“You have to understand that early Celtic
Christianity was very different — you didn’t
need a church to be close to God, or a priest,”
Ciarán explains. “These men were influenced
by the Desert Fathers, like Saint Anthony,
who lived in solitude outside civilisation. For
them, the divine was in nature. This was a
place they could meditate upon creation.”
Ireland became an important centre
of learning and mysticism following the
introduction of Christianity to Ireland in
the fifth century by Saint Patrick; the ruins
of nine such island monasteries have been
identified off this stretch of coast, but none
as well-preserved as Skellig Michael.
At the top of 618 uneven steps — a testing
600ft climb that, according to our health and
safety briefing, has occasioned a handful of
recent fatalities — we emerge onto a terraced
shelf. Behind us is a low, grassy ‘saddle’ and
a closed-off path that rises to a hermitage
built, daringly, on an exposed ledge on
the most southerly peak. Up ahead is the
monastery compound: a clutch of beehive-
shaped drystone huts, known as clocháin, a
cemetery of rustic crosses and the eastern
wall of a medieval abbey. Its remaining
window looks out to sea; through it, I can
see the outline of Small Skellig, home to the
world’s largest gannet colony. Guillemots and
razorbills trail their shadows across slopes
dusted with wildflowers and puffin nests. I
didn’t know a place this beautiful or thought-
provoking existed so close to home, just
across the Irish Sea.
Catherine, a resident guide — bronzed from
the summer, wearing practical, cut-off shorts
— answers visitors’ questions and shares
some of the island’s secrets. She tells us that
due to the fragility of the ecosystem (not to
mention the perilous topography), guests
aren’t permitted to explore beyond the steps
and monastery walls, but assures us that
every jutting rock and hidden plateau of the
island would’ve been familiar to the monks.
“Each crag became a Station of the Cross,”
Catherine says. “Imagine throwing open your
arms towards the ocean in worship. This
was the edge of the known world back then,
remember — there was no America yet.”Throughout the tourist season, Catherine
lives in a cabin on the island while working
her fortnight-long stints. “I always try to take
in the sunrise or sunset. Last night, I woke
up and saw the moon had cut a path of silver
through the sea and the whole site was lit up
in monochrome. I know it’s said too often,
but there really is magic here.”
Back on the boat, John is frying up
mackerel for us — he’d been busy with his
lines while we were exploring. It’s the best
fish I’ve ever tasted — mouthwatering and
buttery soft. It’s with much reluctance that
I share some with Luna, before rinsing my
hands in the cold surf. I feel immeasurably
grateful for the trip; enriched, smiling and a
little sunburnt. I notice our captain appears
to have come alive after a day at sea, too. His
tan has deepened and his eyes twinkle like
sun-brightened shallows. Skellig Michael
may have lost its monks, I think, but it still
has its pilgrims.Dingle all the way
It’s raining hard when we set out from Ventry
Bay the next morning. Cormorants move like
shadows in the shifting mists and, on the wet
sand, the retreating tide has laid out large
fans of knobbly kelp. Elated by the climate,
Ciarán strides off apace. I trundle in his
wake, beginning to doubt the ‘waterproof’
claims of my outdoor wear.
We’re heading out on a half-day hike of
a section of the Dingle Way, the 101-mile
trail that follows the coast of the Dingle
Peninsula — the western part of which is one
of two designated Gaeltacht (Irish-speaking)
regions in County Kerry. We’d spent the
previous night in the main town, Dingle
(Daingean Uí Chúis, in Irish), an atmospheric
cat’s cradle of harbour lanes, where live
music spills out of family-run pubs,
candles flicker in the windows of seafood
restaurants, and shops selling knitted goods
stay open late. The county relies heavily on
tourism (its stunning 120-mile Ring of Kerry
driving route is flooded with coaches in
the hotter months) but I’m finding that the
region absorbs the crowds well. “It hasn’t lost
its charm,” Ciarán agrees, “and it’s easy to getColourful street in
Daingean Uí Chúis,
more commonly
known as Dingle
Dingle (Daingean Uí Chúis, in Irish), an atmospheric cat’s cradle of
harbour lanes, where live music spills out of family-run pubs, candles
flicker in the windows of seafood restaurants, and shops selling knitted
goods stay open lateJul/Aug 2020 87IRELAND