The Caves of Kesh Corran

As early as the 9th century, stories were penned surrounding the myth and folklore of Kesh Corran Mountain in Sligo. Particularly compelling are tales involving the caves in the face of the mountain which, from below, appear to be cozy little hobbit holes nestled within the Shire.

Far from peaceful and comfy though, legend depicts the caves as settings of dramatic and violent encounters with the “other world”. I’m intrigued by the story called “The Enchanted Cave of Kesh Corran.” It involves the Irish hero, Fionn Mac Cumhaill (pronounced Finn McCool) and his warrior band, plus fairies and witches.

To summarize, “Fionn’s band, the Fianna, were hunting wild boar in the area, while Fionn was watching the hunt from atop the Keshcorran cairn. Unfortunately Fionn neglected to ask permission for the hunt from the Conoran, who ruled from the fairy palace inside one of the Caves of Kesh. Conoran then sent three witches – his daughters – to punish Fionn for the trespass.

The three sisters, called the “Hags of Winter,” set a trap to capture Fionn, and bound him with a magic cord that made him as weak as an old man. He and his warriors ultimately escaped after being rescued by an ally who beheaded the witches.”( voicesfromthedawn.com)

So the Caves of Kesh Corran made it to my list of must-see places in Ireland. After a few short camping trips over the past few weeks to little festivals and places I’ve already blogged about, here was something new and beguiling.

When we got near the sight, we easily spotted the caves up on the mountain, just like in the online photos. We followed directions I found online to the parking spot at St Kevins Church. As we pulled in, an older man with a farmer look approached the AvantBard (our camper) to salute us (Irish people often say “salute” instead of “greet”. I like that for some reason). Dixie said we might like to have a look at those caves. The man said he thought that was a lovely idea and then I thought we’d be sitting there all day. When Irishmen start a chat, it’s a marathon. (I like that for some reason too. They’re so relaxed, never in a hurry which is a great cultural quality but sometimes annoying).

Now as soon as I open my mouth in Ireland, I always get the same response. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?” And I always come back with the same old silly reply, “You picked up on the accent, did you? You’re right! I’m not from here. I’m from Cork!” It usually (but not always) reaps a chuckle.

The man told us he had lived in this tiny, remote village his whole life. He had spent 45 years as a soldier in the Irish army, we assume stationed in nearby Galway. He was warm and articulate and gave us a brief history of the area. There were those who wanted to commercialize the caves and bring more economic growth to the village. But he and others objected because they were just so content with the quiet, simple country life.

He continued telling us he has two nieces in the civil service in America. The extended family was planning a vacation there this summer, but the nieces advised them to reconsider because of all the uncertainties. So they postponed the trip indefinitely.

“America isn’t what it once was,” he lamented softly, staring at the ground. There was a moment of silence as if for a death, then we changed the subject back to the mountain.

He told us we could stay put and walk a mile to the trail head, or we could drive to the “other parking lot” (which we knew nothing about) and save the trouble. We thanked him, wished him well and drove to the closer lot.

It looked like a really steep incline. Dixie was ready for lunch but I was too excited to eat. I went on ahead, knowing I’d be slow and he would catch up. It wasn’t as strenuous a climb as I’d expected, mostly a switch back type trail, with only a short steep climb. Still, Dixie caught me before I reached the first cave.

There were a few other explorers there milling around from cave to cave (there are 16 of them, some interconnected). They weren’t the most glitzy caves I’ve seen, the kind with crystalline stalactites and stalagmites that compete for your attention. There was mostly dirt and rubble and signs that the local sheep had discovered a handy shelter. 

I found a little niche up on a mound of boulders and crawled up to see what was below on the other side. It was another cave opening to the outside. There was a teenage girl standing alone down there and I howled a low pitched “Hellooooo” from above. She let out a terrifying scream and I was a little ashamed of myself. I apologized later, okay?

Archaeologists say the caves have been used by people for millennia. Maybe religious rites or burials? They’ve found some neolithic artifacts there, some bone fragments and unrelated teeth (nobody knows), but they don’t think the caves were used as housing. There were also wild and scary animal remains there dating back as far as 12,000 years.

The weather was remarkably gorgeous. When we left the caves we went on to Strandhill beach about a half hour away. That’s where I found fossils this time last year. Being the obsessive, greedy hoarder that I am, I wanted more…more…more! And I found more! The rugosa corals are especially plentiful there.

We spent the next day and night in Kinvara near Galway, one of our favorite little seaside haunts. Then home through the Burren, the spectacular 250 square km moonscape whose exotic beauty (the combination of stone and wildflowers) will take your breath away. 

We stopped by the road and Dixie had a cup of tea while I wandered among the 350 million year old limestone slabs, looking for…. more fossils (I found a wee little one) and just pondering the times when mountains, caves, beaches and fossils belonged to themselves and were not harassed by intrusive folks like me and Fionn Mac Cumhaill.