`Whoever has not stood here. . . . does not know Ireland through and through." George Bernard Shaw is quoted as saying this, and the words appear in a splendid two-page spread of text and photographs in the current issue of Wings, the quarterly magazine of Bird-Watch Ireland. Lloyd Praeger to whom we owe so much for our knowledge of Ireland, failed to get there on three occasions because of weather, and philosophised: "I suspect it is salutary that some of one's desires in this world should remain unfulfilled, even if they be as modest as this one." Frank Mitchell wrote: "I say nothing about the monastery perched against the sky, except that to visit it is an indefinable experience which should be savoured in solitude if possible.
You will have guessed that the subject is the Skelligs, or Twin Peaks as the Wings people head it. There is a fine, closely-knit text by Oran O'Sullivan and outstanding photographs by Oscar J Merne, Alyn Walsh, Con Brogan and Richard Mills. Absolutely hypnotic is the shot of the south bank of Little Skellig. Is it almost completely covered by dots of whitish moss or some sea plant? No, these are probably most of the over 27,000 pairs of gannets which breed there. You might wonder how the article can claim that number so confidently. Well, they tell us how. Access to the big Skellig is only between the hours of ten and four, supervised by guides of the Heritage Service, who are based there along with stone masons and archaeologists at work on restoration. Five hundred and fifty (original?) stone steps lead you to the place known as Christ's Saddle and then on and upwards to the beehive colony, the view from which might be taken in silence. No one who has been there will ever forget it.
"Though I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall Thy hand lead me and Thy right hand shall hold me." These words of the Psalmist come to mind when we consider the lives of the early Christians living in such uttermost parts of the sea as Skellig Michael. Apart from the monks, its only inhabitants would have been the birds. (Rabbits hadn't appeared on the Irish scene.) There is barely enough soil to grow a few plants for food. There is seaweed. Fish could be taken on a calm day, about 700 feet below. And there aren't so many calm days. In season, of course, there are birds' eggs.
The spirit would have to soar mightily to compensate for the outrage to the body that this rock would daily and hourly impose. This is perhaps the most impressive place in all Ireland.