Toward this island I now journey. It has been called several names over the years, including Ahch-To – the remote outpost where Luke Skywalker trained Rey in the ways of the Jedi. Nowadays, it is simply referred to as Skellig Michael, and is accessible via boat ride from the coastal town of Portmagee. But just as both Rey and the ancient monks struggled to reach the island, so, too, did I have to pass my own trials before setting foot atop this rock.
Trial #1: Driving in Ireland. Since I was staying in the town of Killarney, I was obligated to wake up at an ungodly hour to make the hour-long commute to Portmagee for the early boat departure. For this occasion I had rented a car the night prior and was filled with trepidation at my looming inaugural experience of driving on the wrong side of the road. Heart racing from adrenaline and caffeine, I set out in the morning to make my own pilgrimage. Gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles the entire way, I passed through picturesque hamlets, scenic vistas, and endless farmlands, soaking in these gorgeous views while winding through narrow lanes that somehow passed for roads. I was slowly starting to feel more comfortable with driving on the left, always triple checking both directions at each stop sign and entering each roundabout with a renewed sense of accomplishment.
Suddenly everything changed when a gigantic lorry came barreling toward me like an elephant charging down a predator to protect her young. Left with nowhere to hide, I veered as close to the shoulder as I physically could achieve. Of course, along these narrow paths, there is no such thing as a “shoulder”, for if you recall, I passed through endless stretches of farmlands, each one demarcated from the road by sturdy stone walls deliberately built to deflect all intrusions. And that’s when it happened…
….CRUUUUUNNNNNCH!!!...
In a battle against the impervious stone wall which had withstood many generations of attacks, my car’s sideview mirror was a hapless casualty. For in the blink of an eye, it lay shattered and hung limp, completely useless to me now. The shock of the brutal assault quickly dissipated, and I assessed the situation after the truck rumbled past, spouting a plume of diesel smoke as if it was exhaling in a fit of raucous laughter at my folly. Upon inspection, the stalwart fence remained unscathed, while my mirror was a lost cause. Ireland 1 – Jeremy 0.
I trepidly continued my journey, determined not to give up so easily. Fortunately, the rest of the drive passed uneventfully, and I finally arrived at my destination of Portmagee, limping across the finish line with my sideview mirror dangling precariously awry. Bruised and battered, both my vehicle and my pride had taken a beating, but together we endured to the end.
I quickly located the boat dock where my pre-booked passage to the island was located, and informed the crew of my arrival. The tricky part about getting to the island is that it is wholly dependent upon Mother Nature’s whim, and she is a fickle master. Passage is only possible during the summer months, and even then, rough seas prevent a large portion of tours. Departures only occur once a day in the mornings to take advantage of the calmest seas. In the preceding four days, no boats had been able to dock at the island, making a victory today seem like an unattainable dream. But if my journey thus far had taught me anything, it’s that when beset by misfortunes, you must never lose hope and despair. As more people arrived and the time of departure neared, the confirmation arrived – we were go for launch! Everyone joyously climbed aboard and we began our crossing to the island.
Trial #2: Seasickness. The initial 20 minutes of the boat ride was exhilarating! The sun was shining, the cool breeze was blowing, and the Irish coastline was breathtaking from the water. But that’s because we were still in the protected waters of the bay. Upon entering the open seas on our passage to the island, the boat started barreling headfirst into an infinite barrage of waves. Salty spray was beginning to dampen my clothes, while a chill was soaking through to my bones, dampening my spirit. Yet, while the Atlantic waves were splashing over me, a more foreboding wave from deep within was also beginning to wash over me. As this wave of nausea developed, I quickly understood that my stomach was vehemently disagreeing with its current predicament on the choppy seas. There was nothing I could do except close my eyes and will the island to miraculously appear. But as swell after swell continued to rock the boat, there seemed to be no end in sight to this doomed journey. Inexplicably, I managed to suppress the nausea for the duration of the passage until we finally docked at the rocky outcrop in the middle of the ocean. Here we were at last – Skellig Michael! Upon disembarkation I defeatedly hobbled off the boat, feeling battered by the seas and unsteady on my wobbly legs. Ireland 2 – Jeremy 0.
Trial #3: Stairmaster. Feeling solid ground beneath my feet, I bent down to kiss the earth and vow that I would never abandon her again. I waited for the swells of nausea to fully abate, and then I proceeded up the path to rejoin the group. The path was deceptively easy at first, curving around the perimeter of the island with merely a slight incline in elevation. And then it appeared out of nowhere – a precarious stairway to heaven with its summit practically encircled by clouds. I mustered what strength I had left, and began the arduous climb upwards.
Now, in order to fully appreciate this climb, let me help you to visualize what I saw. Soaring straight up for over 700 feet is the most uneven rocky path upward that you have ever seen. There are no handrails, there are no protective nets, there are no safety regulations which have become ubiquitous throughout the United States. Instead, there were dozens of people haltingly climbing up a dangerous path to which no end was even in sight, each praying that they didn’t slip and tumble down the cliff into the rocky waters below. It was up this pathway that I, too, began to ascend. Step after step, never seeming to get any nearer to the top. Several times I needed to stop and take a rest to catch my breath and wait for my heart to stop pounding out of my chest. I lost count of how many hundreds of steps I climbed, pushing onward until I finally reached the top… only to realize it was simply a bend in the path and that it continued on even further. Feeling defeated, I trudged on ever higher, unwilling to let my goal elude my grasp. Eventually, the remaining steps dwindled in number until at last… I had summited the craggy mountain! Reveling in my victory, I promptly threw myself down and refused to move one step further, lest I die of overexertion. You win again… Ireland 3 – Jeremy 0.
After a sufficient course of time passed and my body tiptoed back from the brink of exhaustion, I managed to push myself upright and finally begin to explore my surroundings. Here I was, amidst the ruins of devout monks that are still standing despite hundreds of years of being battered by the harsh elements. The most prominent structures are the beehive huts, which were the individual dwellings of the monks which face the large oratory. Just past the huts lies a small graveyard filled with approximately twenty stone crosses signifying the burial sites of each monk. Stretching out across the site lie other structures such as the diminutive St. Michael’s Church, water cisterns, communal spaces, and retaining walls surrounding the entire site. Each structure was built by hand hundreds of years ago, and remains staunchly clutching to the mountainside, attesting to the world today the skill and beliefs of the original occupants.
Being confined on this tiny and inhospitable precipice was a true testament to the will and determination of the monks who willfully resided here. They gave up their earthly pleasures to concentrate on God and feel closer to His presence. Life on this island must have been miserable and dangerous, but they persevered and endured for what they saw as a higher cause. While we may not know much about the individual monks who lived here, we can acknowledge their unified purpose and their will to carry on amidst unending trials and tribulations. No one can blame the monks for ultimately abandoning this site after centuries of reverent worship, but one must certainly admire the tenacity and fervency of their devotion to their cause. Even today, these monks are teaching me about the spirit of determination, and that even though life will throw many difficulties and struggles my way, I must not allow myself to break. Strength comes from within, and each person has the ability to muster up the resolve to weather each storm and press onward.
So where does that leave me? I may have damaged a small piece of my rental car, but I successfully conquered my fears of driving on the opposite side of the road and made it to my destination. I may have felt queasy during the boat ride across the ocean, but I managed to hold it together and complete the journey undaunted. And while I felt like I was going to die from climbing up all of those stairs, I nevertheless ascended to the top and summited the challenging mountain. While atop Skellig Michael, I learned from the monks to change my world view and look for the positives in every outcome. And thus the final score has now been settled and I feel victorious. Ireland 0 – Jeremy 3.
Approaching Skellig Michael by boat
Ascending the endless stairs
Getting closer to the top
The graveyard of the monks
The famous beehive huts where the monks lived
