Northern lights
Catherine Lee sings the praises of the country’s northern extremity, Co Donegal
Donegal, it has been said, is a state of mind. My head and heart couldn’t agree more. It’s always been a bolthole, a valve that releases stress and angst and soothes the soul. The ultimate escape hatch. An almost otherworldly place, where the elemental beauty starts to work its magic as soon as you leave Dublin. The four-hour journey only serves to heighten the anticipation, so that as I pass through the Border counties and out through Northern Ireland, my shoulders and my heart rate begin to fall. Leaving the roundabouts of Letterkenny behind and rounding the road that takes you past the National Park at Glenveigh is where the real journey begins. As the mountains rise up ahead of me, depending on the season you are either greeted with a palette of muted autumnal colours or a blaze of gorse and heather. It’s mile after mile of stunning landscapes where the sky and the light dance around majestic mountains, including the pinnacle of them all, Errigal. Then it’s on past the Poisoned Glen and down past the lake at Dún Lúiche, where the Guinness family once had a hideaway lakeside holiday home and on into Gweedore and down to Bunbeg, where the wild Atlantic takes over as the dominant landscape. Now you are on Donegal time, a different dimension, where everything moves at its own pace, a slower pace. Time to savour, time to think, time to appreciate. Donegal assaults your senses: it’s the sweet smell of turf in the salty sea air; the smell of soda bread coming from the range; or the air after it rains. Or it’s the buffeting winds as you try to walk the beach at Carrickfinn, the intense heat of the bog on a sunny day or the absolute stillness and peace as you walk the old railway line that runs through Gweedore. It’s visceral. It’s beautiful. It’s a state of mind, but thankfully it’s very real. Take time to create some very special memories, just up the road.