Lough Gur Ireland

Lough Gur is located 21 kilometers southeast of Limerick City where "deep in the rolling hills of County Limerick, an enchanting and rich archeological landscape is simply waiting to be explored." We had arranged to visit Beth's friend Anna's Mater who lives nearby and decided to take in the landscape as well.

A hard frost greeted us as we awoke for a tour of the local sites and after breakfast we began a counter-clockwise circuit of the Lough with a stop at The Great Stone Circle, which dates to 2000 BC.

The circle is the largest of its kind in Ireland, measuring 150 feet in diameter and consisting of 113 upright stones. It is believed that on the 21st of June each year, the Summer Solstice, the morning sun shines through the entrances and illuminates a pattern, suggesting astrological use of the enclosure.
After talking to the cows on the adjacent farm

we met their owner, Timothy Casey, who also maintains the site for visitors and provides his own unique explanation of the circle, sells postcards for the site and accepts donations for maintenance.

Next stop was the New Church, built in the 15th century by the Earls of Desmond as a Chapel of Ease, in ruins by the middle of the 17th century, rebuilt and now in ruins again, with only a shell currently extant.

The scene overlooking the Lough with its surrounding gravestones had a mystical quality under the still heavy frost.

Driving past Wedge Tomb a burial site dating to 2500 BC, we parked at the east end of the Lough in the Visitors Center, closed at this time of year. From the parking lot we climbed above The Spectacles, a replica of a farmstead from 900 AD, to a viewpoint overlooking the Lough.

I can't recall many more beautiful vistas, although I seem to say that about alot of the spots we visited in Ireland.

Here's a compilation of our photos set to Bill Cooley's "Isle of Inishmore."

Leinster House, Dublin Ireland

Jacob's home away from home this fall has been in Dublin where he's studying Irish history, literature and politics in a program called the Institute of Public Administration. A fourth component of the program involves interning in the Dail Eireann, the Irish Parliament.

The Dail meets in the Leinster House on Kildare, not far from Trinity College and St. Stephen's Green in downtown Dublin.

He works for Timmy Dooley, a TD from County Clare in the west of Ireland. Timmy is a member of the ruling Fianna Fail (Republican) Party and serves as Vice-Chair on the European Affairs Committee and it's the latter that is of special interest. Ireland is the only EU member to have not ratified the Lisbon Treaty and Timmy's committee involvement has given Jacob a window on Ireland's struggle to position the country within the EU, maintaining their historic independence and taking economic advantage of their membership. Timmy has been an awesome mentor while keeping an extremely busy schedule during the Dail's Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday weekly schedule.

Judging from Jacob's comments, Timmy has also kept him pretty busy as well, and hopefully it has been a mutually beneficial arrangement.

During our visit, Timmy treated us to dinner at the members-only dining room at the Dail. He arrived well after we were seated due to a meeting commitment, but we had plenty of time to observe his outgoing and gregarious personality and enjoy an outstanding dinner. After dessert we were treated to a gallery-view of a budget vote in the Dail, finishing just after 10PM. Fianna Fail prevailed, though the difficulties in the global economy have certainly complicated the process in Ireland.

Dinner with Timmy Dooley, TD representing County Clare in the Dail Eireann.

Bank of Ireland

In 1984, I joined the staff of First NH White Mountain National Bank and four years later became an employee of the Bank of Ireland as a result of their purchase of First NH Banks. Executives from the Bank of Ireland visited their first US acquisition regularly and we met Mark Hely-Hutchinson, Chief Executive and former Guiness executive and Frank O'Rourke, Deputy Chief Executive when they visited our office in North Conway, NH. One of my more embarassing moments occurred after coordinating an all-day realtor appreciation day at Attitash Ski Area and attending a management team welcome dinner in the evening for Frank O'Rourke. Exhausted after a day of making arrangements and skiing, I started dozing off seated next to Mr. O'Rourke after dinner. Taking notice of my lapse in judgment, our affiliate president, Mike Kirk, came around to my side away from our guest and assured me in no uncertain terms that I did not want to be falling asleep at that point in my banking career.Visiting Dublin 20 years later gave me the opportunity to visit the 'Main Office' for the first time. Beth and I entered from Westmoreland/College Street and followed the maze of corridors to the main entry. The building was originally built to house the Irish Parliament, opening in the 1730s, and became a Bank of Ireland property after 1800. We were granted entry into the House of Lords chambers, which have been preserved in more or less their original state. I introduced myself to a current employee and inquired as to the Bank's business standing, getting little positive feedback. Considering the price of it's stock has fallen roughly 95% since early 2007 and they're suffering from many of the same lending tactics that have crippled American banks, the response was not surprising. They seemed to be waiting for the ax to fall at any moment.


Ireland in recent years has been known as the Celtic Tiger for the dramatic upswing in its economy but the past year and a half has dulled the shine on the progress there. Still, I remember hearing of 18% unemployment on the Emerald Isle in 1988, and with many infrastructure improvements evident throughout our visit, present-day Ireland seems well ahead of 20 years ago in spite of the recent downturn.

The Bank of Ireland, 2 College Green, Dublin.

Dublin Ireland

Arriving in Dublin last Wednesday morning after the overnight flight from the US, Beth and I had most of the day to wander the streets before meeting Jacob and Nicole, who had spent the previous few days in Berlin visiting the site of her semester abroad in 2007. We headed for the tourist information center--not a very adventurous move but providing a scenic walk from our hotel on Kildare Street.

We proceeded to City Hall and through Temple Bar and came to the River Liffey. I'd say we were in awe of our surroundings or just plain tired--I'm not sure which--but the scenery was fascinating to these first-time visitors.

My next stop was a visit at the old parliament building, now an office of the Bank of Ireland, my former employer via their purchase of First NH Banks in 1988. I'll talk about my visit at BOI in a later post.

Across the street is Trinity College, pictured below, and we strolled through taking pictures at strategic locations and noting the whereabouts of The Book of Kells for Beth and Nicole's visit later in the afternoon. (Jacob and I had another mission, picking up some luggage at his host family's house in Dun Laoghaire, south of the city) It turns out they are very compatible in terms of museum visits. Trinity was estblished in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I of England on an expansive property outside the city but now is surrounded by the city

Unsuccesful in an attempt at early check-in at our hotel, we strolled down Kildare Street to the current Parliament Building, Leinster House, where we would have dinner later, to the National Museum of Ireland, dedicated to Archaeology & History of Ireland, and including Bronze Age and Iron Age gold artefacts and "the world's most complete collection of medieval Celtic metalwork," according to Lonely Planet.

Though tired from the long trip, we were sustained by the fascinating collection and did not hurry to leave. I have no argument with LP's assessment.

To be continued...

Thanksgiving in Ireland

Thanksgiving vacation in Ireland from Mullaghmore Head, Co. Sligo---one of many fascinating and beautiful places we visited.

Ireland-bound

Growing up just short of the Adirondack foothills in the rural Upstate New York town of Galway, meant spending alot of time in the dairy farming land that surrounded our village home. I enjoyed haying with neighbors, eating wild red raspberries and sledding in the winter. Still I was always alert to the mention of faraway places. One, naturally, was Galway, Ireland.

Galway NY was settled in 1792 by Scottish farmers as New Galloway, and the story goes that, when the town was incorporated in 1838, an Irish clerk in the Saratoga County Registry mis-spelled the name of the new town, and it stood.

Attending Joseph Henry Elementary Elementary School (named for the first secretary of the Smithsonian Institution) in the early 1960s, I did a social studies report in Mr. Rowland's 6th grade class that combined information about Galway NY and Galway Ireland. Other than the name, the two towns had little in common but that didn't deter me. Mr. Rowland overlooked the lack of commonality and rewarded my hard work with a good grade.

Later in life I had my next brush with Ireland when my employer, First NH Banks, was the first banking company outside of Ireland to be purchased by the Bank of Ireland. The year was 1988 and they bought at the top of the market. Soon streams of BOI executives toured all over New Hampshire, even our office in North Conway, to visit their new investment. They included Chief Executive Mark Hely-Hutchinson, a Brit who previously chaired Guiness, and Deputy Chief Executive Frank O'Rourke, an Irishman, but born in Chicago. BOI was optimistic that with 18% unemployment at home, their path to growth was overseas. By the time I left the company in 1991, due to the inevitable consolidation of bank-wide departments, the Irish were regretting their purchase. It took many years for them to recoup their intial losses and sell their share of Citizen's Bank at a profit.

Now the "Celtic Tiger" is at a slight downturn mirroring the world economy, but coming off an extended period of growth that coincided with its menbership in the European Union and lowered the unemployment rate to 3.5%.

Fast-forward to September 2008: youngest son Jacob, a senior majoring in Political Science at Northeastern University, leaves for a semester-long program with the Institute of Public Administration in Dublin. Jacob is taking courses in Irish Literature and History and interning in the Dail (Irish Parliament) with Timmy Dooley, a member of the ruling Fianna Fail Party from County Clare.

Beth and I are headed to Ireland for the Thanksgiving Holiday to see Jacob and a 4-day motor-tour of the country, including Dublin, Belfast, Cavan, Galway, Limerick and as many more sights as we can see. Beth wants to see the Cliffs of Moher and my old First NH White Mountain Bank boss, Mike Kirk, recommended driving the Ring of Kerry, so we'll have to move fast to see all we want to see in 5 days.

To be continued.....

My Vote

My father gave me two insights, among many, into the status of African-Americans in our country in the early 1960s. The first was on a trip to New York City to see relatives in Brooklyn and a ball game in Yankee Stadium. Wherever we went in the city, he cautioned me to stay away from various people of color and I developed a fearful respect of their existence. He never said it, but as I grew older, I sensed that he wasn't practicing racial discrimination, just the recognition that life in the city was difficult and people were just as likely to victimize you for the sake of their own survival (right or wrong) as they were to say or do something nice to you.

One Thanksgiving, Dad, who taught Mathematics at Union College in Schenectady, NY, brought home one of his students for dinner. His name was Bob Holland and he was a star basketball player. I don't remember if the trip to his home outside Detroit, Michigan was too long or if he couldn't afford it, but Dad decided that Bob shouldn't spend the holiday alone and invited him to join us. He was an immediate hit to this family of 4 boys aged 7-17. We all took our turns trying to defeat him at ping pong and when our efforts proved futile, he gave us a second chance by switching to his left hand. Still, his athleticism and skill lifted him to victory.

Bob became a family favorite and in the winters that followed, I begged to attend Union home basketball games to watch Bob and his teammates, who more often than not came away victorious. This congenial, athletic, intelligent, and charismatic man became my new standard for not only people of color, but remarkable individuals of any race. I knew then, at the age of 10 or 11, that race was no limitation in defining a person's potential or character.

Through the civil rights movement of the 60s, the death of Martin Luther King, my college years at a small New England liberal arts school with a limited minority population, I marveled at the dignity of African Americans in the face of such horrible treatment in white America. And I questioned how a country built on the values of equality and opportunity could continue to allow race to be such a divisive factor.

Over the last 40 years, events have suggested improvement in the situation, some with personal connections. I was pleased to see the Sports Editor of my college newspaper from my freshman year, Bryant Gumbel, rise to elevated network TV status. I celebrated in the early 90s reading that a African American college classmate, John Jenkins, had been elected Mayor of the City of Lewiston, Maine--at the time a mostly white town. (John is currently Mayor across the river in Auburn.)

And not long after our whole family was pleased to hear in the news that Bob Holland had been the first person not named Ben or Jerry to be President and CEO of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. The irony of his rising to this position, I later learned, was the fact that he (and all others of color) had been barred from Sullivan's Ice Cream Shop, growing up in his hometown of Albion, Michigan.

In my recent visits to New York City, especially Manhattan, I noted the change since the 1960s in terms of the racial landscape. I've walked the streets of Harlem, where my father never would have gone, and witnessed the tremendous diversity downtown, where conceivably every ethnic group in the world is somehow represented; all of them participating in some fashion in the synergy of this financial capital of America.

While New York and other major American cities reflect ethnic diversity as a function of economics, one other place struck me in recent years in the same way: the Santa Monica Pier. A visit with a former Bates College roommate and ski teammate Norton Virgien in California included a walk out on the pier among Asians, Latinos, African Americans and others, all enjoying the beautiful day, the ocean, the pier vendors and performers. They weren't there by necessity and yet all co-existed and reveled in the day.

This week when I cast my vote for President of the United States, I thought of Bob Holland and John Jenkins, New York City and the Santa Monica Pier; and voted for a man who, for the first time in my opinion, will be a President for all Americans, not just those of a certain race or ideology. I don't think that America has a greater need than the leadership of someone who has compassion for all of its citizens and the ability to project it globally.

I'm truly proud to have cast my vote for Barack Obama.

Cannon Mountain NH

The first time I summited Cannon was in June of 1995 on my first Icebreaker Hike with Wilderness staff from Camp Calumet. The day was perfect and the view beckoned us across the valley for a 2nd day on the Lafayette Range, in lieu of our original plan to hike the Kinsmans.

We were lead by D-Guy (Don) Johnson, the executive director of the camp, who loved the outdoor experience, but was so busy in his guidance of the camp that he seldom had the opportunity to enjoy it himself. He made sure that the Icebreaker was that opportunity each year. D-Guy also loved the food and the bunks at the AMC Huts, so we lived in relative comfort in spite of the rigor of the hike. Joining Don and I were a diverse group of counselors: David Hall from New Zealand, Lara Coleman of South Africa and Skip Slocum from Michigan.

We arrived at the Lonesome Lake Hut in the middle of the afternoon and quickly decided the 1.7 mile hike to Cannon and back would be short enough for us to get back for dinner. Hiking the Lonesome Lake Trail to its junction with the Kinsman Ridge Trail in the col between Cannon and the Cannonballs went easily but the scramble up Cannon was another story. By the time we reached the Rim Trail and the view east our legs were screaming for oxygen. The distress dissolved once we took in the broad vista facing us. It's no wonder the Old Man choose that face of the mountain to reside.

The next day was re-routed down through the Notch, up Falling Waters Trail, over Lincoln and Lafayette and down to Greenleaf Hut for our second night's stay.

In addition to some awesome weather and great hiking, we enjoyed D-Guy's late night reading of "the Cremation of Sam MacGee" and endured the overnight snoring of a certain member of group. (Dave moved to a vacant bunkroom and thus was above suspicion.) Sharing our wilderness and devotional stories established a camaraderie that continued unabated through the summer, ending only with tearful good-byes.

This past weekend I returned to Lonesome Lake Hut with Beth and her brother, Charlie, his bride of 6 months, Luz Maria, and her thirteen-year-old son Ignatio (Nacho for short), who were visiting from Chile. After a night at the hut we split in two groups, with Beth, Charlie and Luz Maria heading back down to the Notch, and Nacho and I retracing my ascent of 13 years ago. Again, I was lulled by the ease of the Lonesome Lake Trail and then struggled up the formidable scramble of Cannon's southwest shoulder. Nacho speaks little English and I don't go much beyond 'hola' in Spanish, so our stops for 'photos' at each trail junction gave us a level of communication and served to break up the climb.

We met Beth, Charlie and Luz Maria at the summit tram terminal and escorted them around the Rim Trail to much the same view as I'd first seen 13 years ago. It was quite a coincidence to again have two people with me in this spot, who were born in the Southern Hemisphere.

This ascent of Cannon varied in two significant ways though--we took the tram down and saved our knees for another day, and the Old Man was no longer there, having fallen to the valley a number of years ago. As Tom Rush says, "it's strange to have outlived a geological formation."

Charlie, Luz Maria and Nacho are heading back to Chile and in parting last night, Nacho said: "we climb mountain again!" Anytime, Nacho.

Butch Cassidy

We watched "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" last night. It seemed like the right thing to do, in memory of Paul Newman on the day of his passing. Besides we have 54 channels and nothing was on, and Beth hadn't seen the movie before.

I've seen the movie more than any other, I think, although I don't keep track. The first half-dozen viewings were when it first hit the theatres in 1969, the year I graduated from high school. With the turmoil of the Vietnam War, recent assissinations of MLKing and Bobby Kennedy, the shadiness of the Nixon administration, et al., the idea of going "someplace like Bolivia," as Butch suggested, appealed to me.

I'd forgotten how much the movie had become part of my psyche in those days and, not having seen it recently, how much vicarious pleasure I take in watching it. I'll never be an outlaw, but there's a part of me that inherently distrusts the e'stablishment' and those self-important patriots like Nixon, Reagan, Bush and McCain who exploit our soldiers for their own political gain. I guess that's what took me to New Zealand a couple years ago.

And I often feel like Butch: "I have vision, and the rest of the world wears bifocals."

Thanks Paul for your Butch Cassidy and all the other great roles you played. And for my favorite brand of marinara.

The Downeaster

The end of August marked the end of Jacob's one-year residence at Apt. 6, 666 Tremont Street in Boston. What took 3 or 4 mini-van loads moving in, warranted a U-Haul van moving out, so I determined a one-way rental was most economical and took The Downeaster from Portland to Boston the day before the big move. Jacob drove down from Camp Calumet in New Hampshire to meet me and as coincidence would have it, Beth was enroute from Sara's move home from DC and could pick up the car in Portland. With all the logistics worked out, the train ride on The Downeaster, my first, was relaxing to say the least. I had all day and nothing to do until the next morning.

The view from a train is uniquely different from the turnpike: most is of commercial backlots, cluttered or overgrown railroad sidings, forest and undergrowth, bankings and backyards. Interesting snapshots appear and disappear as quickley as they come into view:

Somerville MA

Since transferring to Northeastern University, Jacob has played with a band called "The New Originals." They haven't had a busy performance schedule but it's been fun for him to practice and play in his spare time. Recently, with guitarist Taylor Davis's imminent departure for Vancouver, BC to continue his Philosophy studies, bassist Dave Piper arranged a final concert for the band and their alter-ego "The Pretty Pennies," and surprised Taylor with a 8-song EP of the two groups songs.

Beth had a two day trial settle and had an unexpected block of time available, so we took a trip to Boston (actually Somerville, right next door) for the show.
The site was PJ Ryan's on Holland Street in Somerville, a place that could have been a great setting for the TV sitcom "Cheers," where everybody knows your name. We arrived before any of the band and the first person I laid eyes on was fellow Calumet staff-alum Dave Benedum, who I hadn't seen in a couple years. Our meeting was totally random and an unexpected pleasure.

Piper, Taylor, the Pretty Pennies and Jacob and Nicole arrived and put on a great show in spite of the limited sound system. Piper surprised Taylor and broke out the EPs to the pleasure of a pretty good size crowd of fans.

During the New Originals set they even let the aging rocker get up for a couple tunes by The Band and "Five Days in May" by Blue Rodeo. Thanks for letting me "sit in," guys!

My New Bike

Back when I was in college, my father gave me his brown metallic Raleigh SuperCourse road bike. He bought it to ride across Canada and I think he used it for that purpose at least once before a knowledgeable bike mechanic pointed out that it really didn't fit his 6'4" frame. He bought a new red Raleigh and gave me the old one, perfect for me at 5'9". Over the years I used it sparingly and fixed it up on more than one occasion. Finally, the cost to repair and replace wornout parts exceeded the original cost of the bike and after 35+ years of use I hung it up for good.

I celebrated the end of this year's Tour de France by purchasing a Trek 1.2 Road Bike and in spite of the rainy stretch of weather we've been having, I've been out for three good rides and must say I enjoy the new acquisition quite some and no little (as Damon Runyan used to say). It's a nice, white model with all the modern conveniences but I'm not into the technical aspects enough to spout all that. Getting out for a ride of 40 minutes to an hour at this point has been alot of fun. Hopefully the weather will clear sometime soon and I'll try some extended rides and maybe try out for the Dirigo High School staff team for next June's Trek Across Maine.

Coincidentally, I received a news clipping from New Zealand from the mom of one of my favorite students. Aaron Barclay is his name and at 16 he's become known nationally for his triathlon and cycling results. While he's hasn't had time to develope fully for the Beijing Olympics which start this week, I'll be watching for him to compete in London in 4 years. He's one of the more determined student-athletes I've known in my 13 years of teaching and I won't be the least surprised to see him represent New Zealand on the world scene. For his two national age-group championships, as they say in NZ, Good on ya, Aaron!

Mt. Redington

Mt. Redington proved to be an elusive summit in the June fog and mist as Beth, Mike and Katie and I followed the herd-path from South Crocker to the col between the peaks. Engulfed in new growth spruce we gave up and returned to the AT leaving Redington for another day. For me, Wednesday this week was the day.

Armed with research from Views From the Top and the AMC, this turned out to be one of my favorite hikes. It's really not much more than a walk in the wilderness, the climb itself is very forgiving and the views north (to the Crockers nearby and Bigelow Range beyond) are excellent. A test wind tower is apparently the reason for the trail from the logging operation below and the summit clearing and the tower has collapsed (as has the initial proposal for wind generation on the peak). The hiker's log is found in a canister marked "3984," obviously placed there before the shift in techtonic plates or the AMC guide, as it's now considered 4010. I've decided to climb all peaks in New England currently listed between 3950 and 4000 in case of a future shift.

After leaving the summit, I found the well-publicized herd-path to South Crocker and before long went off it, not once but twice, before regaining my way. It was following the recent moose tracks that threw me, but I should have known--as Beth reminded me on my return home--moose don't travel in herds.

Crossing South Crocker, I made North Crocker in good time and then crossed South one more time (4X so far in two months), catching a nice view of Sugarloaf on the way back down to Caribou Valley Road.

Redington is worth 4 South Crockers any day. Fresh off my experience with the Maine Writing Project it even inspired a poem:

Ode to Mount Redington

Through meadows of grass and spruce,
greens and browns and reds
and all hues in between,
the summit beckons as a siren,
and the legs and lungs comply.

A decade before the tree-hugger
deep inside me, stood incomprehensibly,
viewing the slopes of Redington cut clear
from the top of Sugarloaf,
before swooping down its wide slopes.

Now I follow the remnants of that logging operation
and a short trail cut to install a wind tower,
a test of the strength of currents across the summit.
The tower has blown over. I guess
they have their answer.

Viewless once, the summit is cleared as well
but pleasantly so and I search for the canister
containing the hiker's log. Elevation 3984 is inscribed but
the summit has pushed its nose to 4010 in recent years,
inviting peak-baggers like me.

A herd-path, a bushwhack to neighboring Crocker
is the choice for my descent. I gave up on that route
in the reverse and rain and fog once, a month
or two before. 'Bush'-whack it is for sure--and
spruce and hemlock branches whip my face as well.

A moose has used this route of late,
huge two-toed prints lead down to the col,
then disappear, much as that hulking animal does,
mysteriously into the brush. I'm lost.
(Moose do not travel in herds, my wife has since noted.)

I wonder what road the poet would have chosen--
herd-path, moose tracks fading
into the brush, ascent to
harness the wind for future generations--
face to face with new-growth spruce.