A journey that engages all the senses

IT'S 8AM on William Street in the heart of Derry’s Bogside. Rain clouds loom overhead but nothing dampens the excitement as we check out of the B&B and climb into our hire car. The Wild Atlantic Way awaits.

R254 is punched into the Sat Nav, a mere 55 minutes until picturesque perfection. After climbing the slopes of the Creggan, we pass a petrol garage with prices listed in Euros. We are now in the Republic of Ireland, the artificial border as impalpable as the air.

I spot a sign for Carrickyscanlan and swing left as Google Maps instructs. It is there that I find myself in an idyllic, rural paradise. 22.5 miles of R254 tarmac, weaving between emerald green hills, rocky streams and farm land.

We’ve brought the car to a halt. I’m sat in silence, not a soul around, just enormous valleys, a trio of inquisitive donkeys to my right and endless sheep tending their lambs on the left. It’s then that the sound of a farmyard orchestra pierces the quiet Donegal air. We are welcome visitors.

Upon taking in this incredible scene, we proceed through the mist to skirt around the edge of Glenveagh National Park. It’s driving in a setting only found in holiday brochures. As I navigate the narrow winding roads, the lyrics of God Bless This Lovely Land of Mine come into my head. “God bless the mountains, the hills and the valleys.” I am travelling through the song, surrounded by mountain tops, trenched in undulating valleys and enjoying the sight of an enormous natural lake—wildlife programme material. It’s the kind of place you rarely stumble upon in real life.

We absorb this leg of the journey in a cornucopia of countryside, passing stone walls, famine cottages, Donegal county flags and the odd tribute to Celtic FC too. As the road continues it treats us to blissful isolation again, just my partner and me with immensely green mountainsides for company.

“STOP!” Suddenly, I slam the brakes. Sheep have blocked the road. Deep breaths are inhaled as the car screeches to a halt just yards from them. We wait patiently as lambs chase their mothers along the verge, donkeys look on from fenced off fields and the odd horse indulges nature’s pasture.

The R254 has not disappointed. Now we battle to find an internet signal, for it’s onto Bunglass Point at the world renowned Slieve League mountain.

Rolling hill after towering tree, sheep after cow, the journey does not cease to provide landscapes that meet the standard of images found in travel magazines. Now we are really climbing. Spiral roads, only conquerable in first gear—and how the clutch smells from my inadvertent burning of it! At this point I stop in the middle of the road and ask my partner to take a photo of the scene enveloping the car.

A statue of the Virgin Mary is at the roadside, the type that I’ve only previously seen in rural Italian villages. A stream trickling down the mountain meets a series of mini waterfalls to our right. We are submerged in an extremely deep valley. Each mountain side is covered by a thick layer of exceedingly green grass, so vibrant in colour that we can forgive the rainfall due to the artwork it has created before us. A misty sky hangs above, acting as a blanket on the upward horizon. And a sole cottage, with the steepest garden on earth, is seen in the rear view mirror. It’s like a nature sanctuary.

We drive vertically to a pull in, taking us above the mist and enabling me to park on the tree tops, or so it feels. We can now see across this vast land from another angle. It is beautiful and this is not even the main viewpoint. That comes 20 minutes later, after negotiating an old fashioned town, dotted with stone buildings and single track lanes. Finally, we reach Bunglass Point, three hours after departing Derry—180 minutes of panoramic heaven. Next stop Mullaghmore Harbour, Sligo.

We had been following Wild Atlantic Way (South) signs for the last hour, and we continue in this vein as we begin to descend Slieve League.

We are still way above sea level and there’s a view of the ocean to one side as the road opens up to a dual carriageway. It’s a different type of vista. Little islands. Boats. Green swapped for blue. But it isn’t long before the elusive Wild Atlantic Way tourist sign points us slightly inland and we lace ourselves through marshland and gorse. We realise that we are the only vehicle for miles. It’s akin to driving through the set of a BBC crime drama. Think the Moors of Calderdale (West Yorkshire) as shown in Happy Valley, or picture driving through the rough on a closed golf course if Sunday night dramas are not your thing!

Advancing, the odd feed bowl is spotted to provide sustenance for the countless sheep and cattle roaming the wilderness. The road consistently follows an S shape, the only disappointment being that it’s not a figure of 8 so that everything can be enjoyed again. Then, without warning, we are back on normal routes, passing through regular towns and encountering ordinary life.

Having come to terms with rediscovering fellow human existence, we follow the Wild Atlantic Way signs through a number of tourist spots and beaches, making a brief stop at Tulla Strand to see some racehorses patrolling the fields. My partner is, after all, an equine enthusiast. She enjoys greeting these majestic thoroughbreds in their expansive paddocks, while wide sandy beaches provide the backdrop for the horses to admire during breaks from grazing and being petted by visitors.

It’s not quite Slieve League though, and the coastal route onwards to Sligo isn’t on the same level. That’s not to say it is ‘bad’, but the first few hours were genuinely irreplicable.