The Myths and Magic of Donegal County

“Those are fairy trees,” says Rob Rankin, owner of Vagabond Tours, as he points at a hawthorn tree, “they bring luck and, even today, farmers plow around them so as not to disturb them.” As we continue to wind our way along higgledy piggledy backroads, lined with privet hedges, Rankin regales us with more Irish legends. The Irish, I learn, take their folktales seriously.

I’m on a road trip through Donegal County, the most rugged in Ireland, and the northern part of the Wild Atlantic Way, a 2,600-kilometre coastal route that winds its way from the south of Ireland all the way to the north, past hidden beaches and enchanting villages. Because it’s so remote, even for the Irish, in Donegal County the Irish language has been preserved and old traditions – like handwoven tweeds, thatched-roof houses, horse farms and the art of the old Irish pub – still thrive.

Our first stop is a visit to the 15th century Donegal castle, built on the banks of the River Eske by Chieftain O’Donnell. Our tour guide, Christina, in her lilting Irish accent, gives us the low down on the history and the lovely period furnishings, then explains the fireplace is the best example of the Jacobean-period style in all of Ireland. She also fills us in on the battles fought here over the years amongst the Irish and against the British rule – the centuries’ old battle that has plagued this country for years. I can’t help but wonder what these cold stone walls would say if they could talk.

Donegal Castle, the county’s namesake. Photo by Kate Robertson.

As we head further north along the narrow coastline road, around hair-pin turns up rolling mountains, through the misty moorlands of Granny’s Pass, where they still mine peat bricks for fuel, Rankin fills us in on more Irish fairies, the grogochs, well known in these northern parts.

“These half man, half fairy creatures are covered in orange hair and run around naked. The grogoch’s helpful and friendly, but he’s really clumsy and can get in the way,” says Rankin as he drives, “like when you’re hammering and hit your finger – that was grogoch trying to be helpful.” (Hey, I think we may have these guys in Canada too, no?)

During my visit, I learn well about the rain that keeps Ireland its unique emerald colour, but nowhere is it raining harder than at Sliabh League, one of the most iconic points on the Wild Atlantic Way. At 600 metres, these are Ireland’s highest sea cliffs – once considered a sacred spot and part of a Christian pilgrimage trail. I brave the gale force winds to hike to the top of the cliffs, where the first peep from beneath my raincoat hood at the misty panoramic view of the rugged Atlantic, nearby Sligo Mountains, and Donegal Bay makes me forget it’s storming.

Down the road at Glencolmcille Folk Village, a thatched-roof village with a reconstructed schoolhouse, fisherman’s dwelling, and 18th, 19th and 20th century replica houses, we tour historical dwellings furnished with artifacts from each of those time periods. In houses like this, regular folks would have eaten their haddock and cheddar mash off treasured china plates and laid their heads on the hard, straw pillows at night, nervously waiting to hear the high-pitched wail of the banshee that Rankin has told us about – a female fairy who wails to warn of an imminent death of a family member. Or maybe slept with one eye open to avoid a visit from the changeling, the jealous fairy who will swap your newborn for their own – magical explanations that helped make sense of the complications and hardships of life.

As the sun peeks out the next day, en route to Glenveagh National Park, we pass copious lough signs, and cute woolly sheep that watch us disinterestedly while they munch the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. An outdoor lover’s paradise, this 16,000-hectare rugged-mountain park is filled with woodland trails, lakes and waterfalls.

But the real gem for me is the hauntingly beautiful 19th century highland mansion (think Wuthering Heights), Glenveagh Castle, located on the shores of Lough Veagh. This castle has a sordid past (its founder Captain Adair supposedly cruelly evicted tenants of the land when he was building this hunting estate, and it’s said there was a curse put on the castle), but today contains room-after-room of elegant furnishings, and the extensive landscaped gardens are meticulous.

The wild and majestic Sliabh League with its 600-metre cliffs, the highest in Ireland. Photo by Kate Robertson.

Of course, no trip to Ireland would be complete without a Guinness, so I order a pint when we stop down the road at one of the county’s oldest pubs. Established in 1768, the Olde Glen Bar is filled with antiques, old Guinness signs, and a peat brick fireplace; little has changed from the day it opened, except for electricity and indoor plumbing. The bartender tells us that Guinness tastes different in every pub and, supposedly, it’s best right around the corner from the factory in Dublin. But as I sip the rich, creamy brew, I think it couldn’t get much better, and I understand why it’s remained Ireland’s most popular beverage through the centuries.

Finally, we hit the end of the road and most northerly destination on the Wild Atlantic Way, and all of Ireland, Malin Head. It’s not hard to see why this mystical location where the wild Atlantic pounds relentlessly into shore is a popular setting for productions like Star Wars: The Last Jedi and Game of Thrones.

I’d just learned the day before about my favourite mythical character, Finn McCool, often depicted as a muscled giant with flowing red hair, wearing only a kilt. (I get the sense that Finn might be Rankin’s favourite as well as, with a twinkle in his eye, he’d passionately shared legend-after-legend about this much-revered Irish giant with supernatural abilities). Finn McCool is said to have built the Giant’s Causeway, not far to the east, but I’m sure he must have had something to do with the intricate, other-worldly rock formations here at Malin Head as well.

Locals say Donegal County is one of the country’s best-kept secrets. But there are others who are catching on to this enchanting county – in 2017, it was voted No. 1 on National Geographic’s Cool List. Cool, I agree, but also magical. Nowhere have I found people so connected to their myths and legends, which, via storytelling, keeps the flow of their culture through the generations.