Walk to Wicklow Head blocked

 

Wicklow Head Lighthouse

 For many generations of Wicklow people, the coastal walk out to Wicklow Head Lighthouse has been a source of exercise, pleasure and previously, for the light keepers, their pathway to work. The path skirts Wicklow Golf Club and the latter part, farmland. It is beautiful and has many features to attract sightseers, nature lovers, walkers and romantics of all ages. However, in the recent past this path has been blocked, which has created problems for people searching the coast for a probable drowned loved one.

There is a long established right of way along the path, which has been used on a daily basis, weather permitting. A number of years ago, the local council erected signs and a barrier at the Glen Turn (about half way along the path) to warn walkers that the cliff was dangerous and prevent access. This was soon dismantled by locals who were very upset at the intervention of their councillors in restricting acess to their cherished walkway. It has remained down ever since.

 

In the last few months, another barrier suddenly appeared out near the end of the walk, where it joins the Lighthouse access road. A crude barbed wire fence was erected on an old stone wall where walkers exited the coastal path. In addition to the wire, a dense mix of oils and animal fats was applied to the posts to upset unwary walkers who might touch same. This was again dismantled and access re-established.

 

Barbed wire barrier on stone wall

More recently, as in the last week or so, a more comprehensive set of barriers has been erected at the same exit area, which all but makes it impossible for walkers to get through. The farmer in question is also apparently taking photographs of “trespassers” and notifying the Gardai. With a long established right of way, he surely cannot have any legal right to deny any walkers access to this area.

 

As a compromise, surely it would be feasible for him to consider erecting a suitable stile at the wall, to allow access to all who wish to enjoy the area. It might even be possible to get a group of those who are regular users to build one, at no cost to the farmer in question.

 

This matter has taken a serious turn this week. An unfortunate incident involving a missing person, believed drowned in Wicklow Harbour, has necessitated a lot of search activity along the local coastline. This barrier has proved to be a major impediment to allowing concerned searchers follow the coast out as far as Wicklow Head. Those concerned are very upset at this obstruction to their efforts, necessitating a long detour to complete their regular sweeps as they keep a vigilant lookout.

 

New pathway opened by Wicklow Co. Co. 22.02.2012

The County Council have today by-passed this barrier by creating a new opening a short distance from the offending structure. The question now is – will it be allowed to remain in place without interference from the landowner? Fingers crossed, our pathway will remain open for all concerned and allow the joy of the Wicklow Head coastal walk to be available to locals and tourists alike.

 

Our beautiful coastline should be available to all to enjoy. Farmers and landowners are entitled to respect for their property and livestock but should also have consideration for the rights of others. Live and let live.

Captain John Murray Aviation Hero

This article is only a re-posting of an account of the heroism of the pilot of a Super Constellation airplane in 1962 off the west coast of Ireland. The pilot, Captain John Murray, was the father of my very good friend, Barbara Murray, who grew up in Wicklow Town (where I met her), after his untimely death from a diving accident. She was 7 when he died.·                                

Captain John Murray (father of Barbara Murray)

Originally posted on November 26, 2011 by irishocaruso

Captain John D. Murray, 44, of Oyster Bay, Long Island, knew 76 lives were at stake as he slowly brought down the Super Constellation in preparation for ditching in the howling winds and raging waves of the cold north Atlantic.

He faced a dilemma as he searched his way through the darkness: he could follow the recommended ditching strategy of putting the plane down between the troughs, or take advantage of the 50-knot winds at sea level, which would cut his landing speed in half. His challenge was to get the plane down, either way, in the dark, in a gale, with 20 foot waves and with no power left to recover for a second attempt if he didn’t get it right the first time.

To the passengers inside the cabin, the crash felt as if the plane had made a classic belly-whopper.

It was a violent thud that broke open the hull and tore of a wing. In view of the conditions, the ditching was a success, a combination of his skill and a miracle.

Reports of the ditching say the aircraft sank somewhere between two minutes and ten minutes, probably closer to the ten minute side.

Captain Murray hit his head on the control panel and was bleeding to the extent that he could hardly see. He made his way out and was most likely the last man out. He was very late getting to the raft. It was filled far beyond capacity. He was pulled in and he sat on the lap of a serviceman.

Evidently the crew was aware of a possible rescue ship, but thought it might be 12 hours off. An aircraft had been following the Flying Tiger right up to its contact with the waves. That aircraft, a US Air Force plane on its way from Prescott, Scotland to Nova Scotia had diverted in response to the SOS. Because it had been following so close, it knew the position of raft and soon began dropping flares to mark the location.

The raft had inflated upside-down, placing the emergency lighting along the upper rim deep into the water, making it useless. The emergency kit that contained first aid materials and a badly needed flashlight was out of reach as well. Those items were zipped in the raft’s emergency pouch which was now facing down into the water.

The raft drifted at a rapid clip for nearly six hours, covering about 22 miles in that time. Waves that seemed to glow in the dark splashed over the passengers, delivering a frigid chill every time.

Finally a rescue ship came into sight, the Celerina, a Swiss freighter. Due to the size of the waves, the recovery was handled with care. Rope ladders were thrown out to the raft and people began to cling to them. The crew pulled the ladders up with passengers clinging to them, taking them into safety. Captain Murray was again one of the last to get off the raft. When he had nearly reached the top, the ship pitched and he fell off, sinking into the dark waters along side of the raft. A trooper grabbed his life vest and pulled him back into the raft. He made it into the ship on his second try.

Capt. Murray at CAB

There have been many news stories about Captain Murray’s role in the recovery. The Saturday Evening Post ran a photo feature that included a sketching of the jam packed raft being tossed among the waves.

Fortunately for the survivors, Captain Murray was a flying pro! Had he not been, the outcome might have been far more disastrous.

According the Civil Aeronautics Board report adopted September 10, 1963, Captain Murray had a total of 17,500 flying hours, of which 4,300 were in the L-1049 type aircraft. His last FAA first class physical examination was passed on June 16, 1962 (limitation – reading glasses). He had flown 247.4 hours, 172.9 in L-1049s in the last 90 days; 72.6 hours, 41.2 in L-1049s in the past 30 days; and had 33 hours of rest prior to the flight. He knew flying and he knew the L-1049.

Months after the crash, Captain Murray relocated his family from the states to Shannon, Ireland, where he continued to work for the Flying Tiger Lines. Tragically, he died some six years later in a scuba diving accident off the coast of Australia. We are seeking comments from those who had contact with Murray.

About irishocaruso
Survivor of the crash of Flying Tiger 923. at night, at sea, 500 miles off the west coast of Ireland, with 28 deaths and 48 survivors, September 23, 1962.
View all relevant posts by irishocaruso → http://flyingtiger923.com/author/irishocaruso/

Facing our Mortality

Since my feeble effort to raise funds for Prostate Cancer Ireland by growing a mustache during Movember, I have received news that another good friend of mine is undergoing tests for same. As one of the most frequently diagnosed forms, after lung and breast cancer, it is comforting to know that with early diagnosis, a 90% survival rate is now common. It still triggers fears for their mortality in the sufferer and it will only ease as a worry when they get the all clear.

Several of my friends and a first cousin have had encounters with this particular form over the last few years and thankfully, all are still with us enjoying life as survivors. While chemotherapy, radium treatment and radical surgery can have long term consequences for the survivor, especially in the bedroom, the price is a relatively small one as long as they can have a reasonable quality of life. An uncle of mine with lung cancer and another first cousin with breast cancer were not so lucky in the last few years.

Those of us lucky enough to have avoided the Big C have a responsibility to do our bit to help the experts develop further tests and treatments for this potentially killer disease which is no respector of status or privilege in society. Every citizen in this country has had contact with victims of cancer, either family members, close friends or acquaintences and has felt the pain of their loss when their life has been cruelly shortened by an insidious invader.

While I have escaped cancer so far, on another front, I have had to deal my mortality through my battle with Bi-Polar Disorder or Manic Depression. When I was diagnosed in my mid-20′s, I had gone through a summer of total madness, with episodes of extreme elation countered by deep depressions. In one of those depressions, the hole was so black, I could see no other way out than through the end of a shotgun. As you are reading this 30 years later, it didn’t happen.

With a lengthy stay in St. John of God’s Hospital,  Stillorgan, I responded to treatment and started the next phase of my life with a new badge to get used to. It took me a long time to accept that I was now offically a fruit cake, albeit one with a reasonable chance of living a normal life aided by medication. I thought I was cured after a few years and chose to live my life drug free. My coping mechanisms were reasonably strong and I survived some more minor episodes until a major disappointment triggered another deep depression about 10 years later. This time, I knew I was in trouble and took myself to hospital for treatment.

My psychiatrist convinced me to go on a different treatment this time – Lithium, a naturally occuring salt – and with him holding my hand, I tried it out and 20 years later, am still functioning reasonably well. It creates a balance in the brain’s electrical impulses, evening out the up/down episodes to allow us MD’s carry on reasonable lives. For me it has been a life saver.

Unfortunately, depression can also be triggered by relationship failures, job loss, financial worries, bullying and a host of other factors. Like the Big C, it is no respector of status either and can strike into the heart of the most robust families and groupings, causing grief and distress for those trying to cope with its knock on effects. Some sufferers are past masters at hiding the pain from their nearest and dearest, leaving those around them at a complete loss of understanding, if they take the ultimate step.

Such is a case that occurred in my circle of friends recently. My pal was a very outgoing bubbly sort of character, who had time for everyone and always had a joke or story whenever we met. He had a couple of businesses on the Main St. and everyone in the town knew and loved him. In our club, he had a long history of getting stuck in, having held all the senior positions over a number of years. Like many small businesses, the recession was hurting and he chose to close one of his shops after 21 years of trading.

Whether this was the trigger or some other issue unknown to us, he seems to have snapped and made a fatal decision to end it all by drowning himself. His wife, 3 children, father, brothers, sisters and extended family and large circle of friends are at a total loss as to why this should have happened. His funeral was one of largest ever seen in Wicklow and was testament to the high regard he and his family are held in the town.

Having tottered on the brink several times, I know what the darkness in my head was saying to me so I can only assume that the same darkness engulfed my pal, but he didn’t hesitate, unfortunately. With cancer, other illnessess or even a traffic accident, we can rationalise why we might lose a loved one. However, unless someone leaves a strong clue or note, a fatal depression often leaves nothing but angst and heartache. We tend to blame ourselves for not seeing the signs or maybe, for not responding to an issue that we think, in hindsight, might  have been simmering. The reality is, the person makes the decision for their own reasons and often, it has nothing to do with others in his/her immediate vicinity. It is selfish, it can be devastating and answers are rarely readily available to ease the pain of those left behind.

For myself, I went into a dark place for a few days after his funeral. With a long history of dealing with my own depressive episodes, I have developed coping mechanisms to help me through these darknesses. While it didn’t get to a nadir where I was facing my mortality again, I’m glad that now I know my vulnerability and can reach for my lifeline. My pal didn’t know that he had so many lifelines available to him and the darkness engulfed him suddenly, snuffing out a wonderful life long before its sell-by-date.

For whatever reason, we all have to face our mortality. The older we get, the more likely the grim reaper will be knocking. For those with terminal illnesses such as untreatable cancers, the end of the road is well mapped, often masking the pain in cocktails of drugs and family and friends are reconciled to the loss. Those taken suddenly through heart attacks, accidents, shootings etc., the loss is traumatic for those left behind but at least they usually can come to terms with the loss in time. Suicide rarely leaves any comfort factors and those left behind are often wracked by guilt, on top of all the other grief issues.

Movember for Prostate Cancer

My Movember face 2011

Over the last few years, several friends of mine have been diagnosed with Prostate Cancer, a men’s health issue. Fortunately, all of them have come through their treatments and/or operations successfully.

I felt a strong need to do my little bit to help fund further research for this illness, which if caught in good time is imminently treatable. So I joined the Movember Ireland movement – men up and down the length of Ireland grew mustaches during the month of November – hence the moniker.

Sports stars, TV and media personalities also got in on the act and it was encouraging to see prominent people sprouting facial hair under their noses over the last 4 weeks. Hopefully, it will also make men more conscious of possible problems in the area of their water works and genitals and prompt them to seek professional advice to investigate any issues.

My feeble efforts generated donations in the amount of €60 – Movember Ireland receipt no. R-9110720-12027112. I am very grateful to my small band of supporters for their generosity. You have supported a good cause.

My December 2011 face

Dave Lordan – Creative Writer

(My Creative Writing tutor, Dave Lordan, asked me to share this information with you – pass on the word, please.)

Alan, Dave Lordan, me and Sharon at end of class celebration

Finding inspiration:  A Creative Writing workshop with Dave Lordan.

Hotspot Cafe Greystones Fri Dec 2nd. 7.30 to 9pm.

•  Where do stories and creative ideas come from? 
•  How can we make creative use of our own vast store of stories and experiences?
•  How can we jump-start our imaginations when we just aren’t feeling up to it?
•  How do we draw inspiration from our every day lives? 
•  How do we make time in our busy lives for inspiration and creativity?

 All are welcome to take part in this fun, informative and stimulating workshop with Dave Lordan. The cost will be 10 euro, including admission to the fabulous Speakeasy Cabaret later on that evening.  Booking is advised. To book a place phone dave on 0870921117, or e-mail at dlordan@hotmail.com. 

Dave Lordan is a multi-award winning poet, playwright and fiction writer as well as a popular reviewer on RTE Radio 1′s flagship Arena Arts show. He is the current holder of the prestigious Ireland Chair of Poetry Bursary Award. He is also once of Ireland‘s leading creative writing teachers and currently teaches on the MA in Poetry Studies in Mater Dei Institute and for Co Wicklow VEC, as well as to numerous school and community groups.

 Read more about Dave at www.davelordanwriter.wordpress.com 

Meet Clark Griswold

Clark Griswald - talking dog

This handsome mutt has gone viral around the world with his Food Tease video, which has been viewed over 53million times on YouTube and rising. A rescue dog, his Colorado owner named him Clark Griswold after a Chevy Chase movie character.
Watch the video – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGeKSiCQkPw and enjoy.

Pharaoh sneaks into Dublin

Dog Rough - an occasional sketch

Sniffing around with Skratcher O Fleazy, reporter

(This little piece was written in February 2011, while Eygpt was in the throes of its Arab Spring and Ireland was immersed in its General Election campaign. The Pharaoh Tutunkhamun (King Tut) exhibition was due to open at the RDS – Royal Dublin Society premises.)

Pharoah Hound – Wasn’t found!

I bumped into me auld mutt Pepper the other day who asked me if I still had some contacts in the Press. Curious, I asked what he had for me and promised if it was good enough, I’d see if we could get it into print.

Swearing faithfully not to reveal his sources, he dropped two crumpled soggy pieces of papyrus from his mouth and asked me to read it. He told me that he found it at the RDS, when he was on his rounds sussing out the Dublin 4 area, marking lamp posts and smelling other dogs bums.

Mystified by these documents, both written in hieroglyphs, I contacted our in-house Egyptologist, Carter el Beradi. He took it down to the staff cloakroom where he worked. He spent the night translating them, between retrieving staff clothing or bags.

This is the result of his endeavours, which our Editor deemed worthy of immediate publication:-

Page 1. (On the official papyrus of Pharaoh Tutankhamun)

Diary entry for Tueday 15^th  February 2011

5.30am– Arrived with minions off Stranraer – Larne Ro-Ro ferry on the sarcophabus, after dodging protests at Leeds/Bradford airport. No sign of Islamic Brotherhood in Northern Ireland.

8.00am– Stopped in Dundalk for large Irish breakfast. Hairy guy with Belfast accent at next table, surrounded by rough looking security men, told me he had never been in the IRA – hadn’t a clue what he was on about. Harem girls thought he was a bit common and the fry was much the same. Still haven’t told them about the bit of populist fuss back home.

Aanagh pretty Nubian slave

9.30am –  My pretty Private Secretary, the Nubian Aanah, made contact on Skype with our Head of Administration back home, the minor God, Hosni Muberak. Big news – he’s now in the Palace nursing home at Sharm el Sheik after standing down, with loyal troops guarding the perimeter. Health is poor and doctors are keeping a close eye on him. Says our once loyal army are handing power over to the peasants. Traitors.

Due to this crisis, I asked to speak with him privately – our billions are a sensitive issue, all 70 of them. Hosni assured me it was all being converted into gold bullion, so that he can be buried in similar style to myself. He has his eye on a plot of ground in Iran to build his pyramid. I wished him well – us Gods are not well understood by the common folk.

13.30 – Arrived Dublin, bones aching after hours buried in back of that damned sarcophabus to avoid the paparazzi.

Aanagh supervises slave beauticians

15.30 – Enjoyed my daily appointment with the travelling beauticians - manicure, pedicure, mummy massage, facial and organ cleansing.

17.00 – All the imitation gold and semi-precious metals were polished, slaves worked flat out. Took a few aside for a whipping by my faithful slavemaster Nubani to keep them on their toes – kills the boredom of watching them work.

19.30 – My Secretary Aanah had me booked in for a meal at the Four Seasons with a local nobody by the cartouche Enda Kenny. Kept talking about some stupid five point plan, must have mentioned it at least 15 times. Said he’d be the man shortly and wanted to know if I’d give him a haircut, something to do with Bondage. She should know I’m not into that S & M stuff, so I dismissed the little blonde upstart. 

22.00 – Dropped into my harem on the top floor of the Berkeley Court hotel. Would you believe, to a woman (and girl too) they refused to have sex with their God. After torturing the cute one with blonde hair called Ivana, we discovered some local hack by the cartouche Fintan O Tool had dropped in to interview them and filled them in on the peasant uprising back in Egypt. They decided to have a sex strike in solidarity with the upstarts at home. Desperate, I summoned Aanah to my executive suite but she refused saying she had a headache from all the travelling.

Page 2. (On the official papyrus of Pharaoh Tutankhamun)

Wednesday 16^th February 2011

Imitation sarcophagus

09.00 – Big day today, we are opening in the Industries Hall at the RDS,Dublin. Have a splitting headache after first night without sex since age 9. Will have to resort to some of the man slaves if this keeps up, wouldn’t do for word to get back that I swing both ways.

King Tut's imitation mummy

10.00 – Make up and support staff have me all spruced up for the exhibition. Pain in the ass as far as I’m concerned, lying around all day while plebs of all shapes and sizes come to ogle my imitation plastic treasures. That blasted nuisance Howard Carter started all this when he disturbed my peace in 1922, life has never been the same since. So what if I’m one of the most recognisable images in the world.

Pharoah expresses his displeasure

16.00 – Nubani, my slave master, tells me that he has been advised that several countries around the Arab world are revolting against their leaders and that my stable of slaves are looking for certificates of freedom and redundancy payoffs from me, including himself. I made the mistake of giving him the PINs for my Swiss Bank accounts – Gods can’t be expected to retain all these petty details. Now, the cheek of him, he’s threatening me and knows I can do nothing while stuck in this fancy fake sarcophagus. And to make it worse, Hosni has lost control of my once loyal army and secret police so there is no one to sort out these insolent twerps that I saved from abject poverty.

20.00 – Last of the plebs finally left the RDS, what a miserable day – headache is worse, no hope of relief from the harem or slaves. Must see if Aanah can find a local defrocked priest for some of his young contacts. Now the beauticians are also on strike, will have to send for my sister wife to calm my nerves and relieve this sexual tension. Take away dinner from someone of the cartouche Mc Donalds – their lion meat tastes like papyrus with mayonnaise and onion.

22.00 – No joy on young boy front either, second night of abstinence in a row, must Google how to do hand job. What a disaster, deep depression setting in on Dublin 4. Note to one’s self – will commission a 36 floor skyscraper for first man who can find a replacement harem of nubile girls. Must try this local black drink for sleep potion, hear good reports of it’s health giving properties. Got bad news about situation in neighbouring province Bahrain, their black gold is not keeping the plebs happy either, maybe another uprising on the way. What’s the world coming to, nobody seems to respect good old fashioned law and order anymore.

End of diary extract.

(Editor’s note: – Bearded man refers to Sinn Fein politician by cartouche of Gerry Adams.)