Aer Arann

by Peg Hernon

“The wind has the smell of rain in it” said Malachy, checking in for the 8:45 am Aer Arann Islands flight from Inis Mor, and his announcement brought a chorus of “Ah, No” from some departing passengers and resigned looks from others. Malachy, a retired fisherman, has a nose that’s regarded on Arain as being more accurate for rain than the Met forecast. Island residents listen to the Met Eireann forecast and we don’t hold a grudge when the forecast doesn’t quite match conditions here in the far West. This morning started dry and bright as the Met had forecast but Malachy’s nose is a barometer not to be ignored. I slung my rain gear over the back of my chair to have it handy and went out to the garage to get the baggage weight from the crewman at the scales. High above Killeaney Bay aircraft EI-CUW was just beginning its descent to land.

Passengers coming to the island in winter tend to be those with specific business here, like the dietician, sales rep, teachers and electricians who disembarked from the first flight from Inverin. Also among the arrivals was Archaeologist Michael Gibbons, a frequent visitor to Inis Mor because of the many Celtic and early Christian sites on the island. Michael is a natural teacher, approachable and always brimming with enthusiasm for his work. On his last visit here, while waiting for his outbound flight, he told me that Killeaney pier, just west of the airport, was part of a larger and much older harbour. He drew me a rough sketch and said I could see the remains of the ancient harbour below the pier at low tide. I watched the tides for a week and when low tide coincided with my lunch hour I went to the pier. I leaned against the ruin of Arkin’s Castle and looked down into the clean, shallow water. Between clumps of seaweed I could make out the darker outline of the old harbour marked by stone bollards - the posts used for fastening the mooring lines of boats. The old harbour was a busy port in the 10th century when Arain was the centre of Celtic Christianity.

The sky had darkened by the time the newspapers arrived on the 10:00 am Aer Arann Islands flight and were unloaded in fat bundles that landed on the luggage trolley with satisfying thumps. They were reloaded onto the airport bus and whisked to the Spar Shop in Kilronan village where, no doubt, a few residents were sure to be awaiting their arrival. The Irish love their newspapers and Aran Islanders are no different. Whether we agree with what’s in print or not, the daily paper is a scone for the mind that goes down well with the fruity kind and a mug of something hot at elevenses. If foul weather should delay, or God forbid, prevent the arrival of the newspapers, I’m sure to get a few phone calls about it. I’ve learned to steel myself for the call from the island Postmaster who is a dedicated reader of The Irish Times; without it, he’s as twitchy and cross as an addict deprived of a fix.

At the airport we get one copy of the Irish Independent every day that’s shared by four crew members and is read in an established pecking order: firemen first, bus driver next, and desk employee last. But no matter who has it, the Indo will be offered to an Aer Arann Islands pilot if one of them happens to be sitting out with us between flights – a courtesy to the random element in our small universe.

Light rain was falling when I met the 11:30 am flight that brought in a group of Japanese tour operators who had come to visit the sites and facilities of Inis Mor with a view to bringing groups here regularly next year. The group headed for the airport bus and the pilot headed for the office with the newspaper that had been handed to him as he passed the fire truck. The crew trooped in for lunch and I thumbed through a catalogue of office supplies that had arrived in the morning Post. The easy silence was broken only by the sound of rain against the windows and the low tones of the Met weather forecast on the radio reporting “a dry day all over with bright spells”.

At 1:30 pm the airport bus pulled up and dropped off one man from the Japanese group that was due to depart at 2:00 pm. The man, Mr. Noguchi, told me he was the tour guide who would accompany future groups to Arain and he wanted to see Bad na Naomh, the Saint’s Boat. Today was his only opportunity to see the Saint’s Boat as it was not on the list of sites that future groups would be visiting. Could I direct him to it? The Saint’s Boat isn’t an historical site; it’s part of the mythological landscape of Arain. It sits on a point of land on Killeaney Bay, north of the airport boundary fence. Public access to Bad na Naomh is along a path from the public beach east of the airport entrance gate, at least a 30-minute walk. I looked at the clock, the rain, and the hopeful face of Mr. Noguchi, and took him to meet Michael Conneely, the fireman on duty responsible for the airport grounds and vehicles. “Just this once,” said Michael, “I was about to do a runway check anyway” and we climbed into the fire truck, Mr. Noguchi in front with Michael, and me in the jump seat. We rolled along the runway, siren off, lights flashing, and came to a stop at the very end. “Five minutes” said Michael, and Mr. Noguchi and I hurried around the point to Bad na Naomh.

Saint Enda established Ireland’s first Christian monastery on Arain in 485 A.D. The legend from medieval folklore is that he arrived on Arain in a boat of stone. The sight of Enda crossing the waves in a stone boat so frightened the local Celtic chief that he fled the island. Enda came ashore and founded his monastery. The rock that is said to be Enda’s boat is the size and shape of a currach, and is darker in colour than the stone plateau on which it sits. The rain today made it appear black and stark against its surroundings. Mr. Noguchi was delighted. “It could be Japanese,” he said as he walked around Bad na Naomh snapping photographs, “simplicity of form and complexity of idea together in one”.

While Mr. Noguchi studied Bad na Naomh, I took in the view across Killeaney Bay. The last time I was here at Bad na Naomh, it was summer and the Bay was dotted with large colourful kites that moved gracefully and with great speed across the water like exotic birds. Occasionally, the dynamics of speed + lift allowed a surfer to become briefly airborne. They were beautiful, but unfortunately the group was kite surfing right in the middle of the flight path. Luckily, the kite surfers had arrived in Killeaney Bay around 1:00 pm which coincided with the mid-day break in flights at the airport. Michael Conneely and I drove up in the Jeep to see how we could get their attention. The kite-surfers had a person with binoculars watching them from a dinghy just below Bad na Naomh. Michael alerted him to the danger of where they were surfing, and very quickly the kite surfers turned and headed away to the beach near Kilronan village. Back at Bad na Naomh on this winter day, I couldn’t help but wonder what the 5th century Celtic chief would have made of the 21st century kite surfers. Then again, they might be small change compared to Enda in his stone boat.

On the way back to the airport building Michael pointed out the village named for Enda that sits above the pier. I pointed out the ruin of Enda’s Church above the beach to the east where he was buried in 535 A.D, and where 120 early saints are said to be buried with him. The names of the saints who left Arain after studying here with Enda are well known: Brendan the Navigator, Jarlath of Tuam, Ciaran of Clonmacnoise, Kevin of Glendalough, and Colmcille of Iona.

The fire truck arrived back at the airport building just as the bus came in the airport gate with the rest of the group for the 2:00 pm flight. Mr. Noguchi formally bowed his thanks, first to Michael and then to me, and we shook hands as well. The sun was breaking through as the aircraft taxied out.

Back at the desk I saw that the pilot had left me the newspaper, neatly folded and with all its sections. I got a coffee, turned off the radio that was announcing hail showers, and settled down to read by a sunny window.