Great trees, Cistercians and the Blackwater Valley

I lived in Eire from 1990 to 1993, I have not been back to Eire since I visited Co. Clare in 1996. So when an old school friend invited me over I put up very little resistance. Springtime in Ireland is special.

Kathy lives with her family in Co. Waterford, within sight of the Knockmealdown Mountains. On my first day with them I explored the area with her youngest, Daniel.

Kathy's family had, in previous centuries, been significant land owners in this part of Ireland and the nearby Cistercian Abbey now occupies what had been one of the family homes. The drive curves down from the road, finally revealing the church and abbey against the backdrop of the wooded Blackwater valley. Of course, what caught my eye immediately was the great tree in front of the building! When I got up to it, I did not know (and am still unsure) of the species. It is a truly remarkable tree. Great height coupled with the expansive open-grown form gives the tree a symmetrical beauty and majesty from its sheer size that makes you stop and stare.

The hour-glass trunk makes it difficult to measure, but at 1.5 metres off the ground (where we would usually measure the girth of a veteran tree) it is over 7 metres in circumference.

As I looked around, I could see several other great trees: copper beech, Scots pine, common beech and of course Irish (or Western) oak.

The views down the Blackwater Valley are fantastic. Daniel and I went on down to explore the river, finding more lovely old oaks in the flood meadows.

A pollard oak, sadly misused by management and cattle.

Daniel was reluctant to become a tree hugger at first, but soon got the hang of it!

The River Blackwater itself is a strong lowland river as it winds through the broad valley, drawing waters from the mountains and rolling farmland on either side. Daniel and I searched for signs of otters, found none but we did find where the deer had been swimming the river and scrambling out.

Our feet got soggy in the long valley grass as we tramped back towards the Abbey. Climbing up through the woods, we had a look into some interesting burrows amidst the bluebells and wild garlic.

Last days on Islay

My last couple of weeks on Islay, which could have been a nightmare of packing the house, selling all the stuff I could not get off the island, making bookings for vans, flights, storage and finding somewhere to live (not to mention cancelling flights, car rental, etc), was hugely alleviated by the presence of good friends who saved my sanity and offered practical help.

The first visitor to my home arrived the day before my employment ended. She sat me down in front of a spreadsheet and worked through the process of getting off the island with my belongings, making a move to a new location and ensuring that I was able to make the vital hospital appointments the following week. Friends and family came up with offers of accommodation, invaluable career advice was forthcoming and pretty soon I had a plan. How that plan developed, dissolved and had to be re-made on the hoof has provided me with proof that the military adage "no plan survives contact with the enemy" is God's own truth. That whole litany of stress and disaster will not be the subject of a future blog ... I'll just let it sink back into the murky waters of my memory, hopefully never to surface again.

The best thing about having my visitors with me was that I was able to get out into the increasingly nice weather to enjoy bits of the island and share them with others. The lovely walk up to Rhuval Lighthouse (subject of my first Islay blog) was so much more enjoyable with a friend striding beside me, a stroll around the Mull of Oa and beach combing in search of shells; all things that you need to share with others. The hard core photographic trips are peculiarly painful for anyone with me, so are best done alone, but the pure enjoyment of a beautiful natural environment, full of wildlife and alive with wind, sun and rain is enhanced by the company of a friend or three.

Beach combers

Finding shells

Skimming stones - who can resist it?

The wildlife was not quite so forthcoming. The promises of eagles I had made at Rhuval and Oa did not materialise (I blame the RSPB for this, they are in charge of birds after all) and the Bunnahabhain otters also hid from us. However, there was a lovely sighting of an otter for me as I left on the ferry from Port Askaig to take the first load down south. A female was sheltering from the ferocious tide by  hunting close to the rocks in the lee of the ferry itself. She popped up like a submarine surfacing, looked at me, winked (she DID!) and then disappeared.

I was very pleased that the hares, that abound (literally) on the island, performed superbly for the amazing friends who came to join me for my last three days. They helped me pack, load the van, get the house sorted out and ensured that I was able to take whatever remains of my sanity with me when me and the van were squished onto the ferry by the skilful CalMac folk at Port Askaig.

So, now I am resident in sunny Bracknell, but am sitting in Heathrow Terminal 2 while writing this before travelling to Cork for the weekend. The weather in Cork promises to be a series of 'soft days' (gentle rain), but I am looking forward to seeing it all again after so long.