We wind down the narrow, serpentine roads, hedgerows hugging each side – the west of Ireland showcasing its stunning scenery. As we pass through charming little towns, I know we’re not in Kansas anymore.
“Hey Mum, look, a castle!” says Méabh, as if from a fairytale – Ireland’s rolling green hills, stone walls, and castles seem plucked from a storybook.
Through Kinvara, Lahinch, and Lisdoonvarna (feels like a song, doesn’t it?) — all towns along the Wild Atlantic Way — we arrive safely in Doolin. Sustained by tourism and agriculture, Doolin is the gateway to the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, and the Aran Islands. Though relatively small, it doesn’t lack charm.
We meet Pat Sweeney at The Doolin Inn at 10 a.m. He later told me he was 10 minutes late the previous day because one of his cows was giving birth — not your standard tour guide. A local farmer by trade, a jovial tour guide by day.
Méabh had decided the carrier was now her favourite thing, which made me ecstatic. However, as painful as it has been to walk alongside a toddler — the slowest species on the planet — we limited the carrier to hikes only. I don’t have a runaway toddler, so I should be grateful for that.
With Méabh strapped safely to my back, we jumped in a local taxi with ten others and Pat. We arrived at the entrance to a farm, and met cousin Vincent. Vinnie had previously worked at the main visitor centre at the Cliffs of Moher but grew tired of the stupid questions — “Who built the cliffs?”, “What time do they close at night?”, and “Do the cliffs move in the wind?” to name just a few. Now retired, Pat hired Vincent to help out. And what a pair they were. The self-deprecating, dry humour and light-hearted banter between the cousins made for a very comical tour.
On January 25th this year, a storm hit Ireland, damaging a significant portion of the main Cliffs of Moher trek and rendering it closed to the public. Given that it’s heritage-listed, they’re unable to repair it during the summer months, meaning it won’t be fixed until next year. Between 10,000 and 16,000 people visit the cliffs every day, all now limited to a smaller section of the coast.
With his intimate knowledge of the land and locals, Pat organised an “off the beaten track, Bear Grylls-style” 3.5-hour trek which showcased the views spectacularly while avoiding the monstrous crowds.
We pottered past an old farmhouse and descended an embankment, revealing a postcard-worthy view of the Cliffs of Moher. The cliffs have been featured in several well-known films over the years, including Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (the cave scene with Dumbledore and Harry), The Princess Bride (the “Cliffs of Insanity”), and Leap Year (a really bad Amy Adams romcom), plus plenty more. While breathtaking, we were fully exposed to the sweeping wind — refreshing but slightly face-numbing. Of course, I’d forgotten Méabh’s beanie, so she was stuck clutching her Minnie Mouse jacket hood, sheltering from what probably felt like a tornado for her.
“Méabh, look! It’s so amazing isn’t it?”. “NO!” She replies instantly – the significance lost on the mind of a 3.5-year-old.
We continued on, losing the full force of the wind quite quickly, which likely made the adventure more pleasant for Méabh. The terrain was soft and squishy, as if we were walking on freshly cut grass in boggy lands. Méabh sat comfortably on my back, demanding lollies along the way. It’s probably not the only way to keep a toddler in a carrier, but it certainly was the incentive she needed. We were taking a risk here. The most I’d had her in the carrier at this stage was 1.5 hours during a walking tour in Galway. The thought of her refusing to sit — leaving me stranded on a literal cliff edge, with a toddler, in a group of ten people wanting to keep pace — I don’t even want to think about it. To avoid that, bribery was key.
And it worked a treat. So well, in fact, that she fell asleep for over an hour. I’m truly unsure how — the forces of nature were not on her side. While not uncomfortable, it remained cold and windy, not to mention the lack of head support. Her little head bobbled side to side as she got in her Z’s, cliffside.
Meanwhile, our group hiked on. Our vantage point continued to showcase an incredible example of Ireland’s natural beauty: the wild Atlantic Ocean crashing against towering 215-metre limestone cliffs that stretch 8 kilometres along the coastline, carved by countless caves and sea arches.
Two hours in, the weight of a 20kg sleeping toddler certainly had its drawbacks. It was gruelling, no doubt. On the plus side, there were no steep inclines or declines. I had to navigate multiple fences, ducking under or climbing over as we passed through farmers’ lands. By this point, my shoulders were definitely feeling like I’d just done a heavy upper-body workout. The wind seemed to be on my side, not bothering us much for the remainder of the hike. It rained momentarily, but Méabh found this overly exciting. She was quickly reminded, “This isn’t rain,” by Pat, noting that what would be a thunderstorm in Australia is just a drizzle to the Irish.
I wouldn’t be able to explore the way we do without some physical demands. Whether Méabh loves it as much as I do is yet to be seen. But the fact that she complains minimally and even falls asleep while I carry her gives me hope she’ll be a keen adventurer one day too.
At one point when she was awake, we were walking past a section of the cliffs when she spotted something orange submerged in the water. “What’s that, Mum?” my curious toddler asked. “Hmmm, maybe a deflated buoy?” I replied. She thought for a moment and said, “Maybe it’s a girl?” A comedian in the making.
One fear that could always become a reality is the notion of pee dripping down my backside. At some point, it’s inevitable no matter what I do. When that day comes, I’ll probably just crawl up and die — but luckily, it wasn’t that faithful day on the Cliffs of Moher. That’s not to say there wasn’t a close call. At the three-hour mark, Méabh decided she needed the toilet. Ah, damn, I thought. Lollies saved me that day. “Here, Méabh, have some lollies — please don’t pee.” “Okay, Mum.” I’m not sure how lollies stopped a toddler’s bladder from exploding all over my back, but I will never understand the mind of a toddler.
We finished the tour back where we started, outside The Doolin Inn. For 25 euros, this tour was worth every penny—and then some. If you’re heading to the Cliffs of Moher, do yourself a favour: avoid the crowds (tourists can be a bit much) and check out Pat Sweeney’s Doolin Cliff Walk. It’s an experience a hundred times better than the usual copy-and-paste tourist trek.
After the tour, we grabbed some lunch, then went caving to see the largest stalactite in Europe. Because, why not?
