My fondest childhood waterway memories involve trips out on my Dad’s tugboat on Long Island Sound, a tidal estuary of the Atlantic Ocean, lying between Connecticut to the north and Long Island, NY to the south. My Dad, John, was a marine contractor, and his job involved building piers and docks, dredging channels, and sinking
English as tuppence. Changeless and brooding like an aging spinster, Drumreaske lake wore mystery like a tightly wound scarf in a cold winter’s blast. Nestled away between Monaghan’s Drumlin hills on the Scotstown road out of Monaghan town, sometimes known as Kane’s lake it was and, to an extent, is part of a small country
Ever since I was a young girl the sea has been a place that I love. Every summer for as long as long as I remember we’ve spent down in Achill Island. Keel beach is a place that will always be close to my heart- the sound of the lapping wave’s sooth my soul. My
The day dawns fair. I walk out my front door and in five minutes I’m by the sea. The sky is blue and dotted with white clouds, mirrored by the blue of the sea and its ‘white horses’ whipped up by the fresh south-westerly wind. In an instant I have forgotten my cares and concerns.
It is a quiet wedding. He enters by the side door and waits for her at the top of the church. She slides up the aisle on the arm of her eldest brother. The swishing of the silk in her dress makes a gentle sound as she passes the empty pews. They vow to love
Ireland is rich in lakes, and for that we are fortunate. They bring beauty to our countryside, support a fascinating variety of wildlife, and are closely intertwined with our own history and heritage. Ireland is unusual in having many shallow limestone lakes. This story is about these, and some of the things that live in
Growing up by the shores of Lough Mask provided me with a collection of unique and happy memories. Those hazy summer mornings were spent saving hay with family members, awaiting a trail of young people in twos and threes. Heading back the road with their towels rolled under their arms. No texts to communicate your
My granny grew up beside the Mulkear river at the foot of Keeper Hill in the Silvermine Mountains in Co. Tipperary. It was so close that the house flooded a few times during the winter, and Granny remembers being carried out in the middle of the night. Until the 1970’s you could only cross by
Water, water – growing up near it, you never want to be away from it. I was brought up in Sandymount. Well, the address was Sandymount, but to us it was the tail end of Irishtown, which is the tail end of Ringsend. My dad had gone to sea as a young man, with Irish
There was a gentle rain that first evening in Pemberton as I sat on the veranda in the fading light, tying flies and dreaming of fishing trips past. I especially remembered those fish caught in mountain streams in the West. Small trout that danced on the water in anger when hooked and swam away with
The serene, rural village of Lispole in County Kerry may seem like any other small village at first, however the river that runs through it is heavy with history and carries with it an unusual tale. Abhainn an Londraigh flows peacefully from one end of the village to the other, under the old railway bridge
Knee deep in cold water stream, Stooped, cheek to water rush To see under belly bank Undercut by water gush. Dark caverns of witches rooty hair, Otters view of king fishers chair. A slick wet rat path from midnight dip Where they swim drip and slither And scratch marks where they grip. Squelching mud with