Message: 6 Date: Fri, 24 Aug 2007 23:05:00 -0700 From: "Jean R." <jeanrice@cet.com> Subject: [IRELAND] Englishman Richard LOVETT's Travels (1888) to The Skelligs, Off Coast of Kerry -- Lemon Rock To: <IRELAND-L@rootsweb.com> SNIPPET: The notes of enthusiastic Victorian traveler to Ireland, Richard LOVETT were published in 1888 by The Religious Tract Society. Here are his impressions as he and his hired crew head for the The Skelligs, off the coast of Kerry: "We rowed away from the tiny pier at Port Magee about 10 a.m., and were soon at the mouth of the inlet upon which Port Magee is situated. There was a slight breeze from the north-east, the sun was shining, the sea had a steel-blue tint, the sky was clear, and as we drew near the mouth of the inlet the first taste of what was before us came. A broken ledge of rocks protects the mouth of the harbour. Within the sea was also calm, but upon the ledge the Atlantic was breaking with a low, thunderous roar, which would not have been pleasing had not the wild foam looked so dazzling white in the sunshine, and so fascinated the eye with its ever-varying forms of beauty, that delight in the scene quite overpowered the nervous imagination of what might happen should one of those great rollers send our light boat against any of the thousand ugly pointed rocks so uncannily close to our side. A few minutes' hard rowing, and were out upon the main. Turning a bold headland, we got our first view of the islets for which were making. Away out on the ocean, sharply defined against the horizon, were two huge masses or rock, and most beautiful did they appear. Too far away to exhibit any of their inequities of outline, they rose up from the sea like pyramids, and enshrouded in an exquisite blue haze, they appeared like twin sapphires. Seen from the low elevation of the boat, lying peacefully on the far horizon, shining forth in their sapphire beauty, one could easy feel and appreciate how the Irish along this coast have acquired and cling to the belief that westwards are the Islands of the Blest, the land of plenty and of peace. As the land receded we began to get a superb view of the coast, and a cruel coast it is. Successively Bray Head, Puffin Head, Bolus Head, the Great Blasquets, and many other headland and islet, came into view. The cliffs in may parts rise from three to six hundred feet, in some cases sheer from the water. But weird and fantastic in form as they often are, wherever the eye lights one impression is received, that of eternal strength. There is nothing of the curious frayed appearance presented by the horizontal strata of the cliffs further north. These rise up boldly, uncompromisingly, and you feel as you look upon them that here is a solidity and a strength upon which even the Atlantic in it seasons of wildest fury can make no impression. It is in vain that his hugest billows dash against these tremendous barriers. In the conflict, ceaseless, yet fruitless, all softness has disappeared. They present a stern grey front, and in their quiet yet awe-inspiring fixity they seem to say 'Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further, and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.' We row on, and for two or three miles seem to be making little or no headway. But gradually the cliffs of the mainland recede, and we draw near to the first of the group, that known as the Lemon Rock. This is worn into a ragged outline by the ceaseless action of the water, and as we pass it so far way that the roar of the surge is softened by the distance, we can see the spray shooting up in columns of the purest white. It seems to take a long while, our crew rowing hard all the time, to get beyond the Lemon Rock. But at least it is left upon our port quarter, and we have now done the larger half of our outward journey. We slowly cross the stretch of two or three miles which separate the Lemon Rock from the Little Skellig. One feels afresh the insignificance of man in the presence of the great forces of nature. The sun has now gone behind the clouds, the sea has changed to a cold grey, the waves have risen a little, the boat seems small and frail, the ocean seems wide and mighty. There is no vessel within two or three miles of us, and only five or six visible in the whole circuit of our horizon. The strongest swimmer, in case of need, could hardly hope to reach either the Skelligs or the shore. But a glance at the trim craft as she steadily surmounts wave after wave, a look at the intelligent faces and sturdy arms of the rowers as they cheerily urge on the boat, reassures us, and we banish all nervous thoughts and give ourselves up to thorough enjoyment of an hour not likely to recur in a lifetime."