Belmullet Memories

By Mark Seavers

Friday 30th April 2004
“If I were you, I’d give yourself seven hours to get there… but at least you’ll miss the riots in Dublin!” Words of advice from a colleague on Friday morning. The drive from Dublin to Belmullet in Co. Mayo is a bit of a heartbreaker. We had been advised of two routes - one via Ballaghaderreen, the other via Collooney. I chose the latter on the basis that, allegedly, the roads were superior and set off from Dublin at midday. The traffic coming against me consisted of one long convoy of army vehicles heading from the Curragh camp to Dublin for the anticipated May Day “festivities”. The first three hours to Collooney were no problem. The next hour to Ballina was scenic but a little more tiring. However, that last hour from Ballina to Belmullet, almost drained me of the will to live. Through the picturesque towns of Bellacorick, Bangor Erris and Bunnahowen I could hear my inner child whinging, “are we there yet…are we there yet…are we there yet?”

Belmullet would be the club’s second away trip of the season after the Trainee weekend in Mullaghmore at Easter. As always with these trips we were at the mercy of the weather. The forecast for the weekend had been vague to say the least: north-westerlies freshening over the coming days. There was something about the word “freshening” that sounded ominous. By the time I arrived at Belmullet town centre at around 5.00pm it was not looking very promising. There was bright sunshine all right but also a very “fresh” wind from the North. What always worries me about inclement weather on our club weekends away is that the fallback plan usually involves trekking around mountains in high winds and rain…for pleasure! The hillwalking tendency at the Curragh SAC has been spreading alarmingly in recent years. I muttered a brief prayer to the gods for decent weather and headed out the road to our accommodation.

I was met at our house by proprietor Winnefred Cawley who informed me that I was first to arrive. This was a little unsettling as the boats and compressors were supposed to have left Dublin at seven that morning. After a few phone calls we ascertained that our advance party had also had concerns about the weather and had diverted to Achill to get in a sneaky dive and some shelter from the wind. For the next hour I endured phone calls about the endless vis, the abundance of life and the gargantuan depths achieved at Achill.

After a while Peadar Farrell arrived at the house with the requisite ingredients to make a chicken curry for fifteen people for the following night. Apparently, I’m not much of a cook so I was put peeling and chopping onions: the culinary equivalent of compressor duty. Over the next few hours as the sun sank slowly over Erris head the rest of our group arrived in ones and twos with sorry tales of traffic mayhem and that heartbreaking last hour to Belmullet. Spirits needed lifting and Lavelles pub in Corr Cloch was the place for it. A few years back Billy, the barman at Lavelle’s, had very kindly allowed Curragh to site our compressors on land near the pub during a dive weekend: now it was payback time.

Before we got too “settled in” our DO gave an outline of the following days diving. If the weather was good enough we would head to Eagle Island, a 133ft rock with a lighthouse about 20 minutes boat ride from the beach. The lighthouse was established in 1835 and automated as recently as 1988. There used to be two lighthouses on the island but the weather around these parts can be a bit…“fresh”. So, after the fourth demolition of the east lighthouse by wind and sea in 1894, they refused to rebuild it. There is a magnificent aerial photo of the Island over the fireplace in Lavelle’s pub and on that Friday night as the pints went down, Eagle Island became a sort of must-do dive for the weekend.

Saturday 1st May
Miraculously, we managed to surface at 8.00am the following morning. The weather looked much better than we had expected. Bright sunshine, some cloud and a mercifully light wind from the north. We were diving in two sticks from Scotch Port a few miles past Corr Cloch. First stick was at 9.30am second at 11.30am. Most people would say that the lie-in you get when you are on second stick is something to treasure. Me, I prefer to take the pain in the morning and be showered, clean and sipping a pint while the second-stickers are arguing in the dusk about whose turn it is to do compressor duty.

After breakfast, we set off to the rocky beach at Scotch Port to put the boats in the water. A simple task you might think. However when Gerry O’Dowd’s 3ltr beast of a 4x4 momentarily got stuck at the shore line he narrowly escaped the indignity of having to get a tow from Jamie Hargrave’s Freelander, usually referred to by other 4x4 owners at the club as a “bird’s jeep”. Jamie told me later that he “could see the fear and shame in Gerry’s eyes as I began to unravel the tow rope”. Gerry agreed that his life would not have been worth living if he had had to take assistance from “that hairdresser’s jeep”.

With the boats in the water, attention turned to the options for the first dive. Unfortunately, the weather was not quite good enough to risk a run to Eagle Island so, running slightly behind schedule, we headed out of the bay towards Dun na mBo Head. We brought the boats in to about 20 metres from the rock face and checked the depth sounders. We were in 20-25m of water. I was diving with Gerry and after discussing our plan of action we rolled back off the rib and started to snorkel towards the rock. Face down in the clear blue Atlantic Ocean it was actually possible to make out the bottom some 25m below us. Our plan was to get to 22m and head east along the rock ascending in stages. The startling clarity of the water became obvious to us as we descended to our agreed depth. We finned the final few metres to the rock to be greeted by a blaze of colour from the abundant jewel anemones on the wall in front of us.

Apart from two or three Ballan Wrasse, we saw very little sea-life on this dive. It was a little too early in the year and a little too cold at 10 degrees. However, the stunning shapes and forms of the rock-face, the colour and clarity of the anemones and the endless vis more than made up for the eerie lack of fishlife. About 20mins into our dive the sun emerged from behind cloud and cast bright yellow light down through 15m of water to further illuminate the scene around us. It was as if Mother Nature had flicked a light switch just to remind us where we mortals stood in the greater scheme of things. Incredible as it may seem, the visibility that we had been enjoying broadened further. At this point I could make out many of the divers from the two boats in both directions and at all depths. Gerry and I stopped, and looked at one another. There are no hand signals in the CFT manual to convey this sort of sensation. We were in for a weekend of perfect vis.

As we approached the shoreline on the inward journey, about an hour behind schedule, we could see the divers from the second stick lugging their gear down the beach. As they helped us bring the boat in there were anxious enquiries about how our dive had gone. I’m quite sure the self-satisfied looks on our faces told them what to expect.

One of the most amusing sights on a two-stick diving weekend is to watch the DO’s jovial demeanour slowly unravel as the schedule starts to go out the window as a result of tossers turning up late for dive briefs. I got a good sight of this process as I arrived at the beach after lunch at 2.45pm for a 2.30pm brief. I offered my excuse, which included the Club PRO, her car, a big rock, a cracked sump and the local garage. I got a withering look in response.

The afternoon dive was going to be another attempt at Eagle Island or a site to the left of Scotch Port. As soon as we got out of the shelter of the bay it was obvious that it was not going to be the elusive Eagle Island. Too much white water. We headed back across the mouth of the bay and found some shelter between a large rock and a headland. I was with Gerry again and we went in at the north end of the rock while the other boat put divers in near the gap. The plan was to go to 20m max and to head along the wall towards the gorge. Once again the visibility was astounding. Once again, the fish life was minimal. However, what really impressed us both on this dive was the savagery of the rock formations. The rock we had dived in the morning had been sheer. This area was jagged and uneven with large overhangs and deep caves.

Steve, our cox’n had told us that we might see something interesting at the point between the rock and the headland. We arrived at that point about 15 minutes into our dive. Below us was a giant fissure in the rock where, at some stage in geological history, something pretty violent had occurred. A steady stream of telltale bubbles was flowing upward out of the ravine. Gerry and I finned out over the opening to investigate. About 10m below us were Jamie and Jean inspecting the wall of the gorge. They ascended to our level we headed out and away from the overhangs to do a safety stop. Afterwards, Jean reckoned that the maximum depth in the gorge was around 40m.

On that warm sunny Saturday evening with beautiful views of the Atlantic coastline compressor duty didn’t seem so bad. “Ah sure, nobody minds filling bottles in weather like this” chirped the DO as he passed by sipping a beer, not filling bottles!!!

Peadar’s curry went down a treat that evening: apart from the onion, which apparently, was the wrong consistency. Later, in Lavelle’s, with the picture of Eagle Island mocking us, the mystery of the missing fish was resolved. Apparently two other divers on our afternoon dive had found a cave at 27m in which there was an abundance of cuckoo wrasse, squat lobster and everything every other fish and crustacean you could imagine. That was their story anyway. As is customary on nights such as these, Aidan Fallon produced his guitar and exhausted his repertoire before we made our way for home and some much-needed sleep.

Sunday May 2nd
Sunday morning started as all Sunday mornings should - slowly and gingerly. The sun had gone but the wind remained relatively subdued. At the 9.30am dive brief the DO informed us that if the weather was good enough we would make a run for Eagle Island. (How many times had we heard that this weekend?) We exited the bay, turned right and awaited the verdict from the DO who was in the other boat. God bless his eyesight because, by all accounts he could see enough cover on the south of the Island to warrant a trip. Within 20 minutes Eagle Island was towering above us. There was plenty of shelter so we kitted up and got ready to go. I was diving with Peadar this time. If there were fish there we would find them.

The rock around this side of the island seemed to consist of gigantic smooth boulders covered in jewel anemones and dead man’s fingers and separated by 40m canyons. We descended to 30m and dived close in to the island. The visibility was as good as it had been the day before, except without the additional assistance of a strong sun. We ferreted around the rock for a while and saw some lone wrasse before turning away from the island and crossing a canyon towards another looming wall. With such clarity in the water it felt as if we were hang gliding through an alpine region with towering rock all around us. As we approached the wall we could see a shoal of whiting ahead of us. Fish at last! They appeared translucent and were motionless in about half-dozen rows. As we neared them the moved away in unison. We headed back across the valley toward the island and our safety stop.

Diving Eagle Island was very rewarding. Apart from the novelty of seeing a shoal of fish, the mountainous rock formations, beautiful anemones and near perfect vis made it the most dramatic dive yet. We returned to shore determined to make another visit in the afternoon.

Alas, Nature has a way of rationing its beauty. When we approached the Island it was obvious that the swell was a good deal heavier than on the morning dive. There didn’t appear to any real cover from the sea so we headed back towards Dun na mBo, about halfway between Eagle Island and our base. We pulled up between Dun na mBo rock and the mainland. There was some cover in waterway between the two sheer rock walls. Our DO swore that he had dived it before and that it was well worth a visit. I have to say I was sceptical. Peadar and I stayed with our boat awaiting the return of the rest of our group. When they surfaced they were very enthusiastic about the dive. Fair enough so, we’ll give it a go.

We dropped to 27m and headed north-west against the current for about ten minutes before turning around and drifting back with the flow. We were hang gliding again. Suspended in a steep ravine between the rock and the land. The dive was effortless as we were towed along gently on the tide. Another dive, another distinctive rocky environment. At the end of this tight ravine the walls suddenly recede and you enter a cathedral like hollow with a distinct circle of pure white sand on the bottom, about 30m in diameter. At the far side of this circle around the rock there was every sort of wrasse and rockfish you could hope to see, including the beautiful male Cuckoo Wrasse. It was a dramatic end to a breathtaking weekend’s diving.

On Sunday night we assembled at the Carne Golf Club for dinner. Afterwards, we visited Lavelle’s one last time. We could make out the morning dive site on the photo above the fire. At closing time, in a desperate attempt to find more drink, we made off for Belmullet’s only night-club, the name and location of which, is lost to me I’m afraid. Then back to one of the houses for the obligatory ballad session before heading back across the valley to our house and bed in the glorious daylight of a Bank holiday Monday morning.

Monday 2nd May
I took the Ballaghaderreen route home. Was in Dublin in three hours forty minutes. I now know two things for certain. Firstly, the trip back from Belmullet is best undertaken after a maximum of three hours sleep. Any more and you lose the anaesthetising effects of Mayo hospitality. Secondly, it is possible to enjoy great diving in the absence of abundant fish life when you have a combination of endless visibility and the spectacular rocky coastline of the West Mayo. It was worth every minute of that heartbreaking drive.

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