Clare Island I - The Shpin

One blog cannot tell the story of 24hrs on Clare Island, so to try and do it justice, I have to break it up into multiple entries. It was unforgettable; the journey, the football, the night, the singing, the dancing, the people and the hospitality of the Gill family. We've strengthened our bond with Clare Island G.A.A. further. It's like a match made in heaven.

On the very odd occasion, I’ve probably been accused of being a self righteous little bollicks who values his own opinion above all others and will seldom leave an argument graciously. It’s probably half true which makes Friday a humiliating experience.

I had a day off and whilst sauntering around the apartment I decided it might be a good idea to check in for my flight. No problem outbound but I ran into some difficulties inbound. It turned out I booked my flight for the Sunday morning at 06h50. With just two boats to and from the Island a day, the dream looked dead.
I went for lunch with Colin Byrne and told him my sob story. He argued that it was a trip I could not miss, I argued I was skint and couldn’t afford the flight at short notice. I’d written a blog that morning about how the trip and how the mammoth journey just had to be taken for various reasons. Byrno sent it back to me and Alan Rowan followed up by phone from Longford. Looking back, I can’t believe I let the small issue of money nearly make me miss the trip.

In the end, Byrno just booked the flight and sent it on to me (for which he will be fully reimbursed). Decision made, bag packed. We headed on the Friday evening flight to Dublin with a few others. Cluxton was in town on business so we met him at the airport. Congrats were required as he just announced that he and his lovely wife Emily are due to become parents in September. It’s hard to believe because he’s like a 12 year old in a 12 year olds body (even though he is 31!). He’s also a pest and he was sitting behind me the whole way home, poking me and asking me questions. Still, you could only miss the man.

Upon arrival in Dublin, we had to go feed Colin Byrne’s horses in Fingal and also pick up his wife to be (lovely just like Emily!) Denise. We turned and faced Westport shortly before 11pm. I don’t know how Byrno drove it. I was bait out in the back seat and struggling to muster banter to help him out. We hit Longford around 1am to find a girl at the side of the road with a flat tyre. I’d say she was a bit nervous when she said our heads pop out of the car but we were able to rescue her and get her back on the road.

Approx 62km out, the petrol light came on. This isn’t Belgium where you can get petrol night and day; this is the Wesht. We took a deep breath and considered throwing Cluxton out to reduce the load and save some fuel. As miracles would have it, we made it. So did Cluxton.

The Westport Woods Hotel. €35 a man with breakfast. It gets the thumbs up. Don’t share with Cluxton though. The man is renowned for being afraid of the dark and only being able to sleep with the telly on. Still, we only had 5hrs, so it just had to be done.

10h30 Saturday morning and we arrive at the pier in Roonagh. Belgium G.A.A. was there is force. The Guinness lorry sped past to load the boat with fuel for the night. We wondered would there be a second one coming!!The mother of all journeys from Brussels to the pier was behind us. In the distance sat the famed Clare Island. Time to board the ferry and play some ball.........