Everybody knows about John Paul Jones, the great naval hero of the American War of Independence (1775– ‘83). Not everybody knows about the most daring escape of his career in the Tarbert estuary of the River Shannon, which I heard from a local historian many years ago. The future ‘Founder of the American Navy’ was
Sounds of water lapping, squelching, splashing, glugging, flowing are trapped within my hiking boots which trudged the Wicklow hills. Heading to the Sally Gap, I don my newly polished boots. Leaving the forest tracks behind, we head cross country towards Lugalla or Fancy Mountain. “Watch out for bright green moss” said my companion. Too late!
In memory of my Dad James J. Galvin CHAPTER 1 For me, it all began back in 1942 when I was 4 years old. My Dad would say to me “right hop up on the crossbar of the bike”. He would take me down to the Grand Canal and we would feed the swans, ducks
There is a lake in Ireland once regarded as the finest trout water on earth. Anglers came from far and wide to fish it. Fifty years ago, it was poisoned to death’s door by sewage from a nearby town. Since then, it has been slowly, lovingly, nursed back to health by those who care for
I was cycling into the Phoenix Park. Where the M50 meets the Grand Canal the water is usually dark. Sometimes you can see pondweed wafting gently there. On the M50 bridge there was a small group of teenagers in wetsuits. A low fence that I hadn’t noticed before protected them from the steep drop. There
At the back of the house where I grew up there was a wet ditch, draining some good agricultural land. As I child I would go there most days with my net and bucket. Down through the shoulder high wheat, the dog ahead of me, jumping occasionally to find his bearings. I can still feel
Quiet early morning finds me where the sweetest waters flow. I am where I always wanted to be, in Crosshaven, a place much loved by my parents, Donal and Imelda. Back in the days when I was a boy we holidayed up in Fennell’s Bay and watched the great ships sail out to sea. We
There are places we go that take us back in time, where the sounds and smells, and the feel of the ground under our feet says ‘you are home’. The Camac has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. It has been part of my family history. It is the
My childhood summers were spent running wild with brothers and cousins and neighbours in rural Mayo. Jim Conway took us fishing. He was a farmer, a small wiry man who played cards, cycled everywhere on a large black bike and smoked roll ups he made with tobacco stored in a small tin which he retrieved
On the 22nd July 1996 John and I set sail in our 21 foot drop keel yacht for Inis Oir from the Galway Boat Club in lovely sunny weather with a gentle northerly breeze. On our left, and to the south, were the slate grey hills of the Burren that they ran all the way
While nursing wounded American soldiers in France during the Great War, Sara met Paul Dubois, her future husband. It’s a story of her early days on Bayou St John, New Orleans. Sara came from a family of lock keepers on Dublin’s Grand Canal and loved waterways. . . .As Paul rows his crab boat past
Many years ago a man named James Quinn (Jimmy your great grandfather) was rearing his family in the countryside and had the mains water supply flowing past his house, the only problem was the water was not filtered and had to be boiled for ten minutes before you could drink it. Jimmy together with his