Ghost town
The track to the deserted village on Achill Island is blinding white.
The sparkling Quartzite from the former stone quarry sits in stark contrast to the pitch black of the peat brick wigwams drying in the sun.
The village itself is silent, save for the twitter of little brown bog birds and the odd ‘baa’ of the horny sheep.
Around the bend, a little way on, we are faced with bus-loads of tourists in the not-so-deserted part of of the village.
I’m all sketched out so I make my way through the huffing puffing crowds.
If you are heading this way I definitely recommend setting off from the famous ‘lost beach‘, in Dooagh. Particularly since they’ve found it again now!
On the way down to Grace’s dungeon a young girl ran at me whispering in a loud hiss ‘this house is haunted!!’ I swear I saw the ghostly figure of the pirate queen in a swan pedalo.
That was not as spooky as the fantastic ‘party waxwork room’ full of Irish artistic talent. Their eyes follow you everywhere to the sound of the fiddle… I wasn’t sticking around to add colour!
I calmed down with coffee and cake in the tea room. Trying not to think about what those massive hooks on the ceiling were for. I’m sure that stag just winked at me!
I ran across the field in front of the house whilst finishing this one, but I think the wonkiness adds to it! The tour waits for no one!
3. Go to Vaughan’s in Kilfenora for a pint. Also featured in ‘Are you right there Father Ted’. 
After all that culture, I needed a bit of nature, so finished up at the Cliffs of Moher.
The ferry to the Island has a super quick turn around – 30 seconds and the car has disembarked via crane!
Grace’s 16th Century castle looms over the harbour.
It’s a gorgeous walk to the lighthouse at the North of the Island.
Sadly, the lighthouse is gated off, so I have to peer over the wall. 
Grace is buried in the Abbey graveyard on the south of the Island. There is an eerie mist hanging on the hill behind. I can hear a crying child… but there is no one there. 
Exhausted, I manage one final quick sketch before the ferry arrives.
I’ll dream of plunder and sketching tonight!
Beach-watching and sunburn at Lettergesh.
After being bombarded with rain drops the size of apples at Aashleagh falls, I was relieved to stand, legs akimbo and dry my trousers at the 
The weather continued to race through this sobering spot where hundreds died in 1849.
By the time I’d managed a truly bracing dip in the Atlantic, it was just visible from the lovely 
I persisted with wrinkled pages and a soggy bottom outside the shrine…
Dried off with soup and sandwiches and a quick sketch from a cafe.
Knock is awash with souvenir shops. You can pick up holy water bottles ranging from the full litre sizes featured above, to tiny handbag sized ones shown below. 
If that’s not your thing, maybe a tiny ‘Our Lady of Knock’ font or a glow in the dark Holy Mary.
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