Oh yeah, distracted by puffins on Skellig Michael. Other travel adventures, work, and life have kept me from finishing this story, but what better time to get back to blogging about Ireland than St. Patrick’s Day?
We agreed that once off the boat, we’d head straight for the monastery dating back to about 700 AD. It is perched on top of the green isle, so we’d save picture ops for the way down. Throw in a puffin or a hundred and out come the cameras.
A posin’ puffin! (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
Shoot! They are too dang cute!
Pausing for puffins. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
I could fill a dozen posts with puffin pics, but let’s get back to the hike. If you’ve watched the latest Star Wars epic, you’ve seen a little bit of Skellig on the big screen.
The ascent up Skellig. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
The climb is steep, really steep. So steep that a misstep can – in fact, has been – fatal. But the views…
Stopped for photos. It’s a long, rocky way down. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
And then there it is, the summit hermitage. Why did the monks choose this remote, storm-battered rock in the Atlantic? What made them stay for over five centuries? What was the best part of life on Skellig?
Entering the hermitage. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
Climbing past the beehive shelters lies the high cross. It’s weathered and worn and full of wonder.
The High Cross towers over Little Skellig. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
There are places that beckon, that call to a place deep within your soul and say “you must come.” Skellig Michael, off Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way is one of those places. It spoke to me. No, that’s not quite right. Skellig Michael didn’t speak, it yelled.
And I listened.
My daughter and I only had two weeks to travel from Canada to Ireland and tour the Emerald Isle for the first time. I really didn’t have any must-sees as long as we worked in time to drive to the Ring of Kerry to find the little harbour town of Portmagee for the chance to board a tiny boat and ride out over the waves to climb 600 stone steps up a cliff to a monastery dating back to 700 A.D.
‘Sceillic’ means steep rock. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
Was I crazy? I hate rough seas. Not just a little bit, I’m terrified of rough water. Truth be told, I’m not always that good with heights, either. But I couldn’t help it, I had to go.
The trip out to Skellig Michael (a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1996) is not a guaranteed event. An average of two days out of seven, it’s simply too rough for locals captains to ply their vessels. With this in mind, and a somewhat flexible schedule, we decided to wait until closer to the date to book our trip. When we did, it was full.
“You can try standby,” we were told.
Skellig Michael tour boats in harbour at Portmagee. (Photo: M. Kopp)
Arriving an hour early, we stood in a line that grew to almost 40 individuals – all looking for last-minute passage over to Skellig Michael for the day. There are 12 boats in total running from three locations that hold licences to land at Blind Man’s Cove each day. As the boats began to fill, we stood by the gate and crossed our fingers. Five seats were available for standby.
We were the last two to get on.
Final two seats on the Anchorsiveen. (Photo Credit: M. Kopp)
The captain’s assistant handed out extra waterproofs to cover legs for those of us who hadn’t thought to bring rain pants. The calm inner harbour soon became gentle waves and then rock and roll. Cold, salty water misted faces over and over again. I kept looking back, watching the cape recede. I couldn’t see our destination ahead. My girl smiled and reminded me – yet again – that I was the one who wanted to do this trip.
At the end of the day I asked our captain how he would rate the seas for our trip – with one being the best possible crossing and 10 being too rough to go out. Our trip was only a four! (Photo Credit: M. Kopp)
As we pulled into the lee side of the island, 11.6 km from the mainland, the waves died down to a rolling swell. Bobbing up and down beside the concrete dock, we jumped on slippery steps and scampered up to terra firma.
Looking back at the landing in Blind Man’s Cove on Ireland’s Skellig Michael. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
I could have kissed the ground – but I was too distracted by the sudden warmth of the sun. Shedding layers, we stuffed our backpacks and began the stroll up the gently climbing paths that led to … OMG… puffins!
Puffins can be seen on Skellig Michael until early August. (Photo credit: M. Kopp)
Not one, not two, but hundreds of puffins land on the tiny isle to breed every summer – along with guillemots, fulmars, razorbills and…
It’s a sad time in the fall, when the last of the migrants head south and the woods become silent. All of a sudden there seems to be a huge void, and I know winter has arrived. But there are a few hardy species of birds that stick around to put a little sparkle in winter outdoor adventures.
House Sparrows haunt feeders and town trails. Chickadees fly in flocks from tree to feeder to tree in search of seeds left untouched. Gray jays perch near skiers’ rest stops, hoping for stray crumbs. Ravens soar the skies from mountain hut to windswept pass and back again, keen eyes always on the lookout for their next meal.
One of my personal favourites is the white-winged crossbill – a backcountry denizen large enough to be spotted on its perch and easily identifiable by its odd-crossed shaped bill (used to pluck seeds from cones).
