Thursday 1st October 2026
Dingle to Dunquin
Getting addicted to the Baileys Cream porridge and it was exactly what was needed for another day spent traipsing the hills along the Atlantic Coast. Thought we would give ourselves a head start on the 26 Kms day by taking a 10 minute bus ride to Ventry, but a late in the day misadventure soon diluted that benefit.
The bus ride was a chance to listen to a local talk about the woes of Ireland and that bloke in the US- we could but listen intently.
Got off at Ventry and headed down to the boardwalk on the map, which was essentially the beaches were in for two surprises . Firstly a bundle of wild water swimmers, mainly women, all attached to floats making their way across to the adjacent beach. Not sure it would be an easy landing with the kelp and rope like seaweed covering the beach.
Then we looked like having to join them with the tide still high and no access. Decided to pretend to be mountain goats and clambered our way along the seawall to reach the safety of the beach.
The Atlantic and a lone sailing boat was our pal as we trod the sands for the next hour or so as the tide slowly subsided. That said there were two creeks to cross which thankfully had bridges, well at least for Jane. I decided to try and ford one which was a little deeper than it looked and ended up with wet boots for the rest of the day.
Off the beach it was through lovely little clumps of farms before heading up onto the main road to visit some ancient ruins and as it could only be in Ireland, a Fairy Fort, with its myth board giving the story. There was also a cafe , with no food, where we sipped on a hot chocolate.
It was adjacent to a petting zoo which had a collection of animals depicted in the grandkids book collection. There was Shaun the Sheep, Macca the Alpaca, Wonky Donkey and of course Peppa Pig. Joined the rest of visitors and gave them all a feed then headed to the hand washing station. It was like Covid had returned with the Swedish family in front more like preparing for major surgery than washing their hands.
It had been a bit of a detour so we backtracked to join a country road. Past some ancient farms and what had to be the biggest proposed cottage restoration ever attempted. One wondered why they didn’t simply knock the place down . Must say it had a great view over the ocean. After that it was a tricky 500 metre ascent along sheep trails to a high contour on the mountain. The sheep with their colorful marking to depict ownership and what treatments they had received were reminiscent of a football club parad with the red white and blues, the red and whites, the red and greens and the purples. The prominence of red white and blue might have been an omen for the NRL GF.
Then the inevitable tumble town hill to a creek, thankfully with a bridge, for a quick flat walk to round the corner and some magnificent coastal views along with the uninhabited Blansky Islands. It was the wild Atlantic coast to a T.
Made our way down to the road above the beach for a closer look, it had all the traces of the Ryan’s Daughter movie which was also shot here. Shot being the operative word as the filming was a real shot in the arm, with a week turning into 5 months and overspending by 4M whatever’s with the prevailing currency.
The Blasket Passage was a notorious area for shipwrecks reaching back to the Spanish Armada. The beach is apparently popular for surfing and the rolling waves were testament to that.
The path followed the coastline where waves crashed against the craggy cliffs and way off island. So mesmerised were we that we missed the turnoff to our accommodation and realising it about 2 kilometres from home.
Hungry, wet and wind blown we made our way to Kreugers Bar, supposedly warm and welcoming as eell as being the furthest west bar in Europe. Granted on the geography, but major failure on the rest. A request for a meal was knocked back because a tourist bus was coming and that would swamp the kitchen, but they could give us a bag of crisps.
A late lunch early dinner was our best option as accommodation was too far to walk back in the weather. Remarkably the hungry bus people just lingered around drinking beer and coffee and eating cake and when they left the swamped kitchen opened again. Jane’s comment to a local about the servce elicited a ‘well they are tourists” and her response was then what are we – Martians.
Ended up eating there more out of circumstances than desire to give them our trade. Finished it up and headed to our accommodation up the top of the hill, but no mine host- just a note to ring Amos.
Arrived 10 minutes later and lo and behold he was James” they are tourists’ man from the pub’. Seems he wa happy to have these tourists stay at his place. If it had not been raining it would have been fabulous because it had uninterrupted views out to the islands.
We must have interrupted his drinking because it was a ‘Here is your key and breakfast is at 830 no earlier’ . In a passing gesture of kindness he indicated that he would turn on the electricity to heat up the water which should only take 20 or 30 minutes.
Cold and wet waiting for a shower is no fun but at least it gave a chance to read about the inhabitants of the Blasket Islands. They were indeed a weird bunch, speaking their own language, living a subsistence lifestyle with no water or electricity. When the population reach 21 in 1953 the Gobernment ‘evacuated’ them from the Island. It’s now just a spot where the local ferry takes visitors for adventure tours – weather permitting.
I pondered if our welcomes to pub and home were just a teaser for what they might have endured. With no working tv and crappy internet it was a very early to bed.
