GREAT IRISH DRIVES:A trip along the Glanmore Lake turns out to be a journey into another world, writes BOB MONTGOMERY
THE TIM Healy Pass on the Beara Peninsula is one of Ireland’s great mountain passes, and every time I have passed over it I have wondered at the contrast between the landscape south and north of the pass itself. To the south is barren mountainscape, while to the north is a lush green landscape of lakes and valleys. On several occasions I’ve stood at the top of the pass looking northeast into a horseshoe valley which takes its name from Glanmore Lake. Although the road that winds through this valley comes to a dead-end, blocked by the ring of mountains that surrounds its upper reaches, I’ve longed to enter this “hidden” valley and explore.
So, it was with great anticipation that I headed for Glanmore and I was not disappointed.
From Lauragh, on the edge of Kilmakilloge Harbour on the Kenmare River, head south-west on the R571 towards Ardgroom. Having crossed over the bridge about half a kilometre outside the town, take the left turn signposted for Glanmore Lake. For the first few kilometres the road is lined by high hedges and when they finally disappear it’s a surprise to find oneself at the foot of Glanmore Lake itself and in a very different landscape. Across the lake rises the dramatically wooded Foilecanom (347m) which forms the western shore. We’re in the midst of the mighty Caha Mountains here, surrounded on every side save the north direction we came from. The names are strange: Knockastumpa (398m); Stookeenalackarena (412m); Knockowen (658m); Coombane (510m); Cnoc Daod or Hungry Hill (685m) to the south; Knocknagree at the head of the Glanmore Valley; Lackabane (602m) and Canagullen (347m) along the western side – this valley is a place cut off by nature and time, waiting to be re-discovered by the occasional traveller.
The road – which is narrow but well-surfaced – continues on past the southern end of the lake turning southwest towards the head of the valley where it peters out. Here, probably as remote as it is possible to be on a road in Ireland, one is surrounded by an elemental beauty such as still exists in few places.
We spent time here, drinking in the sheer beauty and dreaming of living and writing here. And then, another car appeared, reality took hold, and we reluctantly left this special place. Roads merely serve to take us from A to B, but some roads transport us further than that, to another place and time. This road is one such.