Ireland has a thousand shades of green. Each is wrapped in its own moment of nature which enhances it through some combination of, sky, sea, clouds, wind, rainbows, and rain….honestly, I can’t keep up. Awe is around every corner.
Still, the Sperrin Mountains of Northern Ireland hold the most verdant, vibrant deep greens of the many I have witnessed — from Beara to Donegal. Perhaps being mainly farming land, the richness of the earth gave it a special advantage, who knows?
Arriving at the converted shepherd’s hut, called An Doras Bui, this was the end of a 2,000-mile, 12-day solo journey. After Trim, Westport, Achill, Coinnamera, and Sligo. I needed a break from the road, the towns and cities, BnBs, pubs, and the people, and the awkwardness of navigating unknown places by myself. My original intent, with spare research (a mistake that turned into a gift), was to park at this remote spot and just stop. Hop into town. Tour around. Visit with family in nearby Claude. I had no idea what I was about to experience.
I had never stayed somewhere so remote, and after all the stimuli of starting my drive, the sudden absence of humanity and all its luggage was a bit of a shock.
After unpacking in the cylindrical house, with one bed at one end, and shower the other, I poured a glass of red and sat by the fire pit and hot tub.
And exhaled twelve days of driving, talking, hiking, talking some more, and last the challenging ten miles of one-lane roads with their turf tufts like mohawks in the center of the road…this was where I was meant to be.
Utter stillness. No man-made sound anywhere for as long and as far as you listened.
The chickens though had a lot to say.
The nearest town was Gortin, perfect for basics and glimpses of humans. Otherwise? Sheep. More sheep. Some cows, and chickens who talk a lot, and a vista of a valley that seems to shift with the weather.
Where my research had gone awry, was misjudging the Irish roads and true travel time — and those two-way, one-lane roads were new to me, at least in the mile after mile away, and then there was that young lady who when I asked for directions at the flower shop in Omagh, almost screamed and exclaimed: “I’d be dead on those roads!”
It can tax your nerves, but it’s not that bad. It was funny though.
The fact was, researching the Sperrin Mountains in Northern Ireland, what I found seemed scattershot, something unfound. Like being the homeplace of the Nobel Prize winner poet Seamus Heaney, and one of the last true Dark Skies in the world. And Nat. Geo wrote it up as if it were rife with magical hills and forests that only the locals knew.
It was a ten-minute, back road drive to Gortin, a small one-street village.
Let’s just get to it:
The Sperrin converted shepherd cabin was astoundingly peaceful and relaxing; the hot tub and the view were a perfect complement. It could end up being one of the “yeah, that was a once-in-a-lifetime experience”.
Be careful walking the lane. You can hear cars and trucks coming, but there’s little room to jump off to the sides. Ask the owner about the best field hike, he shared one but I never did it.
Visit Gortin Park, right outside of town. This was a really fun green space with some man-made curiosities for kids and wide paths for mountain bikes and walkers. Given the small size of the town, the park was a gem you might not find in places five times bigger.
I ate at O’Neill’s twice and it was a good menu picture below), not too adventurous but not dull either, and delivered a tasty meal. I stuck with the soup and burger.
When I was there, the sun was setting at ten-thirty pm. The hot tub and the mist floating with the sunset was something we all should see. At least once.
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Outspoken Traveler 