My curious route to Cruit Island only made me more partial to this spot on the yonder edge of Donegal. After hiking eight miles up to Kinncasslagh and checking into my hotel (there was only one), I was disappointed when the gentleman behind the desk told me that the golf course was still a good three-plus miles away, another hour on the hoof.
As I slung my sack of Mizunos over my shoulder and started out for the road, he stopped me.
"You're really walking?" the gentleman asked.
I nodded. I could no longer even muster a yeah, nary a humph for that question. I wish I had a hat that said, 1.Yes, I am walking. 2. Yes, I am mental.
"Well, there is another way to Cruit," he explained. "Tide's out. You want a short-cut?"
Tide's out? Typically, I would steer clear of any mention of a short-cut that was contingent upon the gravitational interaction of the earth and moon. But in this case, I was lucky to be in an ornery enough mood to say screw it, I'll risk death by rising water to get me off the road four minutes faster.
Besides Cruit's miracleous abilities, he also liked Bundoran, and Murvagh.
Original Posting on Donegal Friends.