When the saint went marching out
HE FOLLOWED the explorers of the Mississippi, embarked on the Sinbad voyage retracing ancient Arab sea routes, travelled in the footsteps of Marco Polo, sailed through the Dardanelles on the Jason voyage, and went by horse to Jerusalem just like the Crusaders.
But for Irish people, Tim Severin is famous for an improbable boat journey from Kerry — one that proved St Brendan could have made it across the Atlantic in a currach in the 6th century.
Why exactly Brendan undertook this arduous voyage is unclear. The abbot, along with a handful of monks decided to sail into the unknown without, as far as we know, charts and compasses, and being unaware of the spherical nature of the Earth.
They were, of course, missionaries, a proselytising force — an early form of social media influencer if you like. But back in the 6th century, taking on a journey of this magnitude could probably be filed under ‘pushing your luck’.
Those inveterate caners the Vikings likely made the same voyage a few hundred years later. But their quest is easily enough understood. Trading opportunities and a place to party on down would have been high on their agenda.
Brendan, on the other hand, may have been looking for the Promised Land.
But whatever the reasons, the legend had persisted for well over a thousand years, and British explorer Severin decided to test its practical aspects.
He turns 80 this month, on September 25. It is now some 44 years since he set out on his epic journey — and I use the word ‘epic’ with a rare degree of precision. Severin and three other seemingly sane people sailed the 4,500 miles from Kerry to Newfoundland in a craft made of twigs and cowhide.
Severin got the idea of this nofrills cruise after holidaying in south-west Ireland. His wife Dorothy, a researcher of medieval manuscripts, knew the Latin texts of Navigatio Sancti Brendani Abbatis, The Voyage of St Brendan the Abbot. Dating back to at least 800 AD, they relate the story of the seven-year Atlantic odyssey. Dorothy was of the opinion that the saga stood up.
Tim was immediately on board, literally and metaphorically. A replica of the saint’s currach took shape. A frame of oak and ash was lashed together with leather thong, wrapped with ox hides, and sealed with wool grease. Nothing like it had been afloat for a thousand years.
Severin took advice from leading authorities on leather. One expert explained that leather is high in protein. ‘It resembles a piece of steak, and it will decompose the same way.’
Severin and his companions were going to cross the Atlantic on a piece of steak. Rare. Bishop Eamon Casey blessed the raft at the Crosshaven yard in Co Cork, and the boat was launched from Brandon Creek in Co Kerry.
‘Most of the local people, cautious by nature, thought we were utterly insane,’ Severin noted, writing in the National Geographic Magazine.
But one Kerry man had more confidence: ‘Sure they’ll make it — but they’ll need a miracle.’
A course was set north-east to Iona, then onto Uist, the Faeroes, Iceland and Greenland.
The journey was as eventful as you might imagine. Nearcollisions, storms, leaks, encounters with whales all followed. The boat found itself trapped in the Greenland pack ice — where if you fall in you’d have only minutes to live. But Brendan navigated its way passed ice floes through to safety. Despite hitting an iceberg that holed the skin, the currach survived. It’s odd to think that if the Titanic had been built of cowhide and not galvanised steel it probably wouldn’t have sunk.
Living conditions on board Brendan were as medieval as the boat’s design.
No one bothered to wash or shave; it was pointless — Brendan smelled worse than any of the crew, according to Severin. Her leather hull, smeared with its waterproof coating of wool grease, gave off an absolutely rank stench. Still, we’ve probably all been on camping holidays like that.
Finally after sailing 4,500 miles, Newfoundland hove into view.
The voyage, which had been scheduled to take six months, had lasted two years. But Severin had proved that ancient Irish vessels could have crossed the North Atlantic.
Severin’s account of the expedition, The Brendan Voyage, became an international bestseller, translated into 30 languages.
The boat is now featured at the Craggaunowen open-air museum in Co Clare.
The Germans have a saying: growing old is not for cowards. Severin need have no fears — he is probably one of the bravest explorers of the 20th or 21st centuries. Happy birthday, Tim.