It’s still dark. 4am. The Liffey flows gently by. Our van moves so smoothly it is along the empty road it almost seems silent as we pull into the car park of the Wrens Nest. Lifting the punt from the roof we make our way through the bushes to the water’s edge. The sky brightens
It was 1960 something and myself and the Da went for a walk down the Grand Canal At Inchicore. Da had the transistor radio blaring out the All Ireland and passers-by hovered to catch the latest score. I on the other hand was not interested in the match I was fishing. I had a stick
The Camac is a 24km river that runs through county Dublin. The source of the river is Mount Seskin , Saggart the mouth of the river is River Liffey at Heuston staiton. Over 100 years ago many mills such as sawmills, papermills, woollen mills, grain mills and gun powder mills all lined the riverbanks. Although
Once there was a little elf living in the estuary. He was afraid to come out of the hole he lived in because he was scared the swans would make fun of his pointy ears. The only time he left his hole was at night to find food. Late one night when the elf was
My name is Baggi, one cool black cat. Living in a small estate called Riverview. It`s right across the road from a river called the Dodder. One day a few years ago I fell from a car and hurt myself badly and to this day I walk with a wiggle. Lots of people laugh at
Heading down to the River Dodder as a child during the summer was one of my favourite things to do. I would use a fishing net that was attached to a thin bamboo pole. You could buy them in the local newsagents for around a £1 and that would be it, you were set up
I was born in 1957 and grew up on the Commons Road in Clondalkin village. The Camac River – also known locally as the Drinker, or the Sandy-hole, depending on which era you were born into. In my childhood we nicknamed it – the Drinker. The River was synonymous with all aspects of our childhood.
Living by the Irish Sea for most of my life; the poem ‘Sea-Fever’ by John Maseifeld strikes a special resonance for me and has a particular place in my heart. “I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call That may
The Broadmeadow Estuary between Swords and Malahide is a natural amenity that attracts a lot of visitors daily. Growing up in Swords in the late fifties it was the place my parents often took me for a walk, to see and feed the swans, to meet my Uncle Denis, togged out in his waders as
I have heard snippets of these stories before but it is at times like these that one really begins to take note. The conversation opens around my memory of a black and white photograph that is now only recently in my father’s possession. The photograph taken in 1969 depicts a man fishing by the River
Up at Belgard, the caged fox paced, confined for tomorrow’s foxhunt. Down at Clondalkin, the ancient Round Tower pointed at a cloudless sky as the Grand Canal’s waters glittered in Spring sunshine. Another lovely day in Clondalkin, what could go wrong? Lunchtime at the gunpowder mill near the Tower. Work was tough, fuelled by the
Growing up beside the Irish Sea in South County Dublin, it was not surprising that as a child I viewed the sea as something special. My mother brought us children down to Sandycove harbour every sunny morning of our childhood summers for a swim, she would bring a flask of coffee and we would play