Enchanted in Ireland

Walking in Mullaghreelan Forest on a free morning during my writing retreat in Ireland, I saw no one despite three cars in the parking lot. For the first time during my five days in the Emerald Isle I’d put on my new orange raincoat and was grateful for my waterproof boots. A gentle rain was falling, but here under the canopy of oak, beech, and sycamore I hardly felt a drop. The soft music of raindrops landing on broad leaves plied my ears, and fresh, moist scents filled the air, but I was comfortable and dry, like sitting on a porch during a storm except I was enjoying one of my great pleasures: a solitary walk in the woods. With only trees for company, my strong and sturdy legs moved down the path, no goal but the joy of movement and the necessity of returning to my starting point before lunch. I was in motion and at peace.

This is what my soul had been longing for: this moment in the Irish countryside, damp earth beneath my feet, trees sheltering me from the pearly gauze of rain indistinguishable from gray sky. I paused to listen. The sound of cars rolling down an unseen road, steady and rhythmic as the susurration of a distant sea, came from outside this place. Inside the forest I heard only the patter of rain and a single bird warbling. Leaves trembled when kissed by water drops, and it was as if the whole tree was shivering with pleasure …

I would like to end the story here, with my conscious mind recognizing the sacrament of the present moment and not with what happened next. It was so embarrassing I told no one, not even Tom, till weeks later: I got lost. 

In the list of what to pack for the trip to Ireland our tour guide Carolyn Flynn had told us to bring a compass if we planned to hike alone. In all my years of hiking alone I’ve never carried a compass; it seemed excessive  to add one to my already full suitcase, and there was nothing about Mullaghreelan Forest to suggest I might need one. The park was barely a mile across surrounded by farmland on three sides and the road to Castledermot on the other. I’d snapped a photo of the map at the entrance and set off down what looked like a main trail, certain it would be easy to turn around and retrace my steps when the time came to head back.

Enticing paths crisscrossed the park, and a half hour into my walk, beguiled by the woods and the rain, I decided to make a loop instead of going back the way I’d come. Maybe I’d find the wishing well I’d noticed on the map and expected to see by now. Except what I thought was a trail around the perimeter that would lead me back to the entrance petered out. I turned back to pick up a lateral path, but it too narrowed and disappeared. Okay, maybe the loop wasn’t such a good idea; I’d find my way back to a familiar path and retrace my steps after all. Yes, surely this broad leaf-strewn trail was the one I’d come down, but no, it hadn’t come to a T quite like this. Which way to turn? The roadway shouldn’t be far, but now I couldn’t hear any cars, only raindrops on leaves. I surely wasn’t in danger in a tiny park surrounded by occupied Irish countryside, but I hadn’t seen a soul since I entered. No one knew where I was.  

Suddenly the forest seemed large, and stories drifted into my mind of the Fair Folk, those supernatural beings said to dwell in the invisible Otherworld that exists alongside our own. It had always been easy to shrug off tales of their mischief as a charming bit of Irish folklore, but now, alone in the woods, I remembered that to this day Irish farmers plow around ring forts and fairy mounds, that people cautiously avoid referring to the Good Folk by a name I dare not mention here (think Tinker Bell and a word that starts with F). Suddenly the stories seemed plausible, and wasn’t leading travelers astray one of their favorite pranks? Had I trespassed in some blundering American way? The longer I wandered, the more I wondered if I had fallen for their lures, easily tricked like the stranger I was. Why oh why hadn’t I brought a compass?

Then I remembered the phone in my pocket. I pulled it out and took it off airplane mode. Yes, I had four bars! Apple Maps located me in the forest and showed a way out. Relief and chagrin poured through me and also a good measure of gratitude – not to modern technology but to Themselves. I’ve no doubt they could have tinkered with  my device or tampered with  its tenuous connection to the internet if they had wished. Instead, they tricked and teased me just enough for me to know I’d been enchanted by the magic of Ireland.