From mountain to the sea, the Ahare River also known as the Inch or Kilgorman river meets up with the Clonogue river and continues its journey to the sea at Castletown. The river back in 1885 was referred to as being abundant in Salmon and Trout ( “ About Wexford, Country Guide and Directory 1885”)
“Flow on lovely river – flow gently along ” The river Suir threads its way through the lush lowlands of South Tipperary, as it does through the pathways of my memories. Growing up in Carrick – on – Suir the river was a constant presence in our young lives. As children it was our playground;
The River Suir cutting through the Golden Vale leaving the majestic Sliabh naMban in its wake flows into my hometown of Carrick-on-Suir with a mysterious composure. This stately flow masks a turbulent force, evokes perpetuity and a seeming indifference to the generations that have traversed its banks, lived, loved, and died in the market town
The stress had built up in me to the point where I felt I was going to explode. I could no longer cope. Grief, sorrow, anger, self-pity all swirled around my confused, tired brain. Mum was so ill, I knew she was dying, it could be days, it could be weeks, it might even be
I grew up not more than a hundred feet from the Conoboro Bridge, which spanned the River Erkina. My life is dotted with memories of the river, a river whose banks I’ve walked hundreds of times, a river whose trout I’ve caught for competitions and sport, a river with its own history and each individual
Many years ago a monk named Floinn lived at the foot of Stacks Mountain. There were oak woods and wolves, ringforts and rivers. Down the mountain came the water. Overhead, eagles flew and in the undergrowth the blackbird and the wren sang. Floinn grew old, and blind. A life of prayer gave him patience and
Riverdance. Where does that word take us? The O2 arena? possibly. No doubt it would be Bill Whelan’s stunning classic that was first performed in 1994 during the interval of the Eurovision Song Contest springs to mind. That however is not the riverdance that filled me with wonder and fascination; the one that I am
To have been brought up on the banks of a river – for me, the meandering Shannon – was a privilege granted to few only, I didn’t realise it as a child. To be sure, I had a vague notion of the river’s probabilities – a place to paddle, swim, fish in, stroll along its
Ours was a house with a view: the Abbey River, deep, brooding, like the Danes that were alleged to have formed it: Inis Oibtain, King’s Island, The Parish, There is an Isle. Like a bold child, it broke away from its mother – the Shannon – at Corbally, before being reigned in below the Curraghower
The little Sally stream rises near Djouce, passes my old house, from where it continues, dead straight, under Sally’s bridge and beyond, to the Vartry reservoir. Stuck in the dregs of the reservoir is a tiny shiny-red boot. Sally’s Bridge, Roundwood, Co Wicklow. I said it was dead straight. It was straightened. Farmer Brady’s two
Adrenalin rises in every man’s veins Freed from the long winter’s aches and pains Salmon sheets to make ready, corks and leads Are hung top and bottom, dan lights for buoy heads Half deckers are painted, young men to employ These silver scaled fish to catch is a joy Excitement hangs heavy in the salty
Sunday was always family day and a day when you did something together as a family so everyone looked forward to Sunday especially if the day was good in the summertime. We were lucky as we lived about two miles from the beach. This beach was called Stragill and is part of Lough Swilly one
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