Tom McCoy pilots the bus as if it was a cruise ship–smooth, steady, certain. And when we weren’t listening to Martin’s power ballads on the CD, Tom was happy to toss out bits of knowledge.
For instance, the Derrynasaggart mountains are going through a wide scale reforestation program with lots of Sitka spruce and Canadian pine. The ancient Celts valued cattle more than hardwood, and Ireland’s forests were never managed. By the 1890s less than one percent of Ireland had any forest to speak of. Apparently today there are still many who view the Sitka spruce and other non-native species to be a threat to the native boglands–the problem being that native species can no longer survive in the acidic soils left behind by the bogs.
Rolling down into the foothills of Derrynasaggart is the area of Ballyvourney. In places this area reminds me of Mariposa or Mono counties in California.
From here we made good time to Blarney castle, reaching the gates as soon as it opened. I’ve always heard that the wait to kiss the Blarney stone was excruciating, making it hardly worth the effort. There was no wait for us, we were just about the only people on the grounds. Emma swore that she wasn’t going to kiss the rock, thinkging about all the lips that had gone before. But when we reached the place where the old inhabitants used to pour the boiling oil, she joined the fun with the rest of us.
The Blarney stone, said to be Jacob’s pillow from Beth-el, is a strange colored rock, worn smooth by countless lips over the centuries.