Part VI: No One Leaves Ireland for Long
(photo by the author)
I was standing on the ridge of Croachskearda, just south of the Conor Pass and a few miles
from my home in Dingle. It was late winter, the mountain streams were just beginning to
thaw, and the grass was still in its amber earth tones, having not yet bloomed into the ver-
dure of spring. And as I looked down at the valley, idly counting the peaks and lakes in this
one, tiny corner of the Irish wilderness, I realized that I would never meet them all. I would
never climb all of those hills or dip my fingers in all those frigid pools of water, not even if
I lived my whole life right there on the mountainside.
In Ireland, there's always another hill to climb.
There's always another magical glen to discover, another standing stone to marvel at. Anoth-
er little village pub with its rich clamor of glasses and songs. There's always another tale to
That's what keeps people coming back to this incredible island - the more you get to know
it, the more there is to explore. Its very soil teems with mystery, and yet every inch of ground