^TM

Western Ireland on the Back of A Horse

By Craig Lancto

Despite weather reports to the contrary I emerged from Dublin Airport to find an October day that was sunny and clear.

I have never longed for dear old Ireland, and I don‘t go teary-eyed at the mere mention of the Emerald Isle, unless I have stayed too long in the pub, and then I have the same reaction to Mexico, Canada, France, or Tangier Island. I don’t wear green or eat oranges on St. Patrick’s Day. In short, I have not romanticized the tiny island country that so many claim as their ancestral land. But when the Irish Board of Tourism offered a week of horseback riding in western Ireland, my ears quivered, my eyes lighted up, and I started searching for my Stetson.

I joined the party at City West Hotel, on the outskirts of Dublin, and we headed north, were the steely-gray sky began producing a legendary Irish mist. At Sheephaven Bay we passed a golf course and, before us was the tiny, picturesque hamlet of Dunfanaghy in County Donegal. Directly to our right, an extensive beach awaited the incoming tide, and across the street stood the Arnold’s Hotel. 

We had arrived at Arnold’s after lunch, so William Arnold, one of the brothers whose family has owned and operated the 30-bedroom hotel since 1922, suggested that we eat in front of the peat fire in the parlor. I waited for the cabbage and corned beef, but I never saw it, not at the Arnold’s (which equals the best food I have enjoyed anywhere in the world) not anywhere else in Ireland. It must be at the end of the rainbow with the other loot.

When William handed us the menu, I realized that this was not the Ireland of legendarily drab and hearty fare. It was hearty enough, but it was elegant and delicious, as well. So, with wraps made with sun-dried tomatoes and some local cheese, creamy potato leek soup and steaming mugs of tea -- and a few pints, truth be told-- we set to work over a late lunch and learning about this family hotel that proved to be the high point of our stay in Ireland.

My room was large and looked out over the estuary. The bathroom was commodious to the point of luxury, although everything in the hotel is as understated as it was well-thought out. We had time for a quick ride along the beach across from the hotel.

Upon our return, I took a long preemptive hot bath to head off soreness before dressing for dinner. We met in the hotel’s own pub, a lovely room that often features trad (Irish traditional) music. Gerarda and Derrick Arnold and John and Helen McDaid joined us for drinks and dinner, as did Damian and our hostess from the Irish Travel Board. Helen owns the stables behind Arnold’s Hotel and John is a third generation ferrier, whose son is following in his footsteps.

The evening was an elegant dinner in the dining room at the Arnold Hotel. Now, imagine if you will, being in a small family hotel at the end of the earth. Dinner expectations, despite the lovely lunch, were not high. 

I could not keep a close eye on what the others were having, but I started with the Spartan seafood starter with smoked salmon and chilled crab claws. My entrée was the rack of lamb with mashed potatoes. An array of delectable side dishes were passed around family style, potatoes au gratin, broiled mushrooms, baby potatoes…the memory is bittersweet, and I long to return to the Arnolds’ table. And this was before the house-made chocolates were passed around to lead us into temptation.

The next morning we enjoyed a hearty breakfast of kippers, grilled tomatoes, and scramblies as we regarded the waves coming up on the beach across the street. We chose to start with a walk along the dwindling beach before returning to dress for riding. It was a brisk morning and the air was misty, although the sun shone brightly through gale winds.

Undaunted, your intrepid reporter donned his western boots and rain gear to mount up for a ride through the channel and to the top of Horn Head, where a follow car from the hotel provided us with hot scones, bakewell tarts, shortening bread and hot tea, while we looked out over the chill waters of the North Atlantic and rainbows seemed to spring up around us like crocuses in the spring.

As we returned to the trail, with the sea air breezes gusting at something like 150 mph and the waves crashing on the shore below us, I looked at the fingers of land jutting into the icy North Atlantic and the lovely town of Dunfanaghy across the way, turned to the journalist beside me and, with a truth that springs from deep within, I said, “I just had an I-am-so-glad-to-be-here moment.”

We followed the trail of rainbows back to the hotel, enjoyed another hot bath and went to visit John and son as they shod horses in their blacksmith shop in a business park. Horse trailers lined up in the parking lot waiting their appointed time for the McDaids to shoe their horses.

In the evening we ate in the Arnold’s bistro, the less formal dining room and fried brie and duck with chili noodles (All right, I confess it: I would double my weight in three weeks at this place, but I am in love with the chef…whom I admit I have not yet met face to face. His choice, I think.)  

Dunfanaghy is a wonderful town, rugged and remote, and Arnold’s Hotel combines the personal attention of a B&B and the amenities of a serious hotel without the pretentiousness. The Dunfanaghy Stables similarly offered Helen McDaid’s undivided attention and enough well-tended horses that rested mounts are always available. The nearby golf course Sheephaven Bay, Muckish Mountain, and sightseeing trails made this a venue we hope to visit time and again.

We reluctantly bid adieu to the Arnolds and sweet succulent roast duck and mouth-watering leg of lamb to head for Donegal Bay.  Over dinner we met Pat Geaghan and Maurice, her trail guide, from Donegal Riding Centre in nearby Bundoran, to plan the next day’s riding.

In the morning we met Pat and Maurice who fixed us up with mounts and saddles and we headed for the sand dunes across the way.

When we crested the dune, the blue waters of Donegal Bay appeared before us, a series of massive sand dunes covered with wiry grass that reached the horses’ shoulders.

We rode up dunes and down until we crested another large dune. Before us lay beautiful countryside, an old ruin of a castle, swans and a tiny island in the middle of a river.

We trotted along the beach until we reached a paddock at the edge of Bally (Ballyshannon). We unsaddled the horses and walked to a pub with the flavor of old Ireland. Afterwards we rushed back to the horses to beat the tide and returned to the Riding Centre to ride again among the dunes.

In a small house next to the entry to Donegal Riding Centre, we met Lilly Quinn, who has lived in this thatched cottage for all of her 87 years --so far-- unhindered by the lack of running water or electricity.

At night, we ate in Smugglers Cove, a lovely old restaurant along the beach from the Sand House. Maurice joined us for dessert and we raced along the beach to collect one of our party who had returned to the hotel before returning to Bundoran, where Pat’s daughter owns a restaurant that felt as if we were in Arizona. We sampled her wine cellar until about 11:00, when Pat announced that trad music would be getting underway at Madden’s Pub. Which closes at 11:30. By 12:15 the pub was standing room only and people were pouring in.

Close to 12:30 the pub fell silent as “Gera,” Geraldine Coleman from Ballydrum in County Mayo, sang a silvery ballad that clearly moved her listeners.

Meanwhile, Maurice was chatting up a young lady who soon left with another young man. Maurice grinned and shrugged: “I pumped up the tires on the bicycle and somebody else drove it away.”

I was for packing it in when Dierdre asked whether I was ready to leave. “Am I ever!”

“Good,” she said. “The disco is only a few blocks away.”

This was not granny’s Ireland!

By 3:30 I was for a taxi. After all, we were going riding at 9 in the morning and I had to look for boots after we found Elaine’s underwear, but I surely will not allude to that sordid adventure.

However, I am eager to return to the Emerald Isle for the sequel.

Back to TravelLady Magazine