Rothar Routes

Cycle routes & pilgrim journeys in Ireland and Europe …..

Moylussa – Clare’s Highest Point & Best Views over Lough Derg!

County Clare is often associated with the limestone pavements of the Burren or the towering Cliffs of Moher, but its highest point lies further inland in East Clare – the hurling heartlands, looking down on the broad waters of Lough Derg. Moylussa (532m) rises out of the Slieve Bearnagh range, overlooking Killaloe and Ballina, the twin towns that straddle the Shannon. Today I ticked off Clare’s summit – my 25th County High Point out of 32 – and it turned into a walk of woods, bog, lakes, history, and a little bit of hurling talk thrown in! The views over Lough Derg, Killaloe and Ballina are just stunning on a fine day like today.

Encounters on the Mountain

I thought I was doing well until I was overtaken on the way down by a Limerick man in his seventies, running the descent with ease! We’d shared a great chat at the summit about Limerick hurling – he turned out to be a fellow clubman of Tom and Dan Morrissey from Ahane. Proof, if ever needed, that hill fitness isn’t always a young person’s game!

On the way up, I also passed a touching shrine adorning some trees, a personal memorial lovingly kept. It felt fitting – these mountains, though not crowded, carry people’s stories as much as their summits carry views.

Mountain Goat!

Moylussa in History and Lore

The mountain is part of the Slieve Bernagh (Sliabh Bearna) range, meaning the “Mountains of the Gap.” These uplands acted as a natural barrier in medieval times, forming a wild border between the kingdoms of Thomond and Ormond.

Killaloe itself, nestled at Moylussa’s foot, is steeped in history. In the 10th century it was home to Brian Boru, High King of Ireland, who ruled from his fort at Kincora overlooking the Shannon. Standing on Moylussa’s summit, you can almost imagine his longboats drawn up on the waters below.

As for myth, the Shannon itself is tied to legend: the river is named after Sionann, granddaughter of the sea-god Lir, who is said to have drowned after tasting the waters of Connla’s Well in search of wisdom. From high on Moylussa, where the Shannon spreads into Lough Derg, the story feels close.

In more recent times Irish rugby stars Keith Wood and the late Anthony ‘Axel’ Foley are among Killaloe’s most favoured sons!

Weather, Luck and County High Point #25

The forecast had threatened showers, but apart from a few early drops the rain held off until I was safely back down. Sometimes the mountain gods grant a little mercy. With Clare’s high point now under the belt, that’s 25 of 32 climbed – the end of the challenge is starting to come into view.

Moylussa might lack the rugged cliffs or dramatic peaks of some counties, but it rewards with atmosphere, wide horizons, and a sense of standing at the heart of Ireland, looking out over river, lake and history.

  • County Clare High Point
  • Height: 532 metres
  • Starting Point: Ballycuggaran Car Park
  • Distance: 10kms out and back
  • Ascent: 450 metres
  • Moving Time: 1 hour 43 minutes
  • Terrain: Forest Trails, some slippy rocky sections, bogland boardwalk (no walking permitted on the bog)
  • Difficulty: Moderate – steep start and rocky sections tricky on the descent
  • Highlights: Has to be the view of Lough Derg and Silvermines Mountains

From Trostan to the Glens: High Points and Hurling Heartlands

Last Saturday I conquered Trostan, the 551 m summit of County Antrim, and hauled myself back home over a 700 km relentless but rewarding round-trip in my 32-County High Point Challenge! From that windswept trig-point, views stretched beyond the haze north to Rathlin Island, west to the Inishowen Peninsula in far off Donegal, east to the Mull of Kintyre and Scotland then just south to Slemish, the first known home of Saint Patrick, where he was enslaved; I climbed it on his feast day two years ago. Beneath my feet lay a mountain carved by basalt lava, long watched over by clans and cairns— this land was fought over by many chieftains and clans, both native Irish and of Scottish descent. Not far from Trostan Sorley Boy MacDonnell had a great victory at the Battle of Aura, following which they withdrew to Trostan, marking the spot with a cairn. Looking out to Rathlin brought fond memories of a trip many years ago with Tommy Wogan with one particular image being of the pair of us sitting on the top of the huge cliff edge watching RAF fighter jets flying low above the North Atlantic Ocean on a training mission. Never saw anything like it before or since! I hope to ride the ferry to Rathlin again sometime soon! Today though was about notching up my 24th County High Point, Trostan’s summit, yearning for the remaining eight high points still calling me onward to complete a few more before the onset of winter.

Looking down from Trostan into the Glens of Antrim, I wasn’t just seeing valleys and sea-cliffs — I was gazing into the cradle of Ulster hurling, where villages like Cushendall keep alive the flame of Ireland’s oldest game. Names like Sambo McNaughton and Neil McManus ring out here as proudly as any chieftain of old. In a county where nationalists often carried the heavy burden of politics and prejudice, the hurley and sliotar became more than sport — they were symbols of resilience, pride, and culture woven deep into the very fabric of the Glens. In villages like Cushendall, Cushendun, Glenariff and Loughgiel, the game is woven into identity and daily life, with the Ruairí Óg club in Cushendall standing as a powerhouse of Ulster hurling.

Hurling here isn’t just sport — it’s a cultural anchor. In an area where Irish music, song, and storytelling have long flourished, the clash of ash sticks on the pitch echoes a community’s resilience, pride, and belonging. Local festivals and the use of the Irish language keep that cultural thread alive in a way that still feels raw and rooted.

For nationalists in Antrim, especially during the difficult years of the Troubles, hurling and the GAA provided more than sport. They were safe havens of identity, places where Irish culture — language, music, games — could flourish against a backdrop of political tension and discrimination. To take the field in the maroon of the Ruairí Óg Club, the green and gold of Dunloy Cúchullains, the red and white of Loughiel Shamrocks or the black and amber of McQuillans Ballycastle was to play for more than points on a scoreboard: it was to declare pride in community and continuity of tradition. Terence ‘Sambo’ McNaughton, Neil McManus, Ally Elliott, the Donnelly’s, Liam Watson and Cloot McFetridge were as good a hurlers as any across the hurling strongholds.

Mention of Loughiel Shamrocks and I have to mention my good friends Bernie and Dermot Connolly of Corkey Road, who I met many years ago and with whom we stayed for a weekend when the lads were very young. True Gaels.

I knew from reading Kieron Gibbons guide book to Ireland’s County High Points that the approach to Trostan tended to be very soft and wet as it crosses a stretch of open bogland. It was no accident I took it on last weekend. The dry spell had made it spongy and nice to walk across. The climb follows markers for the Moyle Way / Ulster Way and involves climbing over a couple of stiles. On a day like last Saturday it was one of the easy High Points so far. The starting point is easily missed as it is on a remote minor road between Newtown-Crommelin and Cushendall / Cushendun and there was no information panel present on the day identifying it as a trailhead; a brick pedestal probably held a sign at some stage. There is only parking for 1 or 2 cars. It can also be claimed from the Glenariff Forest car park on the eastern side.

After finishing the climb I detoured into Cushendall and paid a quick visit into Sambos pub, the walls adorned with photos of hurling legends and signed jerseys. A GAA watering hole off ever there was one. The homeward journey brought me through Glenravel Glen, made famous by Bobby Sands who wrote a ballad about the blind fiddle player and poitín maker, ‘McIllhatton’ and sung by Christy Moore.

A West Cork Pilgrimage: Farewell and Remembrance

All Ireland Sunday, what better day to create this post.

A recent visit to West Cork for a sad occasion offered one of those unexpected chances to touch base with some of the deeper threads of Irish history—threads that run through bog and bóithrín, through grief and pride, and through the lives of people who changed the course of this great nation.

I was in no rush, so I made a small pilgrimage to three evocative sites—Béal na Bláth, Sam Maguire’s grave in Dunmanway, and the site of the Kilmichael Ambush. Each place stands as a marker in the story of Ireland’s struggle for independence, bound up with courage, controversy, sacrifice—and West Cork’s fierce sense of identity

Béal na Bláth – The Ambush of Michael Collins

The road to Béal na Bláth winds through a peaceful valley, but history clings to it like mist. Here, on 22 August 1922, Michael Collins, Chairman of the Provisional Government and Commander-in-Chief of the National Army, was killed in an ambush during the Irish Civil War. It’s hard to believe he was just 31.

A memorial cross marks the spot where his armoured car was stopped and the fatal shot was fired. The setting is still and rural—sheep and dairy cows graze nearby, unaware of the turmoil once played out on this narrow road. It’s hard to reconcile the serenity of the place with the trauma of that day. Collins was a national hero and a signatory of the Anglo-Irish Treaty, after which he said ‘he had signed his death warrant’. It’s hard to imagine the bitterness and sadness of the Civil War that pitted brothers against each other. Surely some of the darkest days in our long history of suffering.

There’s something sobering about standing where he fell, in the quiet hush of the West Cork landscape that shaped and ultimately claimed him. (The Current cross isn’t the exact location of where he was killed; it was slightly south of it). 

Miscellaneous fact: a lot of us in Éire Óg have a great interest in Collins as we were asked to take part in the film of Michael Collins as the Tipperary team in Croke Park playing against Dublin, represented by Kilmacud Crokes!

Sam Maguire’s Grave – A Forgotten Patriot Remembered

In the churchyard of St. Mary’s in Dunmanway, I stopped at the grave of Sam Maguire—a name familiar to every follower of Gaelic football, though few know the man behind the famous cup given to the winners of the All Ireland SFC.

Born in 1877, Maguire worked in the British Civil Service in London, where he became involved with the Irish Republican Brotherhood. He later played a crucial role in intelligence-gathering for Michael Collins during the War of Independence. A passionate advocate for the GAA, he helped foster Irish identity in exile and on the field where he captained London in the 1901 and 1904 All Ireland Finals. It was he who recruited Michael Collins into the IRB.  He was Collins’ chief intelligence officer in London but he had to flee as his cover was blown and he returned to Dublin, joining the new Irish Civil Service. But because of his anti treaty views he clashed with his superiors and was dismissed.

Sadly, Maguire died penniless and in obscurity in 1927, just five years after Collins, and was buried in his hometown, Dunmanway. Today, a statue and the Sam Maguire Cup—awarded annually to the All-Ireland Senior Football Champions—keep his name alive. But his grave is a quiet one, and worth visiting to remember the man behind the silverware: a patriot, organiser, and believer in Ireland’s potential.

Sam visits Éire Óg 1984 approx.

Kilmichael Ambush Site – Turning the Tide

After leaving Dunmanway I passed out by the birthplace of Sam in Mallabraca.

Not far from the back roads of Dunmanway lies Kilmichael, the scene of one of the most significant—and controversial—engagements of the War of Independence.

Just one week after Bloody Sunday in Croke Park, when the Auxiliaries killed fourteen civilians, including one player Michael Hogan, on the 28th November 1920, Tom Barry led a flying column of the IRA in ambushing an Auxiliary patrol. Seventeen Auxiliaries were killed, along with three IRA volunteers. The event was a turning point in the guerrilla war, demonstrating that the British forces were not invincible. The Auxiliaries, like the Black and Tans, were notorious paramilitary type forces who tried install fear into the civilian population with their cruel tactics and reprisals against local populations, such as burning homes, looting shops and shooting civilians. They are well characterised in the great film ‘The Wind that Shakes the Barley’. They bookended this cruel chapter with the burning of Cork City in reprisal.

A stark monument, stands at the ambush site. Various Panels at locations around the site tell the story, but it’s the landscape that speaks loudest: boggy fields, rocky outcrops, and that same mix of calm and sorrow that haunts much of Ireland’s rebel history.

The Kilmichael Ambush has been the subject of historical debate, particularly around claims of a false surrender, but it was a defining moment in West Cork’s memory and in the folklore of resistance. The surviving Auxiliaries feigned to surrender and killed three local IRA men who had dropped their weapons. Barry gave the order to open fire and not to cease until he gave the order to do so. 

In the modern Ireland, we have forgotten the sacrifices and hardships of generations of Irish men and women who gave their lives so we have our freedom today. Cruel hard times; that opened scars that have taken generations to heal.

West Cork wears its history proudly, if quietly. These sites are not huge tourist destinations—they’re tucked away, often signposted with a kind of modesty, as if to say, “We remember, but we don’t boast.”

Each grave, each cross, each quiet roadside plaque reminds us that history is never really in the past. It’s under our feet. And sometimes, when we need it, it rises gently to meet us. Gone but not forgotten.

It was time to head home.

Killanerin, Croghan Hill, Ballyfad & 1798 echoes

My latest looped spin dipped over the borders of County Wexford and Wicklow, beginning at Killanerin GAA Club, a handy spot to leave the car—although it didn’t start smoothly. A flat rear tyre on the car meant my cycle began with a bit of hassle changing the tyre before even hopping on the bike!

Once finally rolling, I left Killanerin and pedalled by the Wexford Lavender Farm, one of Ireland’s few commercial lavender growers. Their rows of purple bloom are a unique sight in this country, against the backdrop of rolling fields.

From there, I coasted through Coolgreaney, a small village with a lot of history. The Askamore to Coolgreaney area was very active in the 1798 Rebellion, when United Irishmen under the leadership of the Catholic Miles Byrne and the Protestant Anthony Perry, played such a pivotal role in the Rebellion of 1798 as Wexford rose against British rule. Local tradition holds that rebel columns marched through here en route to the key battles at Oulart Hill and Vinegar Hill, leaving behind stories of hidden pikes and daring night gatherings. As I came into the village I could hear raised voices coming from Coolgreaney House gardens – an outdoor play was being performed among the gorgeous gardens,

Next up was Ballyfad, also with strong 1798 associations.

It’s a 10 km climb to Croghan Hill. The ascent snaked steadily upwards, passing through Ballyfad with the shoulder of Croghan drawing closer all the while. Croghan Hill’s upper flanks are dotted with giant whooshing wind turbines. I followed the wide gravel fire breaks through these towering blades until I reached the last steep 600 metres of heather and spongey ground – but very dry today, which demanded a short 600 metres hike.

At the summit, I was greeted by one of the best 360-degree panoramas I’ve seen. Under a crystal-clear blue evening sky, the whole sweep of the Blackstairs Mountains and Mount Leinster lay to the west, while Lugnaquilla’s bulk marked the Wicklow mountains. The line of the Great Sugar Loaf stood proud to the northeast, and the east coast ribboned away south past Arklow, all bathed in late sun.

From there, I looped back down toward Ballyfad Wood, taking a peaceful cycle through 200 acres of mature woodland listening to nothing but late evening bird song—quite the contrast to the frantic start to the day. Ballyfad Wood was used as a refuge by The United Irishmen both before and after the rebellion of 1798 and there are records of rebels encountering local loyalist militia in the woods in the autumn and winter of 1798. Ballyfad Wood was said to be a hiding place for rebels on the run after the failed rising. Some old locals still talk of “rebel paths” threading through these woods, though most of the traces are long since swallowed by bracken and pine. I was back in Killanerin, the car (now with a spare wheel) waiting.

Cycle details

  • Total distance: 31 km
  • Climbing: 767 metres
  • Start/finish: Killanerin GAA Club
  • Highlights: Lavender farm, Croghan Hill views, 1798 history, tranquil Ballyfad Wood

Another gem of a loop, mixing rebel folklore, modern turbines, and timeless vistas. Well worth the tyre hassle!

Glen of Imaal Loop

There’s a road out of Rathdangan that pulls you gently upwards, wrapping around the shoulder of Slievemaan. It doesn’t shout for attention. No cafés, no car parks, no welcome signs. But beyond it lies one of the most storied and mysterious landscapes in Ireland – the Glen of Imaal.

On this particular spin, the sun was high and fierce – longest and hottest day of the year so far! As I pedalled into the wide glacial scoop of the Glen, Lugnaquilla loomed on my right like a sleeping giant, the North Prison cast in shadow. To my left, the softer hulk of Kaideen offered contrast – rounded, brooding, ancient.

The first stop was McAllister’s Cottage, beautifully whitewashed, where it clings to the hillside, it was once a safehouse and hiding place during the 1798 Rebellion. It was here that Michael Dwyer, the famed rebel leader from Imaal, spent a winter on the run with comrades including Sam McAllister. When Crown forces finally caught up with them in 1799, McAllister made his final stand – deliberately exposing himself to gunfire to draw attention away from Dwyer, allowing his commander to escape into the misty folds of the Wicklow hills. His sacrifice made him a folk hero, and the cottage remains a potent symbol of defiance, endurance, and tragic loyalty.

Onward, across the Glen. The road turned rough, and I followed it towards the edge of the Glen of Imaal Artillery Range, where live military exercises still take place. Signs warn you not to stray from the public track – this is still a working range. I forded the River Slaney, little more than a silver thread here, but rising proudly from the heights of Lugnaquilla before beginning its long journey down through Carlow and Wexford to the sea.

Past Fentons, the famous pub at the foot of “Lug,” the road curved through this beautiful and remote valley that tourists tend to overlook. I stopped to pay respects at a somber site: a memorial to 16 Irish soldiers, killed in 1941 during a tragic accidental explosion while training in the Glen. A quiet spot, beautifully kept, with names etched in stone. These were young men, preparing to defend their country in neutrality during a dangerous time for Europe. Their deaths were a devastating blow to the community and are still remembered here.

There’s an added dimension to my Saturday and Sunday cycles when GAA games are on the radio; today was an epic battle between Dublin and Clare hurlers while Cavan travelled to take on Kerry. Kudos to the commentators who paint such vivd word pictures that it’s like being there and sometimes I’d end up pulling over to the side when it got particularly exciting – there were a lot of stops today as the Dubs overcame that brilliant Limerick team! I was outside Fentons pub for the closing minutes chatting to a bus driver who was transporting climbers undertaking the 4 Peaks Challenge! I completed a similar challenge many years ago with Donal Nolan and John Wynne!

Curiously, hidden within the artillery range itself, there’s a civilian cemetery, its presence a mystery. Perhaps a relic from before the land was taken over by the Defence Forces. It’s these oddities – the half-remembered things – that give the Glen its haunting pull.

The next waypoint was a true rarity: the Knickeen Ogham Stone, a tall, lichen-covered standing stone etched with ancient script, probably from the 5th or 6th century. Ogham was Ireland’s first written language – a series of slashes and lines denoting sounds. The Ogham inscription on the North East corner reads ‘Maqi Nili’, which broadly means ‘Of the son of Niall’, standing here for over a thousand years in silent testimony. It’s easy misss this important heritage site as it is off the public road and to the side of a walking track and out of sight. Glad to have visited it today.

Then it was time to close the loop. The road climbed again after Knockanarrigan, the crossroads at the centre of the Glen, where Kaideen again loomed in front of me like a guardian angel guiding me home. After a bit of climbing, it was an easy glide down to Rathdangan, my water bottle drained and legs toasted, but mind and body satisfied with stories and scenery.

Distance: 38km

Total Ascent: 603m