It was a long drive (back along the Ring of Kerry) from our B&B to the port so we left early. If you aren't there on time, they go without you. We made it, but just barely, and we boarded the boat with 10 other people. There was another married couple sitting across from us that we struck up conversation with and spent some of our time with them. They were both doctors from the Midwest United States and they were really nice and fun to talk to about all the funny quirks we've discovered in Ireland and the UK.
Our boat was definitely the slow boat, although I'm not sure why. I think maybe it was just older and our "captain" was in no hurry. The trip out was long, it took nearly two hours and I found myself getting bored and restless.
There is this game I play with the kids when they are bored or tired or restless, I probably learned it at yoga or something. It usually happens when we are walking somewhere and they get tired of walking. But I just ask them to tell me what they are seeing, smelling, tasting, feeling, etc. It helps distract them and keep them present. I decided to play this game in my head to entertain myself. It was a really serene experience and I want to write it down, as best as I can recall.
I can see the ocean for miles and miles. I can see the glorious sun and it's reflection on the water. I can see the people around me and I wonder about them. I can see our hilarious sailor, cigarette hanging from his lip. I can see the skelligs and I can see the rolling Irish coastline. I can see birds- so many birds! Seagulls and puffins. I can see our old boat, with sea-worn wooden floorboards. I can see blue, blue sky.
I can taste the salty sea water that is splashing on my lips. I can taste the chewy Werther's that Richard passes to me. (He loves that candy.)
I can feel the ocean breeze on my face. I can feel the ocean spray on my cheeks and the back of my neck. I can feel the warmth of the sunshine on my skin and body. I can feel the rocking of the boat on my seat beneath me and under my feet.
I can't smell much at all, aside from clear fresh air, until we go past the little Skellig where the stench of bird waste is foul and heavy.
I can hear the splash of the water against the boat. I can hear the birds, there are SO MANY birds. I can hear the rustle of my jacket as the wind blows it and as I shift in my seat. I can hear the muffled voices of the others on the boat. I can hear the low grumble of boat's engine. I can hear another boat as it passes by us.
There are two peaks on Great Skellig, and the lower peak is the site of the monastery. It was built between 600-800AD and the monks built three staircases to the top. The staircases were all built with the rocks I've been mentioning so often, and the staircase we took to get to the monastery has something like 613 steps. There is now a lighthouse on the island so they have since built a road that goes around the periphery of the island at sea level, but the stairs were the only way up. And it should be noted that people have been killed falling off these staircases. Fortunately it was a dry day when we were there and the stairs were not slippery.
The monastery itself is quite impressive. It is believed that no more than a dozen monks lived there at any given time. They lived simply off birds, eggs and probably a small vegetable garden. They had cisterns to collect rain water and there are six beehive huts and two oratories.
There is a small valley, called Christ's Saddle, between the two peaks, and after we got back down to that valley we ventured across to the other peak. At the top of the higher peak is said to be a flat rock slab where pilgrims would come to make penance. Richard and I ventured part of the way up the peak, but the stairs were really narrow and steep and so we thought better of it. One of the park wardens said she had seen someone crawl out on that rocky slab and it made her heart race.
It was a remarkable thing to see and I felt so grateful that it worked out for us. It was kind of last minute and we were at the mercy of the weather so it was lucky indeed.