We woke to heavy rain in Borris but by the time we hopped out of the car at Graiguenamanagh it had stopped. Mount Leinster was pulling all the rain clouds up to its summit and I knew in my bones that it would not rain in the river valley today. The message – Dress for rain in Ireland but ignore the forecast.
A heron greeted us at the weir. The water was even browner than usual. I wondered how the bird could see anything beneath the chocolate waters but it seemed quite content to stand on the edge staring into the brown. On our side, small pleasure crafts and more canal boats lined the moorings.
As usual, our first half kilometre we spend adjusting clothing and footwear until we get the correct mix that suits our pace and terrain. The CEO has plantar fasciitis so is trying different approaches, from footwear to gait. By the time we get to Tinnahinch Lock we are all systems go, which after the previous days 20km, is slow. This gives us time to examine Tinnahinch Castle behind the lock keepers house. I like its overhanging bartizan which would allow you to keep an eye on both sides of the building from the one position. Legend has it that it had a water reservoir above it. The local lord would empty it into the castle to drown his guests. Game of Thrones eat your heart out.
At the lock we encounter a group being brought downstream to St Mullins in kayaks by Pure Adventures.
Perhaps it is the extra colour but we see a kingfisher darting low along the water across from us like a blue pixel in an otherwise greeny-browney display. The paved canal path gives way to a grass trail. To our left is marshy wetland which must be home to frogs and all sorts of water breathers. To our right are full-on woods, deep green with just a touch of oncoming Autumn colour at its edges. There will be some show here in a few weeks time.
We stroll on towards the imaginatively names Lower Tinnahinch Lock. We break for a while here. The CEO changes her hiking boots to lighter walking runners as the sun is blazing now. I regret not bringing my hiking sandals but my trail runners are comfy and well worn.
Meanwhile, the kayakers have caught up with us again and we watch as they open the lock gates to get through. It is amazing how easy it is for one person to open the heavy gates. I get tired looking at the effort but I realise the sun is starting to blare down on us.
We head on. To our right, the woods open out into farmland for a short section which breaks up the scenery for us. Our left-hand side is covered in the ever-present balsam flowers. On the slopes above we can see another geodesic dome that looks like it is being used as a greenhouse. The suns rays are blasting it with radiation. This is the second one we have seen on the Barrow. This side of the gorge gets steeper and woodier as the river curves onward towards the sea.
We pass another noisy weir section. A heron sits on a tree minding its own business until the kayakers arrive. It flaps off in a huff, screeching in annoyance as it rounds the bend.
Our trail follows the quiet canal cutting down the left until we get towards another lock. I can find no name for this lock. I’m not a housey person but I have to admit that this lock-keepers cottage is well kept.
A sign is attached to the wall in support of the resistance against paving the Barrow Way. The majority of this section is a natural grassland trail and that is part of its attraction. We follow the footsteps of other walkers as they flatten a track through the short grass. It would need good boots in the winter and it looks very prone to flooding. Paving it would make it easier for families, cyclists and those who need a more consistent surface underfoot. There are pros and cons to the argument. I am just a passer-through and I believe the decision should be made by interested locals. The CEO does not agree with me but neither of us has a say in the matter so we ramble on.
The scenery changes after this lock. The woods on the right are replaced with farmland for a while. The river chugs along slowly. A downed tree floats alongside us for a while, its branches sticking out like a giant water spider. A buzzard flaps across the hills. A cormorant does a fly-by back upriver.
Not far on from the lock, we come to Freneys Chair. This was a lookout used by a legendary highwayman in the 18th century. He became a folk hero on account of his clever exploits and his habit of making an eegit out of rich folk and tax collectors. He was even written into Thackeray’s novel “The Luck of Barry Lydon”.
The woods to our left get steeper and denser. The odd tree lies across the trail, brought down to earth by Storm Francis. The woods are impossible to explore as there is another water-logged ditch running in between us. Further on, there is another limekiln. It is surrounded by picnic benches, a sure sign that we are starting to reach civilisation again. To our left, the Bahana Woods deepen while another weir roars ahead. Two herons chase each other across the floodplain separating the canal from the river.
The trail starts to get run down as it diverts down along the canal away from the weir. The soft wet ground is sliced up here by bicycle tracks. With water either side of me, I wouldn’t fancy my chances if my wheels slipped. The trail meets a paved road which swings left up into the woods for a different walk. An industrial-looking bridge hangs over the canal to our right, ready I presume to carry a tractor across to the floodplain.
Ahead lies the busiest lock we have seen so far. About 15 canal boats are moored here. It is not the end of the trail but I mistake the cute lock-keepers house for our end point.
On the far side of the river, the Kilkenny landscape runs off into the distance over the hill. After so much river woodland, the patchwork fields pop as the sun shines down on them.
The trail from here on in is paved with gravel. For this last section, the river seems at its widest so far. The water is slow, still and brown as stewed tea. The woods explode up the slopes again. It is still and quiet. All we hear is constant birdsong and insect chitter. The CEO gets so relaxed that she steps into a deep puddle in the middle of the road.
One last bend and we see the ruins of old St Mullins popping their heads up over a small hill. Ahead lies the Mullichain Cafe – probably one of the friendliest, well-run and well-located food spots in the world. We sit for lunch on the banks of the river as the day is plenty warm. The kayakers eventually catch up with us. The kids finish off their long-distance paddle by hopping out of their boats and jumping into the river to celebrate the fact that they had stayed dry for the trip
St Mullins is like Glendalough without the tourists. Home to another of Ireland’s lesser-known warrior saints, it is full of religious ruins and the remnants of the industrial era flour mills. There is plenty to explore here, from the hippy sculptures created by the Dutchman who lives in the old Odlums mill to the Norman mound on the hill and the church where Michael Flatley’s parents are buried. We wander around at our leisure before deciding to take a taxi back to Graig with a fellow who fills us full of funny stories about the celebrities he has carried to nearby Borris House.
Google Maps: 52.9539203, – 6.953897
Distance: 7 km
Time: 10am – 12.30pm
Type of walk: river trail
Views: river, canal, woodland, farmland.
Animals: Herons, cormorants, butterflies, cows, dragonflies, ducks, buzzards.
Humans: Kayakers and about four walkers
Negatives: We were threatening to make the return ramble from St. Mullins to Graig by road but we overdid the lunch. The taxi ride back demonstrated that the views would have been worth it.
Memorable: The rain stayed away. Four buzzards hover over us for the guts of thirty minutes, soaring on the updraughts coming off the river and woods outside the cafe.
Score: 8.5/10
This was a lovely ramble with plenty to take in so let me know if I missed anything or if you have anything noteworthy to add.
