Ireland's Eye: For the Birds
An island off Dublin's coast has weathered centuries of change and now finds itself ruled by seabirds
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| Photo by Jim Detjen |
Not far from the northern terminus of Dublin’s light rail line, within sight of the village of Howth’s plebian fishing fleet and its elite yacht club, lies Ireland’s Eye.
The island stood sentry when Napoleon Bonaparte’s navy was feared throughout the British Empire and where medieval monks sought refuge from the temptations and comforts of the outside world.
No matter that the French attack never came. No matter that the monks abandoned their monastery, which stands in ruins surrounded by a vast field of waist-high ferns and burdocks. No matter that the island is now ruled by gannets and guillemots, by great black-backed gulls and oystercatchers, by cormorants and kittiwakes, by rats and rabbits.
People don’t belong — at least not for more than a few hours at a time — on Ireland’s Eye, without fresh water or shelter from the Irish Sea. Rugged and rocky, windswept and treeless, this island with its steep cliffs belongs instead to the seabirds, which protectively dive-bomb visitors during the early summer nesting season.
As we hiked the narrow trails over rough rocks encrusted with lichen of gray-green, puke yellow and deep burgundy, birds on the alert rose from their ground-level nests of dried grass, hovering — almost floating — overhead. Most of their ground-level nests on the grass-covered slopes contained three or four brown-speckled eggs. We watched the partial hatching of one, the egg cracking and moving, a soft sound coming from within, then stepped away to let the mother return to her hatchling.
This is a tough place to survive, about a mile off the shore where Vikings once trod. To get here, visitors ride a small boat that departs from a long concrete pier jutting out from the mainland – a pier where a sign warns that high waves may sweep people off and where other signs — bilingual, in Gaelic and English — warn “Aire! Dromchla Eagothrom,” or “Caution! Uneven Surface.” The captain uses a long metal hook to hold his boat against the rugged rocks so passengers can embark and disembark.
Most visitors content themselves with walking around for a half hour or so, then catching the next return boat, but the real treasures of Ireland’s Eye, the natural treasures, are further afield.
BirdWatch Ireland describes what you’ll see: “Straight off the boat you walk across rabbit burrows, some of which are used by nesting shelduck. Off the east side of the island there are rafts of guillemots and razorbills, and with luck a few puffins. Further along, heading for the high ground, are cliffs teaming with the nests of auks, kittiwakes and fulmars. Further down the cliff near the tide line you can look straight down on shags on their nests.”
For nature, the busiest time is early summer when the seabird colonies bustle with nesting mothers and the ground is streaked with guano. In the summer, you’ll also find northern gannets and great cormorants, ringed plovers and oystercatchers. Winter brings greylag geese and pale-bellied brents.
While birders and photographers frequently come here, on their own or in groups, you needn’t be a bird maven to relish the sight of fluffy fledglings scooting for shelter, or of feathers scattered over the ground, or of the purples and whites of small flowers clinging precariously to survival in the shallow, salt-laden soil, or the burrows of the wild rabbits and of rats.
This is, after all, not a hospitable place for people.
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One of the island's permanent residents rests on a cliff on Ireland's Eye. Photo by Jim Detjen |
The walk down to the narrow fringe of beach along Carrigeen Bay is 150 yards long or so, but sandy enough to laze on. Shells and occasional pieces of beach glass are worn to a matte surface by the power of waves and the abrasion of sand. As for the water, it’s a bit chilly — we saw a couple of children wearing partial wetsuits in June.
A round Martello Tower near the landing point is the island’s major artificial landmark.
There’s no interior access, but intrepid visitors can climb a thick knotted rope that sways in the wind to peek through a window into the deep darkness of the interior. Its thick stone walls have weathered two idle centuries. Built of heavy stone in the early 19th century and armed with 24-pounder cannons, it was one of a series of towers constructed along the western coast of Ireland to warn Britain if the French fleet approached. In total, 103 such towers on the coast of the British Isles were modeled after a gun tower in Martella, Corsica. “The aim,” according to the British Broadcasting Corporation, “was to cover the most likely landing beaches and to confuse any French landing while British reserves and Royal Navy ships were rushed to the area.”
Nowadays, only the seabirds take aim at the tower. There’s no objection. Ireland’s Eye is, in the end, their sanctuary.
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