| Few parts of Ireland can match the color, fantasy and splendour of Mayo. Steeped in tradition and history it can boast every extreme ... from the desolate beautiful bogs of Belmullet to the breath-taking vistas of the Atlantic seen from Westport, Mulranny and Achill Island. Lying quietly somewhere in between, largely unknown except to generations of visiting anglers from all over the world, you'll find the surreal Magic of Pontoon. Here Lough Conn and Lough Cullen meet in a narrow strait between rolling hills, lush green woodland and bogland lakes, carving their way through land where every field has a name and every Hill has a history. Carraig na Feile (corrig na felye) - Hill of the Poets - gaire Neachtain ( gorre Nyochtain) - Naughton's Garden - Cnoc na Ri (cnoc na ree) - Hill of the Kings - The Shraheen - mostly there's no trace left of the dwellers who once lived in these parts and beyond the reach .. drawing life and sustenance from an annual cycle of growth, decay and Spring's renewal. Despite it's beauty, the land owed it's native inhabitants no favours, and for all they respected and loved it there was still only one pressing reality .. survival. That came from being in tune with the winds, the seasons and the soil. Survival depended on something else too ... a feel for the land, it's Soul, and the Spirits that wandered and lived within it. Not all of these had a name, and none of them was really to be feared, but they were there .. An Taibhsheach, Phoocha,,the Banshee and Spirits of the Night all lived in a World that went back before Time touching on mortals more by accident than design. It was an invisible World, but as real as the rising sun, and never far away. It sat alongside every task of the day and every strange noise of the night. Most of all, it came alive in the Music. Music that reached beyond. . Nowhere here do they have time for leprechauns and Wee People.. these are easily spoken of. The others are not. Some in these remote areas might admit to hearing the wail of the Banshee maybe once in their life-time, her blood-curdling cry freezing them where they stood, or nervously point towards that part of the bog where 'strange things happened'. Mostly these events are personal and not lightly shared. You don't invite trouble. And Music? In this land there is a special feeling for this too - a recognition of the language of Life that bridges the world of Body, Soul and a living Pagan past that refuses to go away. With luck it never will Dufada |
