Across the Burren
 Malcolm Rogers takes a scenic hike over one of Ireland’s natural wonders — The Burren.
The Burren is a harsh, strange, and hauntingly beautiful region, occupying most of the north-western corner of Co. Clare.
This chunk of the county seems to wear its stony skeleton on the outside, as if somebody has turned the landscape inside out. Spectral limestone pavements, nature’s version of crazy paving, loom out of the turf. And everywhere the rocks are polka-dotted with wild flowers, spaghnum moss and piles of heather. It looks as if the raw materials from which countryside is made are on display.
The better to experience this magical landscape, I had employed me a guide, John Connolly, a genial twentysomething, whose family have been farming this land for generations. Now I’m a bit ambivalent about guides — especially since the last one I had in the Cairngorms in Scotland was not a happy experience. Our guide had lectured our little group about taking all necessary precautions because the Highlands can be harsh enough if there’s a turn in the weather. He then turned round walked a few yards, didn’t spot a loose stone on the path, and fell and sprained his ankle. The walk had to be put off until the next day when a new guide could be found.
However, not a suspicion of that here on this karst outcrop on the edge of the Atlantic. John guided me throughout with a sure-footed confidence and an intimate knowledge of the land that had reared him.
“The Burren is internationally important as far as botany and geology are concerned,” he informed me, “but it’s important to remember that the history of the people is bound up in the landscape.
“Really, what it is, in effect, is a limestone display cabinet of history. Up there you’ll find great stone tombs nearly 4,000 years old, cooking stones going back 2,000 years, churches 1,000 years old, and mass stones going back to the penal times.”
These limestone terraces were at one time forested, thinly enough in places, with hazel, juniper, birch and whitethorn. The bleakness of the landscape today is due to erosion brought on by early human settlement and farming.
But although at times appearing bleak, this ancient countryside is home to both Arctic and Mediterranean flowers, which fill the trenches between the huge limestone slabs, as if a tireless gardener had been working day and night to create some outlandish garden.
And here’s something else, fact fans: although the Burren represents just 1 per cent of the land mass of Ireland, 75 per cent of its native species are found here. And what a mixture they are: this is the only part of Europe where flowers and plants usually found thousands of miles apart grow together in perfect harmony.
On your journey through this corner of Clare you’ll see a wide cross-section of Ireland’s bird life — wheatears, stonechats, and the odd snow bunting, along with the more common pipits, yellowhammers and larks. You are also likely to meet Ireland’s two oldest mammalian residents — indeed probably the only endemic mammal species left on the island — the hare and the stoat.
John Connolly’s walks can last from one hour to six — being a bit of a softie, I opted for the three-hour jaunt. Our hike started off on the rich meadow lowlands, and quickly climbed up a path worn smooth by cattle, wild goats and humans.
As you walk along the surprisingly dry paths (there’s not enough soil to produce any mud worthy of the name) the gentle hills of the Burren come into view. One of the most striking features are the walls lacing the hillside.
“Aye, everybody round here can build a wall,” says John. “It’s not just to keep the livestock in, or to mark out farms. It’s always been the only practical way to get the rocks off the land.”
Some of the walls, however, seem to wend their way pointlessly up the hill, and just peter out. “Indeed they are worthless,” explains my guide. “They’re Famine walls. The British decided to give some relief to the starving people. But the poor devils had to work for their money — and the British didn’t want them building roads or improving the infrastructure of the area. That might have led to the people becoming too organised. Too easy to spread sedition.”
This melancholy monument to the tragedy of the Great Hunger wasn’t the last mention of the Famine that day.
Although the Burren is famous for its flowers, you don’t have to go in spring or summer to appreciate the surreal landscape. The rock shapes are impressive enough any time of the year. Heavy duty weather has been battering this limestone escarpment for a million belligerent years, producing a terrain that is dramatic, uncanny and at times downright improbable. As shadows lengthen of an evening, crazy geometric patterns in the rock formations dance in the twilight. That’s even before having partaken of the hospitality in the world famous pubs in the villages scattered throughout the area.
We’re climbing higher now, and a stiff breeze is blowing in from Galway Bay. But there’s no edge to the wind, and the going underfoot is easy. About an hour into the walk we come to a sheltered hollow just round the shoulder of the hill. A substantial ash tree guards St. Colman’s well. On the steps down to the well grows a fuchsia tree, covered in ribbons and strips of clothing. This is a votive tree — since time immemorial the people of this area have believed that by leaving something on the bush ailments will be cured. This particular well and plant is for eye ailments. Truly a site for sore eyes.
Not far away, just beyond a clump of whitethorn trees stands a small semi-circular wall. A prehistoric or dolmen or the like?
John put me right: “That’s a wall a farmer would have built round a sick cow for shelter. It would have been too weak to get back down the hill, so would have been looked after up here.” Such was the importance of just one cow that no effort would be spared to nurse it back to life, even if it meant building a shelter high in the hills and visiting her every day.
Further up the hillside is another poignant reminder of the Famine. High up on a grassy ledge are a line of “lazy beds” — shallow potato furrows built well away from the farm in the forlorn hope that the potato blight wouldn’t reach them.
But these aren’t the only reminders of a one-time grindingly poor way of life the people round these parts once endured. Dotted her and there are little mounds of stones or “tuiles” where scrub grass and flowers such as the mountain aven would be dried out and transported down the mountain to be used as fuel.
Ancient dolmens, graveyards and churches are a distinct feature of Clare. Just walking into one of these old cemeteries is like stepping into a time capsule of history. The people of Clare have been burying their dead on these lonely hillsides for the best part of the last 5,000 years — and the stone dolmens, the weathered granite headstones and the old Celtic crosses bear silent witness to this history.
General Ludlow famously said of the Burren: “There is not water enough to drown a man, wood enough to hang one, nor earth to bury him.”
I’d beg to disagree with the general. There’s no better way of summing up the place than by quoting, not some Cromwellian lackey, but the great Christy Moore song Lisdoonvarna.
I only paraphrase slightly: “If it’s something different you want, sure go to Clare.”
Burren Wild Guided Walking Tours
John A. Connolly
Oughtmama
Bellharbour
Co. Clare
Ireland.
Tel: 087-8779565
E-mail: burrenwildguidedtours.eircom.net
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