warm. After breakfast in our bunk (strange how I hate to do this at home but am happy to feast snuggled up in a duvet when on the boat), we dressed and headed off for the Kenmare River via the Skelligs – a rather round about route but hopefully it would give us a good sail. Once clear of the rocks of Portmagee we unfurled the genoa and broad reached across the northerly wind towards Little Skellig.

From a distance this jagged lump of rock looks like a cake dusted with icing sugar. Drawing nearer the sea was covered in gannets, puffins, gannets, guillemots, and yet more gannets. The white on the rocky island tops resolved itself into thousands of gannets sitting in rows outlining perfectly the crevices. Above the island like a cloud of gnats wheeled and circled thousands more. The sight was amazing. Temptress reached between Little Skellig and Skellig Michael and our attention turned to the ancient settlement high on the greener taller Skellig Michael. We picked out the steps zigzagging up the precipitous face to the village, a collection of stone walls and beehives which are apparently structurally sound enough to live in today over one thousand years after they were built. Who would though want to live out here? Even in today’s light winds there was a significant swell. In winter life must have been unbearably harsh with repeated Atlantic storms battering this remote spot.

Gybing we continued under genoa only down the South side of Little Skellig. The wind went forward and soon we were beating, although in the lea of the rock we almost came to a complete halt. Here there were more gannets just sitting in crowds on the water barely bothering to move as we drifted past. What breeze there was brought to our noses the smell of guano and to our ears the amazing sound of twenty thousand breeding pairs of gannets. According to our bird book a single gannet makes a gargling call when nesting. This, the second largest breeding colony in the world (the largest is off the Scottish coast), sounded like a rough running petrol mower!

Once out of Little Skellig’s protection the wind returned with a vengeance only easing as we headed for the north east corner of Deenish Island with a fishing line towed behind us armed with a few cod feathers. Inside Deenish towards the Kenmare entrance, the wind died in the afternoon sun so we motored slowly in the hope of catching something for our supper. The first catch was a reasonably sized mackerel – a start for one person so we needed another. Some time later the line jerked up – something large. Our catch turned out after much hauling in to be a beautiful Pollock with big brown eyes. It died happy in a dousing of cheap rum and was baked for supper with dill, onion and butter – a delicious meal that was probably enough for four! A short while after hooking the Pollock we caught our second mackerel but that was all that fell for our lure except one that got away. We hauled in one last time, upped the revs and headed on into the Kenmare.

The scenery was superb on either side of us – we just didn’t know where to look longest. Small sandy coves, gently sloping grass fields with the mountains rising up behind. The chart came up on deck around 4pm as we felt our way into Sneem Harbour to drop the hook in 8 metres. We weren’t alone in this beautiful, rock strewn anchorage. To the west on a bunch of moorings were a number of Irish boats and to our right two Brit boats with their red ensigns on yet more moorings. The place was like a green shoreline rock pool on a grand scale with tree covered strata reaching down into the water. In the early evening we took the dinghy from its resting place on the foredeck and headed for a solid stone quay with several resident fishermen to the north of where we lay.

They obligingly offered to move their lines for us (so they weren’t Brits or Portuguese then) and we could land. Our intention was to go for a walk but first Kevin thought he’d test their local knowledge and ask if there was a petrol station nearby. Soon he was in the car and being whisked away to fill the outboard tank up. We repaid the kindness by taking the younger ones on an illegal tour of the harbour in the dinghy – no life jackets is a terrible crime in Ireland. Exploring the anchorage further we found an opening between the chunk of land with a few houses close to the “Irish Moorings” and what we assumed was the mainland. A narrow steep sided channel was revealed, very straight following one of the dips in the strata. A bit of a geography lecture; the rock in these parts must be sedimentary – the layers running almost vertically rather than horizontally. Erosion occurs between the layers leaving long, thin jagged uprights like rows of teeth. It was between two sets of these that we took the dinghy. The land was high above our heads and covered in rhododendrons – it must be a spectacular passage when the bushes are flowering in spring. The water was so clear we could see the yellow ribbons of sea weed growing up from the bottom – like a forest below us. After a hundred metres or so the passage widened out and deepened. With a crew you take Temptress in here and moor all fours said Kevin, a veteran of such mooring techniques in the fjords of Norway. We sped round the top of the island on our counter clockwise circumnavigation, past the fish farm (oysters?) and into Sneem Bay once more ready for our fish supper.

It was a glorious evening warm enough out of the breeze to stay in the cockpit til late. So quiet was our wonderful spot that we could hear each oar stroke of the man rowing ashore to an accompaniment of bird calls.

7:52 PM - Oct. 23, 2006 - post comment