“Okay Michael, let’s go” said my father picking up an old hessian sack and heading out the back door. I followed. We were heading to the Bunduff rocks, on the edge of the Atlantic ocean, near Mullaghmore in North Sligo. We were heading to do some fishing for Ballan. Conditions were ideal, dull but not
The tractor trundled slowly over the bridge and jerked to a stop midway. “Ah it’s only yourself Albert. Are you fishing?” I was just about to reply when tractor stuttered into life. Summer on the farm is no time for long conservations, but the thread of our chat can be continued later on. Myself and
I grew up in the heart of the country within a whisper of the longest river in Ireland. The Shannon known as the “wise river” meandered through eleven counites almost separating the East and the West. Electricity had been connected to our house in the very early nineteen sixties but the running water inside and
Some of my earliest childhood memories is of the waters of Lough Foyle shimmering beautifully in the summer sunshine. Lough Foyle an estuary located between counites Donegal and Derry. The bright sunshine seemed to make its waters reflect like strings of diamonds shouting out to one and all, come and enjoy my bathing, my boating,
Ever since I was a young boy my Daddy and also my Grandparents have taken me fishing. My grandad is 85 and granny is 82. They live near me and we regularly travel to lakes in Roundwood. I caught my first fish there when I was only 3. We were in a boat and I
Over the past thirty years I would visit a favourite stretch of shore line on Gweebarra bay. This bay is where the Gweebarra River curves around before reaching the sea. I would cross the most beautiful field on a hill with a view upriver and across to Dooey and the headland beyond and as far
I prayed that the Lord would keep my children safe as I lay in the ambulance. Soon I would leave the green fields of North County Dublin behind, to enter the suburbs of the spreading city. What would await me there and why was I feeling so ill? I stared apprehensively through the window, as
I live in County Roscommon and when I was four years old my family and I went on holiday to stay in a cottage, Teach Seán, Drumaneary, Mountcharles, County Donegal, this is on the Wild Atlanitc Way. We had a Spanish friend named Maria who came with us, she was visiting us at the time.
When I need time and space to myself, I head to the beach. It’s where I traditionally do my best thinking. I’m calmer there and I seem to be able to put life’s problems and challenges in some sort of perspective. And I like it best when there are very few people around and it’s
Mines, Moss and Móin: Tales from Girley Bog Bogs are wetlands composed of peat. Their cultural and natural history are woven together, each influencing the other. Historically, they have been sites of resistance and refuge, harbouring the destitute and all manner of deviants and rebels. The British army mapped Ireland in the late sixteenth century
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
Tá abhainn bheag thíos ón dtigh inar rugadh mé, i gCiarraí, Abhainn na Gáile, nó An Gháil. Bhí páirt lárnach ag an abhainn sin agus ar Dhroichead na hAbhann i mo shaoI agus i mo shamhlaíocht agus mé ag fás aníos. Dob é an droichead san croí-lár an tsaoil dom fhéin agus dom bheirt charad,
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