Connemara at a canter

Tag : long riding boot


I am here to swim as well as ride. When I mention this to oursecond landlady, Mary Corbett at Connemara Country Lodge, in thepretty town of Clifden, she hands me the keys to her Mercedes. Morenervous of large cars than large horses, I walk to where theOwenglin river meets the sea. Leaving my clothes on tufts of seathrift, I step down to the water on a carpet of seaweed. A heronflaps slowly past and a fisherman rows his currach out into thebay.

On our fourth day, we wake to brilliant clear skies and ride downto the beach at Ballyconneely where the sand is silky soft andpalest blond. We gallop along a deserted shore and over dunessculpted into peaks by the wind. The sea is banded azure, turquoiseand aquamarine and the water flies up in plumes from the horses'hooves.

We take off the saddles, our hats and boots, and ride bareback intothe sea to swim with the horses - something few of us have everdone. As the horses move deeper, their gait changes and they beginto surge through the water. We laugh as we steer them in circles,avoiding the rocks.

Back on dry land, we let the horses free and they roll in the sand.The girls and I walk back into the sea to swim before lunch. LaterI am interviewed over the phone by Mary our landlady, who has aslot on Connemara Community Radio. Introduced as a "renownedBritish journalist" (sic), I sit on an old trailer in a meadow ofbog cotton and yellow flag irises, and urge listeners to take upriding and swimming.

In the bar of the Abbeyglen Castle Hotel that night, theowner/manager Brian Hughes plays the piano and sings, merging popand folk, and performs a rendition of the Irish Rover. Everyonejoins in, even those who don't know the words. At breakfast thenext morning multi-talented Mary sings Danny Boy while serving thesausages. On the ride we are subdued - and Suzanne from Munichsleeps through a picnic lunch, oblivious to the drizzle. Williejokes that we are a bunch of good-for-nothing townies.

Our last day takes us along some of the "famine roads" constructedafter the 19th-century potato crop failures, and past the ruins ofan old village where we make out the shapes of old strip fields. Wecome across two lads loading peat into a trailer; one is the nephewof Gabriel Joyce, the minibus driver who each night takes us backto our accommodation. Two of us hold the horses while the othershelp fill three wagonloads of peat.

Willie knows that I have fallen in love with my horse - becauseMiranda and Ros have told him. She's dapple grey, just under 16hands, and reminds me of a horse I had when I was a teenager on myparents' farm. Willie says that I should stand on the top of amountain for about quarter of an hour and think. Then I should stopthinking, and just do whatever I've been thinking about.

Willow has the softest coat and the sweetest smell. She has takenme safely along roads with trucks thundering past, through streamsand across bogs, and flying over a low stone wall. I know full wellthat a soft coat and a sweet smell is not a sound basis for buyinga horse costing several thousand pounds (that's not includingshipping). But you won't sell her to anyone else, Willie, will you? Way to go

Getting there

Aer Arann ( aerarann.com ) flies to Galway from Luton, Manchester, Newcastle and Edinburgh.

Getting there

Connemara Trails (00 353 91 841216, connemara-trails.com ) are inclusive of riding, local transport, meals andaccommodation. For details of prices, plus other riding programmes.

Further information

For details of equestrian holidays in Ireland, ehi.ie . Tourism Ireland on 0800 039 7000 offers a free brochure of Irishriding holidays.