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The size of the River Shannon had been a shock but now, just a few miles from the narrows of Athlone, the river banks were falling back and the horizon broadening, and broadening: we had arrived on Lough Ree; the scale of which was a whole new world.
 Lough Ree!
We had left Athlone early, having switched the VHF radio on as always. There was rarely anything to listen into so we were astonished when, while we were still on the river, it had crackled into life with the announcement of the 9.15 weather forecast from Lough Ree Coastguard. We knew the lake was a large expanse of water: to learn that not only did it have its own dedicated weather forecast but also its own Coastguard put things in perspective. The forecast that followed was identical in style to those that we had listened to while out on the Irish Sea a few weeks previously. The day’s weather, fine with little wind, could not have been better as we had heard many horror stories and numerous warnings about the nature of Ree (or Derg, or any of the larger loughs for that matter) on windy days. We did not intend to go far as we were headed for the inner lakes: smaller lakes no larger than a few thousand acres, that were accessible through a narrow channel in Ree’s south eastern corner. We had been told of a sheltered spot in an even smaller lake off the inner lakes by Ted, a live-aboard boater from Shannon Harbour. We called it Ted’s mooring. We would never have found it without guidance as the channel doglegged through the rushes and was only a little wider than Hawthorn. The cutting opened up into a small reed bound lake which was both sheltered and empty of all other craft. Perfect. We spent the night at anchor, the first time we have ever done this, and used the dinghy to take Hobbes for his walk at the one spot where the surrounding meadows came down to the water. It was a quiet night and we did not lock the doors. 
The following morning was bright and truly still and, keen to make the most of the weather, we up anchored and got off early. Returning to the main body of Lough Ree we were delighted to find it absolutely smooth with the only disturbance to its glassy surface being our wake. This was more pronounced now that we had opted to tow the dinghy rather than stow it on the rear cabin roof. This way we felt more inclined to use it. Our plan for the day was to head up to Lecarrow Harbour, another spot well out of the way of waves: both wind generated or the wash from speedboats and jet-skis (Lough Ree is a popular play ground on sunny weekends). After running round Hare island: 140 acres of wood and meadow that looked idyllic but had an ugly recent history of disputed ownership that we were later told concerned an Irish Prime Minister, the sitting tenants and a period when any approaching boat was driven away by a man with a gun. I would love to write down what we were told in full but am loathe to until sure of the facts. To the north of Hare Island lies a notorious shoal that is the cause of more groundings than any other rock in the whole of the Shannon navigation so we watched the GPS screen carefully. Once clear we were in the main body of the Lough and still could not see another boat. After an hour’s cruising, we glimpsed our first craft, a small white cruiser stationary off one of the smaller islands to the east. Then other shapes could be discerned with the binoculars and we soon met a line of southern bound boats making their way to Athlone and beyond. After a few short hours we ran into Lecarrow and were relieved to find one mooring available, we were lucky in that it was two feet longer than Hawthorn and the owners of the expensive cruisers moored either side were, understandably, eager to take our ropes and help us in. As always, we spent the next couple of hours talking to other boaters. New arrivals were arriving all the time and in mid afternoon a small cruiser with a solitary man on it breasted up to Hawthorn. While helping him tie up to us, I noticed that his feet were covered in blood and asked him if he was OK. It turned out that his was the boat that we had seen in the distance off the island that morning: he was neither at anchor or fishing but had got his islands mixed up and run aground. A diver by trade he had gone into the water to try to push his boat clear and had cut his feet on some sharp rocks. Unable to free himself, he had rung for help and been quoted 400 Euros, a steep price that he had negotiated down to 150 when re-floating his cruiser had taken only a few minutes. We determined to keep a careful eye on our instruments and charts as the cost of getting Hawthorn re-floated if aground would be considerably higher.
Again, we had a peaceful night and decided to make the most of the continuing fine weather by running across the lough to Barley Harbour the next morning. We were not as early leaving as, with lots of boats in the small harbour, there was not enough room to turn Hawthorn until some of the late risers had breakfasted and moved on. Leaving mid morning also meant that the wind was stronger and blowing hard into our starboard beam as we ran due east across the most exposed part of Ree. We rolled a bit but nothing to compare with our experience on the Irish Sea. Barley Harbour is a cracking spot: it has no pub, or shop or any service for miles; the hire craft are advised not to use it - certainly not to overnight in it as a northerly gale would be a horrible experience, and many of the locals are nervous of it due to rumours of a large rock. (There is a large rock, but that there is at least four foot of water over was confirmed later when a party of swimmers took turns standing on it). For these reasons it is really quiet. The presence of a flat area of cut grass and a slipway meant that it was the best mooring to date for the dog.  We had not long been moored when we were approached by a party that had driven down for a picnic, one of whom had lived on a barge and was keen to have a look at Hawthorn. We invited them onboard; they invited us to their picnic. We spent the remainder of the day sat on the grass enjoying good food, fine wine and some really stimulating and interesting company. Our weekend on Lough Ree, which had started in solitude in the inner lakes, ended with a gentle party while we looked across Hawthorn, over the water and into the distant hills to the north. Given that so many people had concerns about Barley Harbour, we had thought long and hard about the wisdom of using it. We were very glad that we did and it now tops our growing list of places to return to. Barley Harbour  |
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