Exploring Rathlin Island

It is difficult to be an introvert on a small island in Ireland; one must engage in conversation when you meet people. To the introvert’s advantage, however, is that there are not a lot of people on Rathlin. It is the only permanently inhabited island of the coast of Northern Ireland. Located about five miles from Ballycastle, Rathlin has an inverted-L shape and measures 4 miles east to west, and 2.5 miles north to south. Each year, the island hosts numerous visitors, both human and non-humans. History is replete with visitors who came ashore here. Yet, the island is not well-known today. The people who do come today, do so because of the bird colony. My interest was both the birds and the walks, but what intrigued more was the remoteness.

An ancient stone that marks a Viking cemetery 

Despite its remoteness, archaeological evidence suggests that humans have occupied the island for nearly 6,000 years. Doonmore is thought to have been the site of the epic conflict between King Nabghdon of Norway and the Irish chieftain Congal Clarineach for the beautiful Princess Taise, daughter of King Donn of Rathlin. Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, took refuge on the island in 1306-07. Much later, World War I, particularly submarines, took a toll on the island. An old buoy in the harbor marks the wreckage of the HMS Drake, sunk during the First World War. The H.M.S. Drake was torpedoed on 2 October 1917 and had a crew of 900 officers and men. In the protestant churchyard, there are four military graves: two maker for six unknown sailors (three bodies for each marker) and a single marker for J.J. Walton from the H.M.S. Vinkor, which was sunk on 13 January 1915. Another stone simply reads: “A Sailor from the Great War.”

At breakfast one morning, there was told an old story of people trying to decide to which country Rathlin belonged: Scotland or Ireland. Looking at a map, it is difficult to distinguish Rathlin from the chain of islands off the coast of Scotland. Hence, the question: Where does Scotland end and Ireland begin? One of the guest opine that Rathlin was actually Irish because there were no snakes that were endemic to the island, continuing the idea that St. Patrick drove the snakes from Ireland.

There is a streak of independence or anti-establishmentarianism among the residents. The automobile tax and TV licenses goes largely uncollected on the island. A few years back, revenue officers came to the island. The people, getting a tip from their colleagues in Ballycastle and those riding the ferry over, took action even before the officials landed on Rathlin. Many locals moved their cars away from the harbor; others, removed the numbers from their automobiles, so that they could not be traced. I was told that even the priest joined in, because everyone else was doing it. 

A background to any discussion of locations in Northern Ireland is the sectarian divided. My host was irreverent about the subject and had no patience for arguments concerning the topic. He noted that there were two churches on the island, a Protestant (Church of Ireland) and a Catholic Church. But there is only one graveyard where people of both faiths are buried. Alan noted that, “they get along really well there.”

A person living on an island has a different perspective. My host indicated that Americans and Australians were accustomed to drive several hours to visit a destination, while “you can’t even get an Irishman to go down the road fifteen miles without him complaining.” I am not sure about that, but many people in Ireland said that they had yet to visit Rathlin.

In my forty-eight hours on the island, I concentrated on four walks, all originating from the harbor:

The Western lighthouse: The most obvious walk was to the Western Lighthouse, where bird colonies dominate the cliffs and small rock islands offshore. This is the place where most tourists who come to the island want to visit. At 3.75 miles from the harbor, most tourists take one of the buses out to bird sanctuary. I decided to walk. After a brief stopover at the Roman Catholic church, I began my trek in earnest. About a mile and a half out, a bus stored and asked if I wanted a ride. I declined, to which the driver said, “I am the last bus of the day.” I replied, “OK, but thank you.” My goal was to hike and explore. At least while I was on Rathlin I was going to live by Leigh Fermor’s dictum that “all horsepower corrupts.”

Of course, seeing the birds was worth the walk. The lighthouse was something of an oddity in that it is inverted. Because it is built on a cliff, rather than walking up steps to the light, one actually walks down the steps to the light perch on a high cliff. As interesting as the lighthouse is clearly most people come for the bird colonies, which was the case with me as well. The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds runs a new center at the lighthouse for observation. There are five primary species at the reserve: fulmar, guillemot, kittiwake, puffin and razorbill; however, most come to see the puffins.

One of the missing species is the great auk (Pinguinus impennis), which was a flightless bird about the size of a penguin, although not related. The birds, hunted for the food source, could once be found on Rathlin. As the number of specimens dropped dramatically, the great auk was hunted for its skin and eggs by museums and collectors. The last confirmed specimens were killed off the coast of Iceland in 1844 and is another species, like the passenger pigeon and Tasmanian tiger, that will never be seen again. 

Walking back I felt like the last and only person walking back to the haarbor. The four cyclists who were watching birds with me passed me shortly after I left the reserve. I had the remainder of the walk back alone with my thoughts and reveling in the exploration of a new place; a remote island that sparked my interest and imagination. A few cars went by, and there was a small traffic jam when a group of about eight cows wandered onto the road and held up three cars in what amounted to a Rathlin traffic jam.

The South Lighthouse: There are too many abandoned and derelict buildings to catalog. Sheep wander among the remains of old houses and farm buildings, looking for sweeter grass. While the permanent population of Rathlin today is a little over a hundred people, in the mid-19th century it reached upwards of 1,900. Thus, there are a lot of structures from that time period that are no longer in use.

I arrived at South Lighthouse in the late morning and sheep are everywhere. I spent some time sitting on the rocks just underneath the lighthouse, jotting some notes. I looked up just in time to see a seal surface. Later, after watching birds and the sea, I got up to leave and scared a falcon that was about fifty feet away hiding in the rocks. I moved about a hundred yards down the shore and watched a pod of seals for about forth minutes before moving on to explore the old lifesaving station.

The old lifesaving station

There is a great solitude in these walks. Just as I was arriving at the lighthouse, a car with three older men, a woman and a guide dog, drove up to the old lifesaving station. I greeted the party, but walked on to the lighthouse. I saw a younger couple arrived in the distance, by foot, as I left the lighthouse to watch the seals in the small bay. I did not even get close enough to exchange greetings. These were the only interaction I had with other people while in the vicinity.

On the way back toward the top of the hill, I met two couples on bicycles (one with a toy dog in a basket) from Kent. One of the women said she did not want to go down the final hill that led to the old lifesaving building and lighthouse because it would hurt her knees going back up. She said she was “happy to enjoy the scenery,” if others want to have a look. On my walk back, the couples passed me and I heard one woman say to another, “He got a long way, didn’t he?”

The East Lighthouse: There is the taste of salt in the back of your throat as you are walking around the island. One of the things I noticed, in addition to the salt, is that there is a lack of trash, litter and debris around the island. Of course there is some (obviously); however, most is confined to areas of derelict buildings and it looks related to the remnants of party.

Another historical claim for Rathlin is the radio demonstration that Marconi performed on the island. In August 1898, Marconi and his team established a radio link between East Lighthouse on the island and Kenmara House in Ballycastle, to successfully demonstrate the utility of radio signals in tracking ships approaching Britain. It was a major step in the development of radio. A few weeks later the equipment was temporarily transferred to Don Laoghaire (Kingstown), north of Dublin, to cover the Kingstown Yacht Race. Soon after the new technology suffered a setback when ones of its young developers perished. Upon his return to Rathlin, Marconi’s assistant, Edwin Glanville, a recent graduate from Trinity College Dublin, died when he fell on the cliffs during a geology exploration.

While walking I decided that there was a dichotomy among visitors. Most people come to Rathlin for the day, taking the ferry from Ballycastle in the morning and returning in the afternoon. There is a certain camaraderie among those who stay over. It is common to hear people conclude a conversation with, “see you in the pub.” Since there is only one pub on the island, McCuaig’s Bar, and virtually the only source for an evening meal, it is a place that serves as a local gathering place. The next day I would come across people I had spoken to or saw in the pub the night before. We were each engaged in our own pursuits: Watching birds, cycling, or, in my case, walking.

Roonivoolin: In the final few hours on the island I took the Roonivoolin path, which ultimately leads to the old lifesaving station near the South Lighthouse. The trail crosses fields of sheep and follows the cliff’s edge. My fear of heights prevented me getting too close to the edge. I worried that when I spooked the sheep they would fall over the edge. As I walked, looking over the precarious edge, I worried that I would have dreams that night of falling off cliffs; however, after 48 hours on Rathlin, I slept the sleep of a man who walked for two days.