Where was I?

Have I told you about the Burren? Our next couple of days was all about the Burren. Limestone, limestone, limestone — no longer just a million rocks in every field turned into thousands of walls, but a million rocks PLUS. The Burren is a karst/glaciokarst landscape on the west coast of Ireland, part of the Wild Atlantic Way. The major habitats in the Burren are limestone pavements, orchid-rich calcareous grasslands, limestone heaths, scrub and woodlands, wet grasslands, turloughs (seasonal lakes), calcareous springs and fens. The limestone pavement is cut through everywhere with what I think our guide told us were “crikes”. And there are glacial erratics scattered all about. It has both artic-alpine and mediterrean plants, including gentian, lots of orchid types, maidenhead ferns. The whole area is a national park, with private farms (the few that still exist) in it. Farming plays a vital role in maintaining the Burren and without farmers the Burren as the Irish know it would cease to exist. Grazing cattle on the winterages ensures that the species-rich grass is grazed down to give the unique range of flora the opportunity to bloom each year. The EU tried buying up all the farmland and disallowed cattle on the winterages, which almost destroyed the Burren. At last, they came to their senses and reversed the grazing rule. But they still want to buy up all the farms in the area. We went to a cattle farm that father and now son have refused to sell. The first farmers on the Burren were early Neolithic (stone age, around 6,000 years ago)– they know they were there, but not much about how or what they did regarding farming — seems to have been small scale and transient; sporadic clearances, followed by abandonment and subsequent regeneration of woody vegetation. The cliffs of Moher are part of the Burren.

Our first excursion to the Burren was to watch sheep dogs work. They are trained to the whistle, but I noticed that the man also seemed to use hand signals. They all know their unique whistle names. I have a weird sensory thing, basically auditory hallucinations, so to me, some of the whistling translated into words — particularly when the same sounds were being repeated. There were three dogs showing off and one older dog who wanted to participate but was too slow to herd, but she watched with keen interest. One dog, about three, is still in training — she was so funny. She would frequently stop and turn to look at the man, like “what did you say?” He called her lazy, said she tried to get away with not doing the proper methods. He was having none of it and would make her do the maneuver correctly. Word to the wise: if you’re lazy, do it right the first time so you don’t have to work harder by having to repeat the exercise.

We all loved that and could have stood there watching them for longer than the demonstration. I was really sorry we didn’t get to pet them. Laird and I feel dog-deprived and want to pet everyone we see (well, not those little “Old Lady dogs” that are ubiquitous whether traveling or staying home).

Next, we went on the limestone pavement to the portal dolmen of Poulnabrone, a tomb built sometime between 4,200 BC and 2,900 BC. They are standing stones with a huge, heavy capstone — a marvel that, in a way far back time before heavy machinery, or even the wheel?, humans were smart enough to be able to erect such large boulders into place. Alas, we couldn’t go in or even get very close to it (it was roped off — probably a good thing considering how whacko stupid tourists are being these days, with carving their names in ancient edifices, bathing in centuries old fountains and breaking penises off statues.)

On to cliffs of Moher — it is as breathtaking as you imagine, though I think the view would be even more spectacular on the water.

On to somewhere for lunch; the restaurant was called Linnanes. Right on the bay, we ate prawns, scallops, crab, mussels and I’m sure I’ve forgotten something that was on the trays. Each tray had one oyster, but I was luckily gifted the one on the tray in front of me — it was the best I had in Ireland! Supposedly, according to the itinerary there were amazing desserts, but I don’t have any memory of sweets. Back home to Lisdonaugh Manor, our last night, which meant facing the horror of packing.