Guided by Grace

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We had wanted to take a ferry to Clare Island. To see where Grace O'Malley heralded from. You know her? The Pirate Queen? Also known as Granuaile O'Malley?

If you don't, she's worth a look. Known as the most powerful woman in Ireland in the 14th century, her leadership and skills were known far and wide, along with her brave, adventurous undertakings on the sea.




One of my favorite stories of her is when she met Queen Elizabeth. Although her ships were responsible for taking many British ships, Queen Elizabeth agreed to meet with her. Grace showed she would not be intimidated by the court of Queen Elizabeth and even impressed the Queen. She did not believe the Queen was her queen, and famously did not curtsy when she met her. I think the Queen must've found it a bit refreshing to find another woman who maintained such self-assured power. This helped create an understanding between the two.

The meeting of Grace O'Malley and Queen Elizabeth I (a later illustration from Anthologia Hibernica, vol. 11, 1793)

But here's my favorite part, when she sneezed and was handed a handkerchief from one of the ladies in Queen Elizabeth's court, she blew her nose and threw the beautifully, handmade lace handkerchief into the fireplace, much to the outrage of the ladies of the court. When asked why she threw such a precious gift away, Grace explained than no one of good breeding would ever hold onto a dirty hankie. They would throw it away.

I just love the idea of her going into the court of the Queen and embodying her own convictions without intimidation, and eventually, getting what she went there for, the release of her sons, whose capture was the impetus for her visit to Elizabeth. Oh, and did I mention she was a red head? You can read more about the visit here:
Grace meets Elizabeth

So, I wanted to take my children, after having introduced them to the tales of this amazing woman, to her origination. Clare Island. Our plans already took us to Westport, for an amazing weekend seeing the brilliant students of Wicklow Montessori Primary School compete in the Ireland Robotics Lego League, the same competition they won two years later and again this year! (Go WMPS!!) After the competition, I decided to take full advantage of our locale on the west coast and called up the ferry out to Clare Island, only to be told the weather would be preventing them from offering rides that day. I was a bit crushed and decided to not be deterred in at least trying to see the island from the mainland. So, we hopped in the car and headed the rest of the way to the west coast, driving along R335.

There is not a road I love to drive better than the ones I drove in Ireland. Navigating the left side of the road, while shifting gears with my left hand, I am in heaven. It feels right to me. My brain is happy and I feel natural. So, along we went, with vistas and slopes of green, brown, and grey populating our drive. And by the looks of the map, lots of little towns to stop for gas, since I'd soon need it. The thin sliver of road, plenty wide for two abreast if you both hop up on the shoulder, curved us along the hillside until we were there. An undetermined spot to stop, the kids were coaxed out of the warm car only by my assurances that the hazy maybe-island in the foggy sea was in fact Clare Island. I'm still pretty sure it was. We said hello, I said more to Ms. O'Malley, and that was that. We hopped back in. Back to the drive where now the only destination was home, in Wicklow, by school's start on Monday. The day was Sunday and with google telling me it was only a four hour drive back to Wickow, I naturally chose a different route.

The scenery did not lessen in beauty, and proved a welcome distraction to the lowered needle of my gas gauge. We were treated to views that made me think of photos I had seen of Iceland, reminding me of a dear friend. And still the road went on. 12km. How far is that, I wondered. Will we make it? 

I dared one or two photos, scared my stopping would result in the expenditure of the last drops of fuel we had. Here's one.

And then the executive decisions began to trickle in. Each "town" we came to turned out to be little more than an intersection, and I had to begin to wonder, do we go back who-knows-how-many km to the town that I know had a petrol station (Westport), or go forward, to an unknown town that might have one? I knew one thing. Idling while I made my choice only wasted more petrol. And I always enjoy a new road, leading to a new place. So on we went.

I repeatedly thanked whatever was there to be thanked that our path went mainly downhill, and was absolutely convinced the car was running on my sheer will power and the grace of everything I was calling in to keep us running. Then, along came the town! Creggenbaun, the town I needed to have fueling options at. It was another intersection. Just. An. Intersection.

Creggenbaun

Another choice. Left took us probably further than we had petrol for, yet also to the town with guaranteed pumps. Right? Right took us to the town that was closer, yet was just as likely at this point to be two houses and a pub.

I went right. I made the kids be quiet in the back seat. I asked them to put all their energy into the car moving us along. The needle was well below the E. I dared one or two photos, scared my stopping would result in the expenditure of the last drops of fuel we had. The scenery was just too beautiful to not capture at least one shot.

 

As we drove along the beautiful fjord, I began to wonder how I'd handle running out of petrol with two young children, who do not have proper clothing for hiking in cold weather.

Then, coming around a bend, I see a man exiting a building literally next to the road.  He felt as if he was a guiding force in a blue jacket, so I gambled a stop to ask about fuel. He stood here, 

in front of this building leaning on the wall, and after a few tries, I was finally able to understand him. Mainly understand him. Sort of. I thought the gist was, keep driving and I'll come to the petrol pumps in Leenaun. "Can't miss 'em," he says. I sure hoped he was right, because the amount of fuel spent as I tried to decode his speech had us even further below the E line on the gauge.

Nonetheless, I was ecstatic! We had made it from the empty, expansive, wild coastline to a place that would provide us with what we needed to continue our journey home! And seeing another human who could possibly help if the car was to stop was a great relief, as well. We kept going, now on a national road, N59, and after many curves, and an awful lot of positive affirming, we saw the sign for Leenaun!

I assumed the town would start and an Applegreen or Texaco or Topaz would jump right into sight. An intersection (uh, oh) with a collection of buildings came and went, 

and then, so did the town. I made a U-turn that took with it most of my hope of not running out of petrol. But still, I thought, if the Irishman said there was a pump, maybe I missed it! Hmm, maybe you did too. Look again. Closer...

Here, let me help.

Look closely, in front of Hamilton's, the blue pub. Yup!









It took me coming from the other direction to notice them, and two motorcycles to be out of the way.




Now, I'm not quite sure how my incredibly low level of petrol somehow carried us all the way to these beautiful, hidden pumps, but I'm fairly sure it had to do with Irish magic, for which I remain ever grateful. 

These little pumps showed me something about not giving up, and continually searching for the truth in a garbled, yet genuine message delivered out of the kindness of a stranger's heart. If you haven't found the truth, just keep looking. 

Hamilton's was open, provided me fuel and water, and most likely a bag of crisps or popcorn for us to split, and will forever remain in my heart, as the place in Leenaun we barely made it to. And this whole adventure that was sparked by the spirit of an explorer, the strong, courageous, and dauntless Granuaile O'Malley, will continually fan the flames of the explorer in my soul, always willing to take that right turn, and voyage into the new.

cheers