Fri Aug 21 Streedagh to Glencar pt1

Dawn. I wake up, its cold. The wind is whipping at the outer layers of the tent which I haven't set up properly so there are a few loose flaps slapping around in the breeze. Despite this I slept quite well through the night, better than expected. I'm not great at camping. Normally my experience of camping consists of long, cold dreamless nights during which I usually hear strange noises and spend an age wide awake listening intently, wondering if I'll hear that noise again and conjuring up all kinds of images of the most unlikely kinds of animals that might be prowling around or sniffing at the tent. Last night was good though I reckon I slept for most of it. I was comfortable and warm and dozed off to the sounds of the breeze and raindrops tipping on the tent canvas. Though I did wake up from a dream at one point thinking I could hear a crowd of people rubbing against the outside of the tent.

I went outside. There was a right nip in the air. Autumn definitely feels close even though there's still nearly two weeks left in August. It was bright but the sun hadn't come up yet. I went back to bed for another couple of hours and got up at eight. I wandered over to the beach to have some breakfast down by the beach. By now it was a beautiful morning, bright and sunny. The wind had eased off but there was still a cool nip to it. I certainly kept my layers on. Out in the water the lads I'd watched surfing last night were back, this time with a friend and the three of them lounged around on their boards. The surf wasn't as good as it was last night. Looking around at the beach this morning its hard to imagine the place littered with a thousand dead bodies and the immense litter and debris from the three wrecked ships three or four hundred meters out in the water. I feel quite cold this morning but I can't imagine what it was like to sleep out here soaked to the skin and with only a few handfuls of rushes covering me.

De Cuellar spent the first three days or so after he was shipwrecked in the vicinity of Streedagh but I'm not doing that. Its time to take down the tent, pack up and hit the road. There's only one way off the strand, it's surrounded by water on three sides. Behind the dunes there's a lagoon which fills up at high tide and seperates the beach from the mainland. A narrow neck of sand joins the beach to the rocky headland at Streedagh point. To get back to Grange you have to follow the roads on a wide loop around the lagoon.

Back on the bike I follow the strand road towards a ridge half a mile south of the beach following the route De Cuellar took as he began to search for some shelter. After a day or two trying to scavenge food on the beach he appears to have heard from someone that there was an abbey in the area where he might find refuge. He was unable to walk properly and needed medical attention after recieving some pretty severe injuries when he jumped into the water to escape the sinking ship. I found a small private lane which led to the crest of the ridge and down in a hollow by the shore a further half mile distant sits the ruins of Staad Abbey. While Francisco limped slowly over the fields to get down to the abbey I find a network of ancient trackways to cycle round to the ruin. There's not much left of the place now, only a single gable still stands but you can see the outline of the building. It sits on the edge of a field right beside the shore looking out to Inishmurray five miles out to sea. Pilgrims travelling out to the old monastery on the island used Staad as a hostel, a stopping point (Stad), on their travels to and from the place of worship. It was a well known landmark and obviously a sympathetic local must have directed the destitute spanish survivors to this spot.

De Cuellar wasn't the only spaniard to make his way to Staad. At least twelve others arrived before him. He found their dead bodies hanging from the burnt out rafters of the building. English soldiers hunting for the survivors had rounded them up and executed them under orders from Dublin to kill every spaniard. Having been greeted with this sight he didn't hang about the abbey for very long and followed a road which ran inland from here. I followed an ancient trackway still cobbled and half covered in grass. At some point De Cuellar met an old woman fleeing from Grange who warned him to stay away from the village so he doublebacked down to the track to the strand where he met up with two other spaniards and searched for scraps of food on the beach. They eventually split up, De Cuellar's injuries slowed him too much for the others and they made their way seperately in the direction of Grange. I too followed the network of old roads back to the village to join up with another old track in the direction of Ben Bulben and the tiny hamlet of Cashelgarron two or three miles up the road. I'm trying to keep to the old roads as much as possible in an effort to follow the routes which were in use some four hundred years ago and the great thing is they're almost deserted so they're great for cycling along. Following this old road I meet with my first 'dog' episode of the trip. An ancient wee terrier comes rushing out of a farmyard barking and gnashing his teeth at me but he's so old I don't even bother getting off the bike and just cycle alongside him. He gets a little too close my rear pannier for his own comfort, gets a fright and runs back into the farmyard yelping in fear.

A few minutes later I crest the top of a ridge to face Ben Bulben with a storm brewing up above it. The beautiful morning is quickly deteriorating into a wet one. De Cuellar was directed by some of the locals to stay away from Grange where about a hundred spaniards had been rounded up by the English forces in the area and killed. He was told to travel in the direction of the mountains behind which were the lands of a chieftain who was providing shelter and protection for the survivors who could avoid the bands of soldiers and make it that far. Glencar valley lies behind the mountains of the Ben Bulben plateau which dominate the skyline inland from Streedagh and Grange. If De Cuellar could find that valley he would pass into the territory where he would find a safe refuge.

Following the old roads towards Glencar I spin down to Cashelgarron. Today this is an almost deserted little hamlet but in the past it was a settlement that grew up around a busy cross roads as the road between Sligo and Grange met with the mountain road coming south from Glenade and the territories to the north. If De Cuellar followed this route he had to pass through this settlement. The main Sligo Road also passes through Cashelgarron but most people barely register that they've passed through the place. Cars zip through it and they're gon in the blink of an eye. Continuing on the old road I head for the village of Carney. This is an area of rich pasture land and the air is full of the smell of lush grass. A downpour passed through here shortly before I arrive and the air is fresh and clear. I've never been in this village and I've grown up only twenty five miles or so from the place. The village used to be on the main road between Sligo and Grange but now its now bypassed and tucked away in a quiet corner a mile from the heavy traffic on the busy N15.

.......to be continued