The Trip To Bofin – 2005
Liam Mooney
It’s that time of year again. The Curragh Sub Aqua Club
and the West or Ireland, island Inishbofin become one.
Organised and orchestrated by the intrepid Neill Bannon (call
him Niall if you like to live dangerously!), this year the party
is somewhat smaller recent expeditions with consequent benefits
ferrywise when it came to loading and unloading the gear.
This time yours truly didn’t attempt to reverse his car
the last few metres to the boat, much to his insurance company’s
relief, thus avoiding of Ocatavia wing with metal bollard that
graced last year’s departure. The fact that everyone else
performed the manoeuvre, including an outsize petrol tanker, without
incident left me wondering if maybe they had moved the bollards
seawards in the recent past.
Having transferred gear to hotel on Bofin it was decided that
diving would commence at 3.30. Not all of the eleven or so divers
would participate. One was suffering from the rigors of the journey
and another, though enthusiastic enough, had a regulator hose
explode just before entering the water. In fact this almost decommissioned
another diver who was just two inches, he claimed, from the hose
when it popped. Those who did make the dive got through it unscathed
and returned tired but replete. From comments afterwards the feature
of the dive appeared to be the depths to which most descended,
varying between 30 and 45 metres depending on who was telling
the tale. Of course there the sightings of the ubiquitous lobster
or two, squat and otherwise, and not a few crayfish, or was it
dogfish or catfish?
As most people had been on the road since 6am and hadn’t
stopped going, the sumptuous meal provide by the Doonmore Hotel
along with one or two refreshments, before, during, and/or after
the meal determined a relatively early night ensued providing
for a fresh start on the morrow.
The “morrow” came clear skied and not quite as fresh
as forecast. The 10.30 am dive was to be Sunfish Rock. This time
everyone “bottled” up. But, possibly due to some oath
of secrecy, very few details of the dive itself were divulged.
In any case everyone was up for the afternoon’s foray to
Doon Na Heinhe. At this stage the ranks were swelled by the arrival
of Niall Stapleton, Alan Harte and Brian Holland. The last named
actually arrived rather mysteriously the night before looking
like a cross between Jacques Cousteau and Stirling Moss.
The dive went well under the auspices of Alan O’Dowd, leading
diver candidate and (exemplary) ‘DOD’.
Jean Kelleher, another ‘LDC’ would be the next incumbent.
Of her performance I will make no comment as, if it’s good,
I’ll be accused of bias and, if it’s otherwise, I’ll
be making alternative sleeping arrangements for the foreseeable
future.
Day three and due to unchanging weather conditions – South
Westerly force 4 to 6, but don’t quote me – the boats
will go off the North Beach again and head to similar hunting
grounds as the previous two excursions.
The dive, to the North of the East Beach, went well with depths
far in excess of those usually achieved out of the Sandycove club
house.
When they returned Neill produced a laptop and we were regaled
with photos (and tall tales) of the deep, some of the previous
evening’s ‘winding down’ and, for some unknown
reason, snaps of what seemed like four weddings, if not the funeral.
A couple of the studies showed a rockling lying in wait as an
unsuspecting rasse was about to pass by, or he thought. The next
shot looked like a small sand storm but was, we were told, the
ensuing schamozel of ‘rocky’ grabbing a quick bite,
the morsel giving a pretty good account of itself in it’s
wish not to be on the menu. However in this fish-eat-fish world
the big guys, if they’re stealthy and quick, can and do
dine well.
The evening ended with Eugene on guitar and the rest of us trying
desperately to remember songs and more desperately, believe me,
to sing them.
Tuesday morning was overcast and a little wet but it takes more
than that to quench the enthusiasm of the CSAC diver. They headed
back to North Beach but hung a left this time, excuse the nautical
navigational term, until they hit some rocks, if not literally.
A heavy current greeted the first stick (whatever a stick is)
which, of course, the second stick were able to avoid. The deeper
the dive the better the vis(ibility) and marine life was plentiful.
The afternoon dive continued the theme with the divers not venturing
too far away from North Beach. Again the vis was better the deeper
the dive. The evening was rounded off again with music and song
some of which was provided by a visiting painter, ably assisted
by our very own Eugene.
Wednesday was the unofficial ‘break’ day with some
not diving in the morning and others not diving in the afternoon.
The wind had strengthened so it was remarkable there was any diving
at all.
Those wanting to hold with tradition, namely Neill and Paul ‘Welly’
Weldon, and this landlubber went on a tramp to East Beach whereon
Neill and Paul donned swimming trunks and braved the waves –
Neill has pictorial evidence but it’s my guess this will
stay in his private collection. The journey back to the hotel
took us pas Days bar where it was considered expeditious to revive
the swimmers with a liquid tonic - or two.
It appears the afternoon dive went well, the participants showered
and changed by the time we made the trek back from the harbour.
All other musicians both local and visiting had departed so we
were serenaded for the night by Eugene (guitar) and Brian (Bodhran)
and any singer who could remember more than one line of a song
and quite a few who couldn’t.
Thursday’s adventures included a dive to ‘the caves’.
Still off the North Beach but a shallower dive than many of the
others. Sea life, apparently, was abundant and, armed with a good
torch, there was much to be seen or so I was told. A few souls
went on a night dive, namely Tiernan Norton, Jean and Kevin St
John (a recent arrival who was, along with Karen Kelleher, recently
promoted to club diver) shoremarshalled, initially, by Siobhan
McGlinchey and then by ‘guest’ diver, Jim, who had
dived with the club earlier in the day. The highlight of the dive,
apparently, was the spotting of an octopus. Well alright, it was
no bigger than a human thumb nail but it was, all were agreed,
an octopus.
While all of this was going on the other members of the club had
drifted down to Days bar where they could watch one of the island’s
many ‘St John’s’ night bonfires from the comfort
of the bar side.
Somewhat later Jean, Kevin and this poor fool (just returned from
Days) made a late night, or was it early morning, dash back to
the bar to join in the festivities only to find the bonfire watching
venue empty except for bar staff. Tinnies were purchased and a
reluctant retreat made to the ‘sitting’ room of Murray’s
Doonmore Hotel.
Friday dawned and the boats had been left at the beach near the
hotel as the winds had been forecast to change. Both dives, as
it turned out, centred on Spotted Rock. Surprise, surprise the
vis wasn’t great but the walls were breathtaking (perhaps
the wrong phrase in relation to scuba diving, perhaps aweinspiring
might be an appropriate substitute). Despite the vis there was
a fine display of anenome and small fish.
The last night on the island for the divers coincided with a local’s
21st celebrations in the hotel guaranteeing a late bar which,
for once, could be utilised as there’d be no diving the
next day.
Ah yes, ‘the next day’, and the leaving of Inishbofin.
The operation itself went without a hitch under Neill’s
watchful eye. A quick lunch in Olivers in Cleggan and we were
ready for the long journey home.
So it goes without saying that the week was a great success even
if the diving, due to weather conditions, lacked a certain amount
of variety. The hospitality and the craic were well up to standard
with the weather a little on the mixed side.
All in all then another great Bofin week. Put me down for next
year, Neill! Oh, and by the way, thanks a million for this year.
Click here for more Bofin Photos
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