Return to the Sheep’s Head: Reflection on Walking in Ireland

To walkers Ireland is something of an enigma. This is a country that has some breathtaking scenery — mountains, hills and coast lines — but where access can be almost impossibly difficult. Yet this is a country deep in recession on one in which recovery will have to be based on a different economic and social model. Walking in Ireland last week shows just how much we should be grateful of our access here in the UK, despite its frustrations, and also shows just what the Irish are missing.Visit any good travel book store and you’ll not be spoilt for choice when looking for a walking guide to Ireland. With luck you’ll find three titles, the Lonely Planet Walking Guide (very patchy in my experience) and Paddy’ Dillon’s two title ‘Mountains’ and ‘Coastal Walks’. This might seem strange in the country that boast so much country and coastline that would seem to offer so much potential for the outdoor enthusiast. And yet this is a country where land owners remain very suspicious of access over their land and where there is little tradition of walking. As a result access can be horrific. There are few well maintained paths, little easy access over fences and electric fences and blocked off coast lines. My first walk in West Cork gave me plenty of time to reflect on all of this.

This was a return to a walk that I’d experienced before. The weather forecast suggested that Tuesday might see a break in the constant, torrential, rain that had fallen constantly since arrival. After threes days of making impressive inroads into my massive history of the Hundred Year’s War I was determined to make the most of any chance to venture out. In the event the change of weather was not so decisive. I could see that the weather was clearing but for much of the morning small breaks in the clouds were punctuated by monsoon-like downpours. My first plans were abandoned and I drove on to the Sheep’s Head Peninsula. I’d been here before but the walk, the scenery and the views are superb. And being one the few way marked paths in the south of the country, the Sheep’s Head trail is easy to follow.

I very nearly didn’t get started. I parked the car at the end of the Sheep’s Head Road and watched the rain bounce down. It began to clear when I stepped out of the car and I decided to go for it. This is the problem of the car. If I’d been arriving by train — or on a long distance hike — I’d have just pulled up the rain jacket hood and got going. But cars make you soft. True, it was ‘full Paramo’ weather but then it wasn’t cold and I could cope with a drenching or two (or ten).

The Sheep’s Head is a thin finger of land that extends to the South West roughly from the town of Bantry. This is quiet country with a small population even in summer, the legacy of the depopulation during the great famine. A way-marked trail extends right around the coastline of the peninsula although. You could walk this trail in three of four leisurely days, spending the night in one of a handful of lovely small villages; you might even be able to camp wild near the head. But the stretches closer to the mainland are maybe not so exciting and seem to involve a fair bit of road walking. I followed Paddy’ Dillon’ suggestion of treating this as a day walk, starting at the head, walking on the south side of the peninsula before crossing the narrow but high spine of the Sheep’s Head before returning to the headland on the wilder northern coast — about twelve miles in all.

It would be wrong to think of this as a coastal walk in the way we often experience them in the UK. It seems impossible to walk along much of the coast itself, land that seems reasonably fertile, well farmed and populated by private holiday homes. From the tip of the peninsula the path hugs the flanks of the rugged high land that runs through down along its centre. The high vantage point has its advantages though with stunning views over towards Mizen Head and the islands off Baltimore. The ground was exceptionally wet, about as wet as a walking track can get I suppose. Everything was very boggy but the gorse and thistles hugging the rocks made it difficult to cling to higher ground. There was nothing for it but to plough on, trail shoes and all, through the water. On a couple of occasions I met a couple of walker (mainly English) trying desperately to keep the water out of their boots. Their progress would be very slow.

As the path runs down from higher ground it passes past a small number of cottages idyllically located with views overlooking the sea. I guess more than a few of these go for holiday lets and they would make a great place in which to spend a few idle weeks. Paddy’s route then turns inland and follows quiet lanes to the north side of the peninsula. There is a temptation to cut off a bit of the walk here but this would be a shame as you would miss much of the best part of the walk.

Leaving the lanes I quickly rejoined the way-marked trail. It is clear that this is a little walked section but it offers so much, particularly the stunning views over Bantry Bay towards the mountains of the Cork/Kerry borderlands. There are disused copper mines here and abandoned settlements. These communities must have had a hard life. The settlements have now been abandoned for some time as a result of a combination of the clearing of land (for Sheep I guess) and the great famine. I’m always fascinated by these long-gone settlements. I could spend hours here on a fine day, photographing the stones and trying to picture how the place would of looked when it was full of adults and children.

Walking north the path crosses some very barren patches of land, hugging cliffs that are clearly collapsing into the sea at a fast rate. After traversing a deep inlet the path continues past a few settlements and back into lonely country. The cliffs on this section are dramatic and the path walks high above the waves. Yet signs warn that in bad weather dramatic waves can sweep walker from off these high paths. By now the sun was shining quite strongly but there was still some action in the sea below. It didn’t take much to imagine how this might have looked in a wild winter storm.

This stretch was incredibly wet. I walked along a small, informal, path cut into the higher reaches of heather. Down below, where the real path went, the ground was covered in inches of water. I seem to remember a stretch of decking on the footpath but it had now gone. Was it washed away? Or was this simply hidden under a mass of water? Here it is possible to connect with the other side of the land, making this something of a leisure walk. I met a couple I had met starting off on the other side, and walking in the opposite direction to me. He was English — why do all English walkers look the same? She, though, was Irish, clearly dragged out into the great outdoors by the strange outdoors-type person. I was fascinated by her legs. She was wearing shorts and had walked through the same ground that I had. My trousers were caked with mud and yet there wasn’t even a spot of mud on her legs. How did she do it? Perhaps, the gallant English man had been carrying her across the boggy land? This might have been the case and I could reckon that they were not moving very quickly. I don’t think she was enjoying this much. We had a little chat. She was much more interested in telling me how much she had enjoyed Bantry House. It was something I must go and see. It was a grand house but very relaxed and informal, not at all like those places run by the National Trust in the UK. They asked about the next stretch of path. I tried to guess how long it might take them using the shortened route. But I didn’t have the heart to tell them how much water there would be to wade through.

As the path walks on towards the headland, with its car park and cafe, the path gets strangely wilder. There are lots of chances to sit on a grassy bank overlooking some dramatic cliffs and contemplate the world while gazing out over coastal scenery, Bantry Bay being a beautiful as any stretch of coast anywhere I guess.

Paddy’s twelve mile walk felt more like twenty is these heavy conditions. The last time I was here, on a better day, I spent ages lying in the sun on the soft grassy banks of the head. I was more tired this time and ploughed on back to the car park. To my delight the little café was open and able to supply me with a first class pot of tea and some lovely cake.

Walking the path was really quite a lonely affair, and I remember this to be the case last time as well — a walk made during a heat wave. But a few minutes here showed the café doing a constant trade. There were a couple of groups of other walkers — all English — and two couple on cycling holidays. No doubt the car park is more full of casual visitors in better weather.

Sitting here in the café I realised that this walk was rather well done. It was a long-ish distance walk, way-marked but not spoilt my signs or overly engineered footpaths. The terrain makes it easy for the walker to slip away from the world and walk for long periods alone. Yet this trail — or what it represents — must be responsible for a significant amount of tourism spend in the area. How many would even drive there if the short stroll to the head from the car park didn’t exist?

Here in the UK there is growing awareness of the very positive impact that walking has on rural economies. As a walker I’m very aware of the desirability of maximising the economic contact between the local population, buying local produce, stopping in local cafés, pubs and so on. It is puzzling why a country like Ireland — that is so focussed on tourism — is so hostile to the walker. There must be a potential some much more sensible and ecologically sensitive tourism here. But things are changing.

At a recent Outdoors Show at the NEC I chatted to Mary, head of the Irish stand (always one of the biggest) about walking. To be fair there is much outdoor activity on offer in Ireland but Mary told me that there was a growing but slow recognition of the potential of walking. She herself knew the Sheep’s Head well and had walked it before it had been officially adopted. I told her I as staying on the peninsula in the little village of kilchrohane. She knew it of course. “Did you go to Eileen’s pub?”. Of course I had. This is one of the charms of Ireland. It is a small country where everyone is connected probably by no more than two degrees of separation. The Head of the Irish Tourism operation knows the landlady of your local pub personally.

A few evenings later I sat having a meal with some family and friends (a rather wonderful seafood restaurant in Castle Townshend). Janet is married to a retired Cork farmer Dan and so I was surprised when she told me she was not only a keen hill walker but was a member of a local club who had walked all over the island, south and north. She was, though, a Kerry girl and I guess had grown up with the mountains and the ring of Kerry all around.

Walking is getting more popular and slowly the authorities are catching on to it. While in Cork I noticed a reference to a Baltimore walking weekend (more about Baltimore and the islands later). Back home a quick ‘google’ brought up the West Cork Walking Festival, held in October and I guess aimed mainly at locals.

That locals are walking has to be a good thing. That tourism bodies have begun to ratchet up their promotion is even better (the walking festival seems to be operated by a local tourism body). Apparently this is being mirrored throughout much of Ireland. A sustained walking culture will start here. Tourists like me may bring in welcome income but I guess it will be local walkers that have the biggest impact in convincing conservative land owners to open up their estates for proper access.

Ireland’s economy is in a right mess at the moment. Much of the boom of recent years has been based on a low tax economy. Local domestic housing rates, for example, were scrapped. This may be popular in some quarters but it explains why so much public sector infrastructure is not developed — including that used by walkers. My friends looked on all of this quite philosophically. Taxes were going to have to rise. Ultimately the low tax economy had not provided either security or long term prosperity.

I hope, as the economy is re-shaped that there might be some thought is given to sensible investment in rural economies, some that prioritises the opening up of the countryside. Much of Ireland’s recent wealth has been spent on an amazing housing bubble. Every town and village sports horrid looking holiday home development, most now sitting empty. The Irish economic rescue plan does not just support the collapsing banks but is setting out, quite controversially, to save the property developers who are falling like nine pins. These developments are really disliked by local communities — and Ireland has a spectacular recent history of planning scandals that involve politicians and developers. I hope in moving forward these same communities can see the value in opening up their land.

This is a wonderful country which should be a wonderful outdoor theatre, but in all honesty it still has a long way to go. But maybe over the next decade things will continue to improve and that Mary will find it easier to promote things at future outdoor shows.

The opening up our coastlines, national parks and now Access Land has had a big and positive impact on our rural communities. If Ireland follows it too will benefit and my next walk in these parts may be a little easier!