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Knockboy: Cork’s Roof on a Perfect Summers Day!

There are days when planning is overrated and spontaneity brings great joy!

With the weather forecast finally turning in our favour, I made a midday decision to point the car south and continue my 32 County High Point Challenge. 

The long drive south eventually brought me through the village of Kilgarvan, where I stopped to gather supplies before tackling Knockboy. Probably best known today as the home of the Healy Rea political dynasty, the village is located beside the River Roughty and surrounded by the mountains of south Kerry,

With a few supplies secured, I continued towards Priest’s Leap, the narrow mountain road climbing steadily into some of the most spectacular scenery in Ireland. Before long the summit of Knockboy was visible ahead, waiting in glorious sunshine.

After three hundred and thirty kilometres of cross-country driving, and at 4.30pm on Saturday evening, I found myself parked at the top of Priest’s Leap, staring up towards Knockboy, the highest point in County Cork at 706 metres.

It was one of those rare Irish mountain days that almost seem unreal.

The sun blazed from a cloudless sky, there wasn’t a breath of wind, and for once the mountain gear remained largely unnecessary. T-shirt weather on an Irish summit is a rarity worth savouring.

From the start, the views were magnificent. A slight haze softened the distant horizons but did nothing to diminish the panorama. Bantry Bay shimmered far below. The industrial outline of Whiddy Island sat quietly in the water, a reminder of the Betelgeuse Disaster of 1979 in which 50 people lost their lives. Closer by lay Glengarriff and the deeply indented coastline of West Cork. To the west, the rugged skyline of the MacGillycuddy’s Reeks dominated the horizon through a blue – grey haze, with Carrauntoohil standing proudly above its neighbours. Real peaks!

Knockboy itself is one of the easier county high points. The mountain is usually notorious for wet ground and boggy conditions, but after a period of dry weather the route was manageable. Following the fence line from Priest’s Leap, I climbed steadily between Lough Reagh and Lough Boy, the dark mountain lakes reflecting the afternoon sunshine.

The ascent wasn’t difficult, but I found myself wishing I was fitter. My breathing felt heavier than it should have, and I took more rest stops than I might once have needed. Still, on a day like this there was no hardship in stopping. Every pause offered another excuse to stand and absorb the scenery.

The summit views were simply stunning.

Knockboy sits directly on the Cork-Kerry border and offers an extraordinary vantage point across two of Ireland’s most beautiful counties. Looking south, Bantry Bay stretched towards the Atlantic. Westward rose the serrated ridges of the Reeks. To the northeast lay the rolling wilderness of the Shehy Mountains, leading the eye towards Gougane Barra, one of the most atmospheric and historically significant locations in Ireland.

Gougane Barra, hidden among mountains and forests, is revered as the place where St Finbarr founded a monastic settlement in the sixth century before establishing Cork City itself. Its tiny lakeside chapel and remote setting have made it a place of pilgrimage and reflection for centuries. A place I have fond memories of from my month in the Gaeltacht way back in sixth class in Carlow CBS.

The Leap of the Priest

The starting point for the walk is almost as interesting as the mountain itself.

Priest’s Leap, or Léim an tSagairt, is one of Ireland’s most dramatic mountain passes. According to local legend, a priest fleeing English soldiers during the Penal Laws spurred his horse towards the edge of a seemingly impassable cliff. Miraculously, horse and rider leapt across the chasm and escaped. The horse’s hoof prints are said to remain impressed in the rock.

Whether fact or folklore, the name has endured.

The pass links County Cork and County Kerry through a narrow twisting road that climbs high into the mountains. It is one of the most spectacular drives in Ireland and certainly one of the most intimidating. The road clings to steep slopes, twists around blind corners and offers breathtaking drops alongside breathtaking views.

As it was a late start, I didn’t linger long on the summit. Instead, I descended directly towards the car park at Priest’s Leap.

The mountain still had one final story to offer.

Partway down the pass I encountered an unexpected road block on this isolated road. A holiday rental car had slipped onto the soft verge, leaving its wheels spinning helplessly. The occupants, Dan and Pamela from Minnesota, looked increasingly worried as attempts to drive free only dug the car deeper into the ground.

Soon a small rescue operation developed. We gathered flat stones from the mountain side and carefully packed them beneath the wheels. After several attempts and plenty of encouragement, the tyres finally found traction and the car lurched back onto solid ground.

For a few minutes, an isolated mountain pass in West Cork became an international co-operative effort involving Irish hillwalkers and stranded Americans. Unlike the blockage in the Straits of Hormuz, traffic flowed freely again! It felt entirely fitting.

County High Point Number 28 completed and surprisingly one of my favourites.

Every county high point has its own personality.

Some demand long arduous approaches. Others involve steep scrambles and difficult navigation. Knockboy offers something different: accessibility combined with scenery of the very highest order, if the weather permits.

On a perfect summer day it delivered everything a mountain walk should. Sunshine, endless views, local folklore, unexpected encounters and the satisfaction of standing on the highest ground in Ireland’s largest county.

Not every summit day needs to be epic.

Sometimes the mountain simply provides exactly what you need.

Family, Forests, Freiburg…

Sometimes journeys are less about ticking places off a list and more about people and reconnections. A recent trip to southern Germany with my brother Dermot was one of those. It was my first time visiting my uncle and cousins there – a long overdue trip prompted by the wish to see our uncle John, my father’s youngest sibling, and also to visit our two cousins, Sineád, Fiona and Ingrid, their Mam.

It’s a visit Dermot has completed on a good number of occasions and he has kept alive the links between our German-Irish relatives and home. A journey that I am so glad to have made and to see John burst into heart warming laughs and smiles reaffirmed the importance of family and keeping in touch.

From the moment we landed in Zurich, the efficiency of Central Europe became immediately apparent, The rail connection from the airport is seamless. Within minutes of leaving arrivals we were on a train gliding north through immaculate countryside towards Germany. My experience of airport transfers has always been hassle, involving buses, queues and confusion; the integration in Zurich Airport with the rail network felt almost futuristic.

Our destination for the first 4 days was Freiburg im Breisgau, nestled on the edge of the Black Forest region – so vivid in my memory of school geography classes. Luckily we made an enquiry in the train station about our connection – Dermot had mistakenly booked us on the train to Freiburg in Switzerland! Thankfully we arrived in the right Freiburg. Few towns manage to combine beauty, history, environmental awareness and liveability so naturally. Freiburg does it effortlessly.

The city escaped the worst destruction of the Second World War compared to many other German cities and the old city retains a timeless character. Pedestrianised, wandering through the streets feels like walking in layers of history. Medieval buildings, many bearing date stamps from the 1400s sit comfortably beside a multitude of cafés, market places, bike and tram lanes. There are reminders of the past everywhere; embedded in the pavements are small brass plaques – Stolpersteine – quietly commemorating Jewish citizens who were deported and murdered in concentration camps. You encounter them unexpectedly outside ordinary homes and shops, and they stop you in your tracks. They record the victims name at a place they were last known to be associated with; their fate and the extermination camps they were transported to. Chilling. Tiny memorials carrying enormous weight.

Above the city rises the Scholssberg hill, with what I can only describe as ‘Hansel and Gretel’ forest paths in the surrounding woods of mighty oaks, beech, Douglas fir, yew trees, sycamore and many more. Fairytale forests. The trails radiate in every direction into the Black Forest though dense woodland and along ridges with spectacular views of the city and onwards towards the Vosges in France and into Switzerland. Hiking is extremely popular – it was noticeable the amount of elderly hikers who all have their walking poles in their back packs as the enter and leave the old city. As much as it is a hikers paradise, Freiburg is unquestionably a cycling city. Bikes are everywhere – commuters, students, parents carrying children on school runs, older people shopping, all moving with an ease that makes the car seem unnecessary. Even on cobbled streets!

The environmental focus of they city is impossible to miss – grass verges remain uncut and wild, gardens are deliberately overgrown, solar panels, green spaces, biodiversity projects and sustainable transport are woven into everyday life here rather than presented as slogans. Reflecting on home and the moaning about bike lanes; the disregard for biodiversity in the interest of making a quick buck at the expense of nature, enough to make you weep.

The centre piece of Freiburg is the magnificent Freiburg Minster, its soaring gothic spire dominating the skyline. The old square below it hums with a vibrant farmers market of the highest quality. We climbed the 365 winding steps to the viewing platform; worth every ounce of effort it entailed with magnificent panoramic views of the city but not a place for anyone scared of heights or enclosed spaces!

The surviving medieval town gates of Martinstor and Schwabentor are great reminders that this was once a fortified medieval city. The only fault I found in Freiburg was the location of a MacDonalds alongside the Martinstor town gate; it just does not belong there!

We walked almost everywhere and walking in the ‘Altstrad’ (old city) is one of the great pleasures of a visit to this compact and beautiful city. You could sit and people watch all day. Around the Cathedral square the farmers market was superb – overflowing with flowers, cheeses, breads, fruits and meats. It is obvious that there is great pride in local handcrafts with so many small independent shops doing a roaring trade. It’ s a real living vibrant city.

We stumbled upon another fascinating tradition in the old city where we encountered quite a few travelling craftsmen – young apprentices dressed in striking traditional clothing, some in black and white, others in brown and white with broad hats and distinctive jackets that seemed to signify different trades. Many of them carried walking staffs and small bundles – it was like a journey back in time. Something very admirable about the tradition of young people travelling, learning skills, seeking work experience for low pay, accommodation do food as they travel around the countryside!

One of our most memorable moments came on the Holy feast day of Ascension Day when we visited the Cathedral and stayed for mass. This was so deeply moving. The massive organ thundered through the Cathedral while powerful choral music (Mary would have loved it!), filled the vast gothic interior. Even without understanding a word, the music carried enormous emotional force. It was timeless and deeply spiritual.

Our time was limited and after four days visiting with John we headed north by train to Karlsruhe, where Ingrid picked us up at the train station and brought us to ‘Mogogo’ where we met Sinéad and her husband Gaym. One of the highlights of our trip was a wonderful meal in his family’s Eritrean restaurant, ‘Mogogo’. The warmth and friendliness we received was unforgettable. The food was traditional Eritrean, shared communally in the traditional way. It was a fabulous occasion. From there Ingrid drove us on to Heidelberg where we would stay with Fiona.

Heidelberg is a gem; a historic and well preserved city on the river Neckar, surrounded by forested hills on both sides of the river and looked over by its massive sandstone castle ruins. Absolutely stunning. We completed a great walk out of the city through the forest looking across the river towards the castle and then down the steep hillside before emerging onto an ancient bridge and then climbed to the Castle. Again the culture of cycling and walking stood out. Forest trails that are on the doorstep of the old city meant that you simply move between urban and forest trails in an instant. The Castle is extraordinary, part ruins and part palace and used a as a concert venue. The old city is so well preserved, filled with buildings that have stood for hundreds of years. Walking through the narrow streets, you are constantly aware of the age of this city that has survived wars, plagues and religious upheaval.

It gave us another memorable culinary experience in a Persian restaurant in the old town. Just like our Eritrean meal back in Karlshrue, it reminded us how travel is enriched by cultural diversity and hospitality.

Sadly all good things come to an end. Our return journey to Zurich saw us take local trains that curved through forests and hill tops before passing the spectacular Rhine Falls. Even glimpsed from a moving train, the sight of Europe’s largest waterfall crashing through he rocks was unforgettable- a final fitting image for a trip filled with lots of walking (100kms), beauty, and family connections.

Travel often becomes a blur of destinations and photos. This journey was different. It was great to reconnect with John, Sinéad and Gaym, Fiona and Ingrid. We saw many wonderful sights but perhaps most pleasing of all was the broad smile on John’s face as we recalled old friends and places from his childhood.

Around the Nurney Plateau: Quiet Roads, Hidden Relics, and Big Skies

The first time I heard the name ‘The Nurney Plateau’ was on a CBS Primary School outing with the great Brother Healy. It wouldn’t happen in today’s world to allow your primary students cycle out the Wexford Road, but the entire class cycled out from the CBS to Castletown Castle, a mock Tudor/Gothic 19th century incorporating a truncated tower-house! It is situated on the Wexford road less than 1km past Tinryland GAA Club. I think it was owned by the Monahan family – previously owned by the Kavanaghs and at one stage by the infamous Buck Whaley. My memories of it were that there was a display of swords from all over the world decorating the entrance hall. During the talk Mr. Monahan took us outside and explained about the lands extending up onto the Nurney plateau.

There are spins on the bike that feel like mere training sessions and then there are mornings like today where the road keeps offering up small wonders, one after another, across a landscape that is familiar to me but always surprising. Today’s loop was more or less over and around the Nurney Plateau: 55kms of rolling Carlow countryside with 541 metres of climbing, stitched together by quiet lanes, old stone walls and buildings, and the occasional moment of quiet magic.

And yeah yeah I know, before anyone says it, this was done on my e-bike! Not quite ‘cheating’ as some might imagine. The climbs still have to be ridden, the miles still tick by, and the legs tell me afterwards that there was real effort involved. The beauty is it gives me more freedom – the chance to enjoy the scenery, to take a longer route and to finish feeling happy to plan my next long outing.

It also helped that, finally, a spell of good weather has arrived. Temperatures finally nudging upwards, barely a breath of wind, and more hours of day light if needed and that removes any sense of hurry. No chasing the clock, no cutting corners – just time to ride. And because I travel the local roads, hardly a car along this route after I turned left up Staplestown Hill.

I headed out over Kellistown, heading in the general direction of Rathoe before slipping away onto the even quieter roads around Ballynunnery. Narrow roads, high full green hedgerows and that sense you’ve stepped off the map! Not long after, I passed a vast solar farm located on fine arable land. It’s hard not to feel conflicted – progress, of course, but at a cost that feels particularly visible in a landscape like this.

Crossing the Wexford Road at Ballintrane, I turned left and continued south crossing the River Burren for the third time today as I made my way toward Taylors Cross on the Fenagh – Myshall Road. From there I picked up a stretch of the Turas Columbanus, a route being developed to create a pilgrimage route Myshall, the birthplace of Saint Columbanus across France, Switzerland and Italy to his resting place in Bobbio, Italy. The tiny roads and tight bends tend to slow you down, as if encouraging you to notice more.

And notice more I did.

Soon came Toberbride; according to the Ordnance Survey Map there is a Holy Well located in the field off the road and soon came the wonderfully evocative townland name of Coolnacuppogue ,roughly translating as the Back of the hill of the Dock Leaves! It’s the kind of name that anchors you to a place and I spotted a nice stretch of traditional Carlow fencing here, the craftsmanship still holding strong against time and weather.

A few hundred metres on, two hens scratched industriously along the roadside verge, their small flock of chicks darting in and out under their legs – a simple, perfect rural scene.

Turning right, the road rose gradually before falling towards one of the highlights of the day: Ballyloughan Castle. This place never fails to impress. A seldom visited gem, it boasts the striking remains of a 13th century settlement, its double-towered gatehouse still standing with quiet authority. There’s something very atmospheric about it, I climbed over the gate and strolled inside. No crowds, no fuss, just a piece of Carlow history sitting patiently in a Carlow field posing questions I cannot answer about our past! Not far away lies Ballaghmoon Castle, another reminder of how dense the countryside is with heritage, even if many of these sites are poorly signposted and go unnoticed.

Conscious of the 2pm throw in for the eagerly awaited Cork v Limerick in the Munster SHC, I got back on the bike and pushed on through Swinn Cross Roads from where the road kicked up sharply towards Kildreenagh. This climb has a bit of bite but its reward is access to one of the more hidden treasures of this route.

Down a quiet lane, half hidden in a hedgerow lies a cross head and a bullaun stone, an understated but deeply evocative site. Kildreenagh – The Church of the Blackthorns, feels special. Few know of its existence. The bullaun stone was full of water from recent rains. It’s just one of those spots that rewards curiosity and for which we should be thankful that the local farmer, makes sure that it is not damaged when hedges are being trimmed back. It’s almost impossible to find without local knowledge or an Ordnance survey map in your hand.

From there it was a steady spin home via Newtown, though not without one final test – the climb to the top of Nurney Hill. It’s a proper pull, especially with a good few kilometres in the legs but the top delivers what all good climbs should. County Carlow opens in all four directions, a canopy of green fields, ridgelines along the Blackstairs to the south and Killeshin to the west with the Wicklow mountains in the distant east. Carlow Cathedral spire straight ahead as my North Star.

It’s a quick descent into Nurney village and home via Ballyloo Cross and Tinryland.

This is a loop that doesn’t draw any attention. It doesn’t have any headline climbs or famous passes, but it has other attractions – quiet roads, rich history and the kind of small details that stay with you long after the cycle is done. It’s hard to imagine a better way to spend a morning in the heart of Carlow.

Tipp Top…..

Two cycles through history in counties Tipperary and Waterford.

There are parts of Ireland where the landscape seems to carry its stories lightly. And then there are places like south Tipperary and west Waterford, where every hill and valley feels steeped in memory.

Two recent cycles brought that home to me — one circling the great bulk of Slievenamon, and another climbing a route favoured by local cyclists, The Vee, and eventually detouring to a lonely monument high on the mountainside.

My first cycle was 35kms approx and the second loop was a tasty 58kms with over 900 metres of climbing. But both were dense with history.

First Loop:

Around Slievenamon from Kilcash

My first spin was a modest 35 km loop around Slievenamon, starting in the quiet village of Kilcash.

Kilcash is the sort of place that quietly gathers centuries. Close to the village stand the ruins of Kilcash Castle, once home to a branch of the powerful Butler family, and nearby is the medieval Kilcash Church, whose origins go back to a monastic foundation associated with a 6th-century saint.  

It is also famous throughout Ireland for a poem we all learned in secondary school — “Cill Cháis” (Kilcash) — one of the best-known laments in the Irish language. The poem mourns the decline of the old estate, the loss of the great woods, and the fading of a once-powerful household.  

The opening line is one many Irish schoolchildren once knew by heart:

Cad a dhéanfaimid feasta gan adhmad? – What shall we do now without timber?

The poem remembers the cutting of the woods and the ruin of the castle — a metaphor for a whole fading world.

Leaving Kilcash, the bike ride begins gently enough, but the road soon reminds you that Slievenamon does not give up its views cheaply. (It’s much worse hiking up it). The climb out of Kilcash is steep, a tough start to what overall is a pleasant easy loop. Early questions asked and answered: I’m not fit!

Once the road rises high enough, the reward appears: the wide plains of south Tipperary stretching away below, the dark shoulder of Slievenamon rising above them.

Slievenamon itself — “Sliabh na mBan,” the Mountain of the Women — is woven deeply into Irish folklore and song. The mountain’s name is linked to legends of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, and in the 19th century the Tipperary nationalist and poet Charles Kickham wrote the famous ballad Slievenamon, a song that still echoes around GAA terraces and parish halls wherever Tipperary people gather.  

For Tipp emigrants scattered across the world, the mountain is a symbol of home.

Second loop.

Up the Vee and Across the Knockmealdowns

Two whole days without rain, so I was up for a little longer adventure.

Starting in Clogheen, the road climbs surprisingly easy toward The Vee, one of the most famous cycling routes in the south-east. The ascent winds into the Knockmealdown Mountains, where the landscape suddenly opens into vast views across the counties.

The Vee itself feels special on a bike, with its two great switch backs. The road crests at a natural gap in the mountains, revealing the Bay Lough below to the right and the long sweep of the valley stretching westward to Galteemore.

From there I rolled down, into a cold headwind, toward Mount Melleray Abbey, once home to a community of Cistercian monks who had lived and prayed there since the 1830s. The monastery closed recently (and now acts as a hostel on the St Declan Pilgrim route), marking the end of nearly two centuries of monastic life in that quiet valley.

The mountains above the abbey tell another story — a much darker one.

A Detour to the Liam Lynch Memorial.

High on the slopes of the Knockmealdowns stands an impressive monument, almost hidden away: a tall round tower marking the spot where Liam Lynch, Chief of Staff of the IRA during the Civil War, was mortally wounded in April 1923.  

I turned off the road and climbed along the forest fire break that leads to it, a climb of 4.5kms.

By early 1923 the Civil War had dragged on bitterly for months. Lynch was leading the anti-Treaty IRA and remained determined to continue the fight even as support was fading.  

On 10 April 1923, Free State troops swept through the mountains searching for him. Lynch and a small group tried to escape, but ran into another National Army column approaching from the opposite direction. During the encounter he was struck by rifle fire.  

He was carried down the mountain and brought to hospital in Clonmel, where he died later that evening at just 29 years of age.  Ironically they say papers found upon him indicated he may have been preparing to end the conflict himself.

Historians often say that the shot that killed him effectively ended the Civil War. Within weeks, his successor Frank Aiken ordered IRA forces to cease operations.  

Standing at the isolated memorial It feels impossible that such a decisive moment in Irish history unfolded in such a lonely place.

I retraced the route back down hill to the village of Newcastle and took a left for the final leg back to Clogheen. 

Cycling back down from the monument and across the Vee, the thought lingered that these mountains have seen centuries of drama — from Gaelic lordships to monasteries, rebellions, and civil war.

Yet to the cyclist passing through on a quiet afternoon, they offer something simpler.

Good roads.

Huge skies.

And the sense that every climb in Ireland leads not only upward — but backward in time.

Feeling good about myself after a great day cycling I was joined by another cyclist on the wheel back into Clogheen. This sprightly man was a mere 90 years of age who only started cycling in 1984 by completing the famous and high profile Maracycle – Dublin to Belfast return as part of Co-operartion North, which he completed twice. Nowadays he likes to cycle a few times a week on quiet local roads!

A NFL Road Trip along the Lough Shore

The NFL is finally up and running and it was great to be in Portglenone to witness a really heart warming Carlow victory over Antrim. A complete team performance. Tús maith leath na hoibre.

A long spin up but worth it for the die hard supporters who made the effort.

It’s great to be a spectator and have no real deadlines to follow so I used the opportunity to go on a pilgrimage to the GAA heartlands of the ‘Lough Shore’!

Along the western and northern shores of Lough Neagh lies one of the most remarkable concentrations of Gaelic football strength anywhere in Ireland.

In a relatively short stretch of countryside spanning Tyrone, Derry and Antrim, the lough shore has produced powerhouse clubs, legendary footballers and a culture where the GAA isn’t just a sport — it’s identity and a saving grace for communities that were ravaged by the Troubles.

This is a true football corridor. Drive the shoreline roads and you’re rarely out of sight of a pitch glowing under floodlights.

Not just any clubs but some power houses that have achieved phenomenal success at provincial and All Ireland level, have to mention I mean the Derry Clubs have!

Bellaghy Wolfe Tones stands as one of the great names of Derry football — a club steeped in success and deep cultural roots.

On the field, Bellaghy have been giants:

1972 All-Ireland Club Champions

1995 All-Ireland Runners Up

4 Ulster Club titles

3 Ulster runners-up finishes.

Their greatness was driven by exceptional players such as Damien Cassidy, one of the most elegant forwards Ireland has seen and Fergal Doherty, a prince of midfielders who had a great leap and a great pair of hands.

No story about Bellaghy is complete without recalling the late Seán Brown, a man who literally devoted his life to the club and who tragically lost his life when he was murdered by the Loyalist Volunteer Force as he locked up the grounds one night. His legacy lives on and Seán continues to inspire this great club.

It is also Seamus Heaney’s home town and I still had some time to spare so I paid a short visit to the Seamus Heaney centre. Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, he wrote so beautifully of life in this community, of working in the bog, of the importance of community and culture. 

Just up the road are Ballinderry Shamrocks

Their crowning glory came in 2002, when they captured the All-Ireland Club Championship, cementing their place among Ireland’s elite. Alongside that they won 3 Ulster Club titles and were twice Ulster runners-up.

The diminutive Conleth Gilligan was one of the most intelligent footballers I’ve ever seen and his teammate Enda Muldoon, one of the most elegant ball players; Gareth McKinless has more recently been the lynchpin of the Derry defence and an All Star too!

And the most recent Derry Champions are nearby Newbridge, bordering on Toome in Antrim, home to Cargin, the powerhouse of Saffron Club Football in this millennium.

Ardboe O’Donovan Rossa are Tyrone’s Lough side Legends. Their true legacy lies in the footballers it produced.

Frank McGuigan, Tyrone’s original superstar of the 1970s and ’80s, was a scoring phenomenon — a forward who carried county teams through difficult years with brilliance and bravery. Tyrone’s greatest ever?

Decades later came his son Brian, an intelligent, play maker at no 11 and winner of three All Ireland’s with Tyrone. One of the classiest Red Hands.

What a father and son combination!

I paid a visit to the ancient Ardboe High Cross close by which looks out across the huge expanse of Lough Neagh, the largest lake in Ireland, now sadly suffering from pollution of the waterways.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the lough shore story is how success has flowed differently on each side of the Derry – Tyrone border.

Derry clubs have amassed an astonishing 17 Ulster Club titles, driven largely by Bellaghy and Ballinderry — including two All-Ireland club crowns between them.

By contrast, Tyrone clubs have won just 3 Ulster titles, yet Tyrone became an inter-county superpower — fuelled by shoreline talent like the McGuigans and others forged in these tough parishes.

Same landscape.

Different expressions of greatness.

Spend time along Lough Neagh and you quickly realise the GAA isn’t an activity — it’s the backbone of community life.

Along the shores of Lough Neagh lies one of Gaelic football’s true heartlands. A concentrated corridor of clubs and communities that have shaped Ulster football. Long may it continue.