__Gráinne Ní Fhoighil, September 2015 - Landscape Impressions of Gort a’ Choirce and it’s surrounding areas.

__A winding back road from Fál Carrach towards Ghleann Bheatha National Park cuts through the lying bogland between the very distinguished flat-topped Sliabh Mucais (2,185ft) and Earagail (2,464ft) in the North West Donegal Gaeltacht of the Irish Republic. Earagail is the steepest and tallest mountain of the ‘Seven Sisters’ chain and it is the most southern peak of the Derryveagh Mountain range. Traveling through this austere and stark landscape, my eyes are compelled to focus deeply at each twist and turn of the road invoking a sense of wonder and personal freedom from the stunningly beautiful natural surroundings.

This is a landscape which has been in existence in some shape or form since the final retreat of the last ice age of approximately 15,000 years ago. When immersed in it, it is easy to ponder the type of climate which may have etched the valleys and nurtured the people who roamed, hunted and gathered there after the disappearance of the glacial tundra. We know very little about these early ancestors.

Crossing the narrow double arched stone bridge known locally as ‘The Bridge of Tears - Droichead na nDeoir’ I remembered reading once about this place as the spot where hundreds upon hundreds of local people said their sorrowful parting goodbyes during the latter half of the 19th and early 20th centuries. This was where tearful loved ones parted. Those leaving their homes crossed the bridge after bidding their final goodbye to family and friends. They then turned to face the well trodden hill path onwards towards the port of Derry. In those days the chances of parents ever seeing their young sons or daughters again were almost non-existent due to the arduous, long and expensive journey from the west of Ireland to other parts of the world.The Donegal Relief fund provided a passage for these brave souls on immigration ships which sailed thousands of them away from Irish shores towards the promise of a new and a better life in either Australia or America. Many who boarded a ship never completed the journey, dying on what would later be known as ‘coffin ships’ due to strenuous journeying and living conditions on board. Rapid spread of disease and sickness amongst ready weakened malnourished passengers from a famine environment contributed to many lives being lost at sea.

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__Beneath the surface of these splendid views, I felt resting there a dark deep layer of stark human suffering. Past happenings from previous generations - harsh and harrowing stories of toil and trouble, stories of struggle and of hard won death or survival seemed to engulf my senses. Visitors from all over the world come to this remote Gaeltacht region each summer with their carefree minds hoping to experience the beautiful rugged landscape and it’s curious inhabitants - the surviving generation of a rare and ancient Celtic language. As a fellow Gaeltacht person, on my first day of exploring these particular lands, I recalled the imprinted historical readings and teachings of folklore, storytelling and traditional song from my early schooling. I found myself weeping an internal torrent of tears which forcibly filled my eyes and automatically brimmed over onto my cheeks whilst registering such a shockingly beautiful vista. The subject of deprivation and the precarious state in which local families found themselves in stirred the very core of my heart as I gazed upon the long abandoned ruined stoned cottages dotted around the area. These were the humble homes of former Irish speaking people who heroically tried to live on and off tiny pockets of poor land that had been reassigned to their ancestors by English settled landlords.

Later that night, deep in thought about the raw beauty of which we had experienced from our day of exploring the surrounding area of Gort a’ Choirce, I turned to face my Galician partner who had photographed the landscape all day and who now sat comfortably next to me on a carpeted floor in front of a turf fire. I found my mouth hungrily pouring sentence after sentence about the precarious state and sufferings of those poor souls of rural Ireland from times gone by. Those souls who had lived their short controlled lives with neither free will, nor much peace or comfort. Those who had no experience or knowledge of wealth of economy - those souls who owned nothing more than the rags that covered their starved bodies and the procured debts which had been laidened upon them by their merciless masters.

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___Echos of harsh community existence such as that experienced in this area from the past are visible in the region this August of 2015. We shared our thoughts about how we could clearly see the strong lash of the Celtic Tiger’s tail which shattered a brave and industrious community. Emigration has again emptied churches and public houses. Wrecked and ruined hotels, retail outlets and private homes which once vibrated with the bustle of life now stood empty, windowless and roofless. However, I felt a presence of ancient ancestors beckoning to its people, both locally and worldwide that their homelands would always await their return to sustain them and their families if they so wished.