Some Guy In Nevada

Or, How What Was Supposed to Be a Relaxing Layaround Day Wasn’t

Inisheer at Dusk

First off, be aware that any decision to visit the Aran Islands is a commitment to a major, all-day undertaking. Second, if Miss Fish repeats a desire often enough throughout a trip, it tends to materialize at some point.

Yesterday, we had taken a stroll down the boreen in front of the B&B towards the seashore as the sun was vanishing beneath the horizon pursued by angry clouds. As twilight deepened, we could barely make out the silhouette of Inisheer, the nearest of the Aran Islands, with its flickering lighthouse.

Golf course...all you need is a pitching wedge and a putter. Seriously.

Today, we walked to the pier past a very strange, yet tiny golf course, and we bought our tickets to Inisheer. The boatman behind the ticket counter suggested that for a little more, we could also get a cruise around the Cliffs of Moher. (“Do you guarantee that we can see at least one tourist stumbling over the edge?” I asked to appreciative snorts from the other crewmen lounging around the office) So, for an extra €5, we splurged and booked seats with a bunch of German tourists on an earlier ferry that also did a sightseeing turn around the base of the Cliffs of Moher.

Cliffs of Moher from the Sea

After finding makeshift seats on the rubber dock bumper, we sat back agaist the railing and watched as the cliffs loomed nearer. We found this view of the Cliffs of Moher much nicer, as we could see the bird colonies, and we could truly appreciate how high and burly these cliffs are, which isn’t apparent from above. Well worth €5, and the fact that your ferryboat is taking you for a scenic spin around the coast really doesn’t seem odd here. Imagine the Staten Island Ferry taking a siteseeing detour around Battery Park and Jones Beach. There’d be an outraged mutiny and a sensationalist story in the New York Post.

Birds nesting on the Cliffs of Moher

Miss Fish’s Wish

After we dropped off the Germans back at the Doolin pier, we continued to Inisheer. Inisheer is a tiny island, only a couple of kilometers across. So, imagine my disbelief as we disembarked and headed inland from the pier, when Miss Fish’s head snapped up, and she said, “I hear a sporting event. It’s unmistakable.” and she started up the road at a racewalker’s pace.

Inisheer vs. arch-rivals, Connemara...Connemara with the ball.

Gaelic Football is one of those inexplicable sporting events that we never see in the states, but is shown regularly on Irish television. Essentially, it’s a blend of soccer, dodgeball, keep-away, rugby, basketball, and good, old-fashioned kill-the-guy-with-the-ball, played with a volleyball. (“Hurling” is basically the same game played with a softball and Polynesian war clubs). It’s addictive to watch, so about a week ago while we were still in Dingle, Miss Fish began her repeating desire to see a live Gaelic Football match.

Oddly, her wish came true on Inisheer. This tiny island actually has a regulation size paying field and a team as well. The lads in green were playing the boys from Connemara, and we leaned against a split-rail fence and enjoyed the game.

The gist of the game, from what the Irish tell us, is to either put the ball past a goalie into an opponent’s net–much like a soccer goal, except it counts for three points, or kick it between the uprights as in American football, except that instead of three points, you get only one, plus you do it on the run while the opposing team tries to dismember you. A player must dribble the ball every three or four steps, and can toss, dropkick, soccer-kick, pitch, or volleyball-serve in order to pass the ball to a teammate, in any direction. Although tackling and in-game assaults on other players aren’t allowed, the incidental contact is pretty tough, and a successful run downfield can leave the field littered with horizontal players.

Inisheer kicks the almost-gamewinning score

So we got to watch a live Gaelic Football match, where Inisheer rallied to pull ahead of Connemara, only to have Connemara tie it up in the last few seconds of the game.

After leaving the game, we walked trough a maze of fantastic stone walls (apparently, Inisheer is also the site of a wall-building symposium) and visited the lighthouse, the Napoleonic-era watchtower, and the ruins of the O’Brien castle. Along the way, we met a gentleman with a pony cart, and upon inquiry about the game, he proudly stated that his son had kicked the last point for Inisheer. We were very pleased for him and congratulated him and his son.

Miss Fish and the lighthouse

After far too much sun, not enough water, and only powerbars for lunch, we caught the last ferry to Doolin. Next time we come to Inisheer, we’re booking a room overnight. It’s a tiny island with too much to do in a single afternoon.

After catching dinner and the last half of the afternoon session at O’Connor’s, we went back to our room for the night, with plans to go out in a little bit, but seeing as Miss Fish is comatose under the covers and my ear hurts when I even *think* of playing the whistle, this’ll be the last of it for the evening.