I arrived at the Valley House, a lovely old farm estate where the stables had been converted into hostel accommodation. I checked in at the same time as three ladies from Dublin who were keen to make the most of the good weather and get to the beach, but didn’t want to drive since they planned to take beers with them. I offered them a lift, which they appreciated, I dropped them off at the Golden Strand before continuing on a short drive to explore that area of the island. Later I returned to the hostel in time for dinner and a few beers at the bar while writing my blog and listening to live music.
It was around 1am when the ladies came back into the dorm, along with some other guests who were staying in the room. They’d clearly been down at the bar hitting the sauce pretty hard. One of the other guests even drunkenly fell out of bed during the night — from the top bunk! Apparently he just lay on the floor for a while before getting back into bed… not before mistakenly trying to climb into other people’s bunks. What a racket.
A fresh continental breakfast was included in the stay, a great spread to start the day. I headed out west across the island towards the very photogenic Keem Beach and Croaghaun Cliffs, the highest sea cliffs in Europe. I decided against hiking up to the cliffs, knowing I was bound for Slieve League in a few days — the second-highest in Europe. Instead, I went in search of a “secret beach” I’d heard about.
The route involved a rough off-trail hike through bog, up a hill and then down steep cliffs. I started out on the Dooagh Loop Walk, along the aptly named Bog Road. The turf had already been cut in places, leaving huge excavations along the sides of the trail. Eventually I left the path and headed north, crossing about a kilometre of bog. I managed most of the way without sinking — just a few points where the ground tried to suction my shoes off.
Once I crested the hill I was rewarded with a stunning view of the coast. Below was a freshwater lake, separated from the ocean by a narrow strip of land. To the left, a steep hill sloped down to a rocky beach. To the right, sheer cliffs dropped to a small sandy cove — the secret beach.
I had to choose: the long way around, circling the lake, or the shorter but riskier way straight down the cliffs. Foolishly, I chose the cliffs. I bush-bashed through heather, ferns and long grass, lowering myself down rocky sections. More than once I had to backtrack after finding drops too high to climb down. At one point a ravine blocked the way, so I followed it down until it shallowed enough to cross. Finally, after nearly two hours of trekking and scrambling, I reached the beach. Not a soul for miles around.
So I did what anyone should do when they’ve got their own private beach… I went for a nudey swim.
The water was bracing but refreshing. I stayed in for about half an hour, even visited by a curious seal (by then I’d put my togs back on). After drying off, I prepared for the trek back. My legs were scratched from the descent, so I opted for the longer but easier route. To my surprise and the point I felt a fool, I discovered a subtle sheep track the whole way up — which would have made the descent far easier. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.
On the way back I passed four teenagers struggling to make their way around the lake. I called out to let them know there was a path, but they didn’t seem to understand and kept on struggling. Later I met a few families starting up the hill. We chatted about the trail and navigating the bog, and this time they actually listened and followed my route. Eventually I reached the Bog Road and looped back to the car — a solid little adventure, about seven hours in total.
I rewarded myself with a pint at Lourdie’s Pub before heading back to the Valley House to shower and soothe my scratched legs. That evening I caught up with the three Dublin ladies, Kelly, Sinéad and Michelle. That day they’d hired electric bikes to explore the island but quickly got fed up and ended up in a pub before getting a taxi back to the hostel. Over pints and live traditional music we swapped stories about the drunken antics in the dorm the previous night. Thankfully, the noisy lads had left and been replaced by a much quieter German couple.
The next day I took a trip out to Clare Island. The ferry from a small pier on Achill brought me across, and I hired a push bike — tempted by an e-bike until I saw the cost. Choosing the cheaper option I ended up on what seemed to be a rusted up old bike that was way too small for me and had zero suspension. I ended up only riding it on flats and slopes and walking it up the inclines.
I visited Clare Island Abbey, a medieval Cistercian church dating back to the 12th or 13th century, later rebuilt around 1460. Inside, its chancel ceiling still bears rare medieval frescoes, among the few surviving in Ireland. They depict mythical beasts, knights, stags, birds, and even musicians! a vivid glimpse into Ireland’s medieval imagination. The abbey also contains the O’Malley family tomb. Tradition holds that Grace O’Malley, the famous Pirate Queen of Connacht, is buried here.
I then continued along to the west side of the island where I hiked up to a Napoleonic-era signal tower. It offered stunning views of the cliffs along the coast. From there I made my way north to the Clare Island Lighthouse, now a private B&B. Another beautiful spot, and a short walk up a hill offered a really special view of the island’s north coastline.
Back near the pier I stopped for lunch and a pint, checked out Granuaile’s Castle, before catching the ferry back to Achill. I took a scenic drive along the south coast of the island before returning to the Valley House, where the dorm was once again filled with new faces — as is the way in hostel life.
I loved Achill, it left a real impression on me. Its natural beauty and peacefulness made me feel properly at ease.
Next up, I continue north to check out the cliffs at Slieve League, try what’s said to be the world’s best seafood chowder, and cross into Northern Ireland.
