It is likely that as a subscribers to this newsletter you have visited Ireland and almost certainly Clare and the Burren formed part of that visit, but you may not have found your way to County Mayo. In September, Mayo was the first stage in a multi-year project that I have undertaken to photograph each county of Ireland. If you haven't yet visited this desolate western outpost of Eurasia then perhaps this article will encourage you to drive its empty roads, and if you can't do that, then at least you can see what it looks like!

Four days is not a lot of time to explore the third largest county in Ireland. Determined to make the most of it, I entered Mayo from Co. Galway at Killary fjord at 6:40 am. The weather was overcast and unpromising, but that's how the weather is in Ireland most of the time and one aspect of this project is to photograph the country as it really looks, i.e. most of the time, to allow others to see what they are likely to experience, not that five minutes of perfect light on a perfect day that we see in postcards of Ireland.

The deep intrusion of Killary fjord forms part of the border between Galway and Mayo. Immediately north of the fjord is a group of steep mountains that are, in my opinion anyway, amongst the best and most spectacular Ireland has to offer. I parked the car at the foot of the Ben Gorm mountains or the Blue Mountain - a *lot* of mountains in Ireland are variously called the blue, the white, the black or whatever mountains. Sometimes more than one mountain in a single group is called 'the white mountain'. This recalls an old joke about the English land surveyors traveling Ireland making maps asking the Gaelic speaking locals "what's that mountain there called?" to which the local replies "which one? the black mountain?" and the cartographer writes down 'black mountain' and wanders on.

But I digress. Parked, grabbed camera, lenses and tripod and started climbing in the pre-dawn light. Ben Creggan (northernmost part of the Ben Gorms) is steep but surprisingly (for an Irish mountain) dry underfoot. Lugging a lot of metal and glass up a steep slope before breakfast was a bit grim, but the rewards for being out and about early are always great, and I was stopping frequently to take pictures as I gained height. By nine I was just under the cloud capped top of the mountain. Going higher would mean going into fog, so I waited and shot some time lapse footage to amuse myself.

The view was spectacular. Mweelrea, highest mountain in Connaught loomed over Doo Lough (the Black Lake - see what I mean?) to my left. Mweelrea makes for fantastic mountain hiking, but it's big. Plan on a full day (10+ hours) to hike this horseshoe range for someone in good condition. Be equipped appropriately and be able to navigate in the fog. One side of Mweelrea is a spectacular (and utterly fatal) drop of well over a thousand feet; of which more later. It is a view to admire, not to inadvertently walk off in fog.To the north was the beginning of the Sheffrey mountains, immense emptiness dotted with tiny sheep. For a while the gods of light and space smiled on me, the sun came out and patches of light and shadow chased each other across the mountainsides and lake. The low angle of the morning sun brings out all the detail in the mountains: mountain streams, scree slopes, ancient boulders.

Breakfast, and the remaining 5399 square kilometres of Mayo were calling to me, so I made my way down (a considerably more difficult prospect than ascending) and drove north. Beyond Doo Lough the mountains diminish and a vast plain of rust coloured bog opens to each side of the lonely road. When I left Mayo four days later this would be one of my abiding impressions of this county: vast, desolate expanses of bog, covering plains and mountains, here and there relieved by tiny farms each surrounded by a cluster of painstakingly reclaimed fields, comb patterns of lazy beds.

Lazy beds are long, raised soil beds drained by furrows in between. They were a method of improving poor or waterlogged land (which describes most of the west of Ireland), with the peaty soil laboriously supplemented with seaweed in order to improve fertility and so produce a viable soil. They were mainly used for raising potatoes, the main food crop of 90% of Mayo's population before the Great Famine of 1845 -1849. North of Doo Lough is a monument to a delegation of starving peasants who, in March 1847, walked from Louisburgh (10 miles north of Doo Lough) to Delphi Lodge (at the south end of the lough) to seek aid from the Board of Governors who were meeting at the lodge there. The Board were at lunch and were not to be disturbed. When they did meet the delegation, assistance was refused. On the return journey in rain, snow and high winds many died of exposure. Before the Famine the population of Ireland was more than eight million; it would fall by two million in the next decade. Accurate figures are not known, but it is thought that as many as 250,000 emigrated each year during the famine and that between one and one and a half million died of starvation and disease.

A century and a half later Mayo looks utterly desolate to me. I marvel at the persistence of mankind to live in such unforgiving places. It is a county not without beauty, even great beauty, but it is a harsh place nonetheless. In west Mayo there are few trees and those there are huddle in pockets of shelter, deformed by the incessant westerly winds.

North of this mountainous region lies Clew Bay and the pretty town of Westport. Rectangular Clew Bay claims to hold 365 islands, a slight exaggeration I suspect. These islands are drumlins, low whale-shaped hills that are the remnants of glacial action from the last ice age, ten thousand years ago. Like ripples in sand on a beach only much larger (perhaps 25 to 50 metres high and anything from a few to several hundred metres long) these little hills (inland) and islands (where the sea level has come up around them give this region a pleasantly gentle aspect, a relief from the mountainous surrounds. Westport is a planned town that was built by Lord Sligo (around 1780) to house his workers and tenants. It is pretty, well-maintained and brightly painted, something that the west of Ireland could maybe do with more of.

When I arrived there was a horse fair. Ireland may have changed a lot over the last decade, but horse fairs have not. Horses and horse traders of all shapes and sizes. Solid, shrewd looking men who became gentle and jovial when they engaged me in conversation. Irish people are witty, they can't help themselves. Anything is fair game to be made fun of, and no-one seems to mind finding themselves the target of a joke. It is one of the more endearing and redeeming aspects of Irish character; people rarely take themselves too seriously.

From Westport north through Newport then westwards to Achill Island, largest of Irish islands. I followed the Atlantic Drive, a long, lonesome and completely unnecessary detour that is well worth taking. Clare Island was capped with cloud, the light was low and beautiful, the Atlantic waves jade green and I had the road to myself the whole way. Which was probably just as well, as my driving tends to be a bit erratic when I'm gawping out the window at the view.

I crossed the bridge to Achill and drove across the island which is surprisingly large, even when you know it's the largest island! The light just got better and better and I became frantic as the spectacular sea cliffs of the Minauns lit up and I struggled to find a spot with a clear view of them. The light died just as I made it out onto the beach and set up my camera, but that is the nature of the west of Ireland: any day, however grey, may give one glimpses of beautiful light and the photographer must be happy to catch it when he can, and content to have seen it at all when he can't.

I watched the sun set in the rain from the cliffs above Keem Bay, and photographed the beach in the twilight. A lengthy and unsuccessful search for a bed and breakfast led me instead to a very nice pub with a very nice pint of Guinness and very funny locals, intrigued by my note taking and camera gear. As with everyone I met during my brief wanderings, these people were courteous, welcoming and charming. Try as I might I could not succeed in buying anyone a drink, nor refuse drinks pressed on me, a dangerous state of affairs when you have to be up before dawn each day!

Continue on to Part 2