Ten years after the Wild Atlantic Way driving route was created along Ireland’s west coast, there are still places where heritage and culture outshine even the views

Words & Photographs Yvonne Gordon

There were separate kings on the North Island and the South Island,” explained Micheál Keane of Blacksod Sea Safari as we approached the Inishkea Islands. “It was the old Gaelic order: Rí an Oileáin (the King of the Island) was the elder in charge – usually an older man with experience – he made the decisions about things like fishing or buying goods.”

I was on a RIB driven by Micheál as part of a larger trip exploring the lesser-seen corners of Ireland’s west coast. As we neared the island of South Inishkea, I could see a white-sand beach curving around a turquoise bay. This could almost have been the Caribbean, except that at the edge of the sands stood a line of stone ruins and cows grazing on the lush grass. It was most definitely Ireland.

The mysterious islands of Inishkea (Inis Cé in Irish) lie around 4km off the Mullet peninsula, a remote and windswept corner of County Mayo that not even many Irish people have visited. They had been abandoned in the 1930s, and beyond the shore lay the ruins of cottages which still contained the outlines of windows and doors, but no roofs. Remote and quiet, it is places like these, with their mix of history and beauty, that I come to the west of Ireland to experience.

While visitors on the Wild Atlantic Way, the 2,600km driving route along Ireland’s west coast, flock to well-known sites such as the Cliffs of Moher or the Ring of Kerry, these hidden places – and the small adventure tours run by locals that bring people to them – offer a deeper insight into the country’s history and cultural legacy. Away from the tour buses and crowds, I wanted to delve more into the stories of the coast and its islands, rather than just skipping between viewpoints in a car. Taking one of the daily trips to the Inishkeas from Blacksod Pier seemed like the perfect place to start.

Reaching Inishkea South takes just 35 minutes, but it felt like a world away once we’d landed, with no other visitors in sight. It was easy to imagine how these islands became like independent states, each with their own monarch.
I explored the abandoned ruins and found piles of sand had blown into the houses from the beach. Afterwards, I wandered the island’s grassy interior and listened to the seabirds above, while the cows briefly interrupted their grazing to stare with curiosity at my presence.

The islanders had relied mostly on lobster, mackerel and herring fishing to make a living. For a brief period in the early 20th century there was a whaling station here too, though in the end, the lifestyle became too difficult to sustain. In 1926, 141 people lived on Inishkea South (156 on Inishkea North). But when ten fishermen drowned in a storm in October 1927, it devastated both islands’ livelihoods and the writing was on the wall. By 1936, there were just 12 people left on Inishkea South

The lost islands

Back on the mainland, I took the opportunity to tour the windswept Mullet peninsula: exploring old graveyards with Celtic crosses, walking pristine beaches and visiting Blacksod Lighthouse. But my thoughts kept returning to the ghostly islands of Inishkea. While there are many studies of their megalithic tombs and old monasteries, little was written about the community or family life, and I couldn’t find any stories from the islanders who had lived there. Even books about the Inishkeas have titles like Mayo’s Lost Islands. I was curious about who lived on them and what daily life was really like in such a harsh but beautiful place.

Ireland has many offshore islands. Some of them have thriving populations, but emigration has always proved a challenge, as has access to services like education and medical care. Sometimes, even access itself is the issue, as storms can cut the islands off for days at a time.

Another ‘empty’ island that I had always been curious about is Great Blasket, off the Dingle peninsula in County Kerry. At its peak, it had 175 residents and a king. But the effects of emigration and storms took their toll there too. Life became a struggle, and the islanders either moved to the mainland or emigrated, mostly to America. In 1953, the last 22 were evacuated. These days, nobody lives on the island year-round and there’s a whole village of abandoned cottages lying open to the elements, although two have been restored for tours.

Unlike the residents of the Inishkeas, however, its inhabitants left behind stories of their lives. When some outsiders visited Great Blasket in the early 1900s to learn Irish, they recognised how unique and fragile its culture was. They encouraged the islanders to write stories about their way of life, resulting in books like An tOileánach (The Islandman) by Tomás Ó Criomhthain, Fiche Bliain ag Fás (Twenty Years a-Growing) by Muiris Ó Súilleabháin and Peig by Peig Sayers; all were later translated into English.

To do so, first I made my way to Kerry and its colourful waterfront town of Dingle, the starting point for many visitors to the Dingle peninsula. In summer, they stroll with ice creams and linger outside cafés; in winter, bowls of chowder and cosy pubs like Dick Mack’s are the draw. The rest head out on tours of Slea Head Drive, stopping to admire the cliffs, beaches or views of the islands.

At the new Ionad an Bhlascaoid/The Blasket Centre in Dunquin, the story of the islands’ rich heritage is told through a series of moving exhibits. But I wanted a closer look first, so I headed out to the island to see what it would be like living there for a few days.

Between April and September, ferries and boat tours run to Blasket Island from Dingle, Ventry and Dunquin, syncing up with daily tours of the old village. The island also has three house rentals, so I booked a stay, boarding a boat tour at Ventry Pier for the 50-minute journey.

“If you’ve done the Slea Head Drive, we are doing the ‘aquatic version’,” said marine wildlife guide John Biddle as we motored over the sparkling blue sea, passing under Slea Head, one of the Wild Atlantic Way’s most dramatic – and photographed – promontories, thanks to its rock and cliffs.

John pointed out Mount Eagle, named after its winged shape, and told us how the white-tailed eagle, which was abundant here in the 1800s, had been recently reintroduced. He also showed us where the wreck of the Spanish Armada galleon Santa Maria de la Rosa lay, after it sank here in 1588, and told us about the area’s population of Atlantic grey seals, which often bask on the undisturbed beaches around the Blaskets.

As we neared Great Blasket, we spotted some dolphins, but they were too busy hunting for food to pay attention to our boat. Arriving at the island, I joined the rest of the passengers in transferring to a smaller dinghy and then on to the slipway, climbing a rocky incline with the help of a chain. From there I walked the grassy path past the old village and up the hill to a row of two-storey houses. One of these was to be my home for the next three days.

Meet the caretakers

The house I was staying in was one of five built by Ireland’s Congested Districts Board in 1910, an organisation that was set up to alleviate crowded living conditions and poverty. These properties were given to the poorest families on the island, including that of the writer Peig Sayers. I would be here for two nights, but I had brought extra food in case a storm cut off access to the mainland. There was no electricity, so no fridge, but there was (cold) running water, a gas cooker, fireplaces, candles and a torch. The toilet was out the back.

Before the trip, I had been a little worried about feeling cut off or lonely during the three days, but reading The Islandman started to bring the island to life before I even got there. In an unexpected way, O’Crohan’s stories brought a warmth and friendliness to the cold stone of the abandoned village and to the grass-filled land, making it seem more familiar than strange.

At the front of the house, there was a large window and a half door. From this elevated position on the hill, I could see the grassy pastures sloping down to the shore, the pristine white strand, the shimmering blue-green water and a pod of grey seals basking in the sun. Beyond this I could make out the dramatic headlands and mountains of the Kerry coast.

From the half-door, I watched the seals slide in and out of the water on their bellies. A curious sheep arrived to check me out, poking its head around the front door and then hanging around, as if equally mesmerised by the view. In the evening, the seals sang and seabirds cried as the day ended and the sun lowered in the sky.

The islands are known for their birdlife, and I saw my fill of gulls and sparrows. I had been told not to be alarmed by the eerie night cries of the manx shearwater in particular. I was glad to have been warned, as when I opened the back door late at night, it sounded like there were 100 goblins having a fight outside.

As I walked down to the old cottages the next morning, my only company was a passing rabbit. Daytrippers started arriving on the first ferries, and then the village tours began. Guides Vincent and Sibeál, who came out on the ferry from Dunquin, told us stories of the islanders: the well where they gathered for water, the house where they had parties, the buildings where O’Crohan, Sayers and O’Sullivan lived. It brought the empty cottages to life.

As on the Inishkeas, the islanders lived off the land and the sea; they fished, grew potatoes and hunted seals and rabbits. Vincent described how they brought up fresh sand from the beach to layer on their earthen floors, and how they ate dillisk seaweed and carrageen moss. We saw Tig an Rí (the King’s House) and heard how the king was chosen for both his ‘physical and mental strength’.

“Their job was to settle disputes. He was also the first man to fish mackerel for the year, set potatoes and cut the turf,” explained Vincent.

After the tour, I walked slowly back to my house. My neighbours were two ‘caretakers’, Darren McFadden and Emma Melay, a couple who were living on the island for six months, checking people in and out of the rental houses and running a small café that serves tea, coffee and snacks. They told me that they loved their life on Blasket – especially the hiking.

“The sunsets are incredible, and we love just being so close to the sea. We try to go for a swim every couple of days,” Darren told me, adding that it was particularly magical at night, when the sky filled with stars. “You look up and see a few, and before you know it, you can see everything.”

They told me that when they first arrived, a storm had postponed the ferry for a few days, so they got to explore the whole island by themselves. “It’s beautiful when it’s sunny,” said Emma. “But we also enjoy the other aspect of it: the stormy seas, or when the fog comes in and you can’t even see the sea or the mainland. It’s like you’re cut off completely.”

In the afternoon, as the daytrippers left, things on the island quietened down. In the evening, I lit a fire and read The Islandman by candlelight, soaking up O’Crohan’s descriptions of where his fellow islanders played or went fishing; of the seal-hunting trips to caves on another island; and of the weddings and wakes that were held in the cottages. As I read, I could almost imagine them all around me. It made the island feel alive.

Finding paradise

Back on the mainland, at Ionad an Bhlascaoid/The Blasket Centre, manager Lorcán Ó Cinnéide, whose grandfather was born on Great Blasket, explained to me why a visit to this whole area is such a rich experience.

“It’s about language, culture, the stories and the way people lived; it’s not just the scenery. To understand the story behind that is so enriching,” he said.

In April 2024, the Kerry Seas National Park (Páirc Náisiúnta na Mara, Ciarraí) was established to protect not just the area’s marine diversity, as you might expect, but also its heritage. Spanning 28,000 hectares, the park includes some of the islands as well as the seas, coastline and mountain areas, including the waters around Great Blasket and parts of where I was headed next.

While visitors can learn about Irish culture and history on Slea Head, Dingle and the Blaskets, it’s on the northern side of the Dingle peninsula that Irish ‘locals’ come for the beaches, watersports and community atmosphere. The Maharees is a 5km-long tombolo stretching out into the Atlantic. This sandy spit consists largely of dunes broken up by beaches and bays, and it proved yet another spot where the turquoise waters can resemble something close to paradise on a sunny day.

On the ‘windy side’, at Brandon Bay, surfers take to the Atlantic rollers, while the calmer Tralee Bay has flatter water for kayaking, windsurfing and wingfoiling. I wanted to immerse myself in the waves and feel the power of the sea, so I tried a surfing session. It was also a great way to soak up my setting: each time I was pushed in towards the shore, I was able to marvel at the scenery around the bay with not a building in sight.

Afterwards, I warmed up in the Brandon Bay Sauna in Fahamore. The idea is to break up your 30-minute sessions with cold plunges either in the sea or a plunge pool. Everyone inside was full of chat, bonding over the temperature and timing of their next icy dip. I braved the short run down past the rocks and into the sea a couple of times, savouring the tingle of the freezing water against my skin.

Feeling both revived and exhausted, I fell into Spillane’s Bar for crab claws and a pot of tea. Owner Marilyn Spillane told me that the same families often came back year after year – she now sees the children and grandchildren of visitors she’d met decades ago.

On my final activity on the northern side of the peninsula, I joined John Timlin, owner of Brandon Adventures, near the foot of Mount Brandon, where parts of the newly formed Kerry Seas National Park have been established. From Cloghane village we hiked along the Slí na nGallán trail to three standing stones at Cluain Searrach, overlooking Brandon Bay. John told me that not much was known about them, except that they align with the rising sun on the summer solstice. It was one more mystery to add to the many others I’d found in this magical region.

While County Kerry is touristy, this area is less well-known, but it’s also a playground for the adventure-minded. “We have the longest beach in Ireland, Fermoyle Beach, which is 14km, and the second-highest mountain range,” explained John. However, unlike other areas, it was far from overrun with daytrippers. Traditional villages like Cloghane and Brandon still felt unspoilt, and there was a feeling that it was the locals that were enjoying and appreciating what was here. “There’s a really nice community: the farmers and the fishermen are buddies, and people look out for each other,” added John.

This sense of close community is the backbone of the west of Ireland, and you can see why in a region that has had to weather famine, storms and emigration. Bringing places like this and the Mullet peninsula in County Mayo together under the umbrella of the Wild Atlantic Way ten years ago gave the area a fresh lease of life. Now, new initiatives like the Kerry Seas National Park offer the chance to further preserve some of this unique culture and heritage for people to experience for years to come.

My own journey might have come to an end, but I felt excited that the stories I’d encountered and heard would continue long after I’d left, as more people start to discover these hidden corners and islands of the west coast, ensuring these paradises are never lost.