A simple journey to Inishturk turns rough and windy

Prof Tim O’Brien recalls a 1964 trip from Louisburg to Inishturk, which left a Dublin man stranded on the island forever — by choice

The adventure began in the picturesque village of Louisburg, in the shadow of Croagh Patrick. It was the summer of 1964 and my father was taking advantage of the fine weather to visit his brother, who worked as an Inspector for the Department of Agriculture in Co Mayo.
Part of his duties was to make an occasional visit to the islands off the Mayo coast to check on the state of the farms there. The inspection of Inishturk coincided with our visit so, on the morning after our arrival, we set out for the pier at Roonagh to board a trawler, which was the only way of getting to Inishturk.
There were only four of us travelling with the three fishermen on the trawler, as we were joined by my uncle’s Dublin superior in the Department. He was a well-dressed man and looked somewhat out of place in the rugged surroundings of the west coast.
Inishturk is the most remote of the Mayo islands and the journey to the island was expected to take an hour and a half, or so we were told. With a light wind and a fair day, we set off in great expectation of the day ahead.
We were all gathered at the front of the boat, looking out towards Clare Island, as the man from Dublin dominated the conversation. “I always prepare well before I go travelling. This morning, I took the tablet that my doctor advised to prevent sea sickness. He told me that it was developed during the War to prevent sickness in pilots and naval personnel and that it’s 100 per cent effective.
Be prepared
“I also find that you don’t get sea sick if you keep looking constantly at one object in the landscape, such as that island or the horizon,” he added. “Saying that, I think that the sea has become rougher. ‘Be prepared’ is my motto. My doctor said that I could take another tablet, Dramamine they’re called, if I felt in any way queasy. ‘Be prepared’ is my motto.”
And with that, he went off in search of his pills that he had left in his jacket in the wheelhouse, swaying unsteadily as if his legs had no idea of how to carry his torso. I now understood what was meant by the term ‘sea legs’ and the man from Dublin did not have them.
He was right about one thing, however – the sea was becoming rough, but nobody else appeared to be too worried. One of the brothers said, “That fellow is a fund of information.” “I don’t know about that, but he’d talk for Ireland,” my uncle replied.
It is generally agreed that sea sickness is caused by over stimulation of the labyrinth of the inner ear. This organ plays a role in keeping the person’s head stable during motion, but this situation becomes confused when the body is being carried in a boat and the movement being detected by the labyrinth does not correspond with what the eyes see.
Rolling and heaving
By the time the man from Dublin returned from the wheelhouse, we were rolling and heaving in the open sea. His stability had deteriorated and he was staggering from side to side with his arms outstretched, looking for any hold. His movements were now very clumsy and when he reached the side of the boat where the brothers were, he looked pale and exhausted.
“Do you think we should turn round and go back to Roonagh?” he pleaded to my uncle. “I’ll check with the captain,” my uncle replied and off he went, as steady as if he was on land. When he came back, he brought the news that the man from Dublin did not want to hear. We were too far advanced towards Inishturk and there would be no point in going back. It was a shorter journey to the island and we would brave the rough conditions.
Aged considerably
This news was greeted with an immediate response of vomiting by the man from Dublin, who now was looking like death warmed up. He appeared to have aged considerably in the few hours we had known him.
Although the sea was rough, there was no rain and the breeze on the face kept us fresh and suppressed any feelings of nausea we might have. As we approached the uninhabited island of Caher, there was a temporary reduction in the heaving of the boat, but this change only aggravated the condition of the man from Dublin as the fumes from the engine added an unpleasant smell to the environment on the boat.
The man from Dublin
For a while, there was a general concern that in his agitated condition, the man from Dublin might jump over the side, but this hyperactive state wore itself out and he was now lying on the deck in the foetal position and appeared to be hearing words that were not being spoken by anyone on board. He was muttering things like, “I told you to leave me alone,” or, “I told you that we should not have travelled today.” It was unclear to whom he was addressing these, but we were keeping well clear of him now.
By the time we landed at the small pier in Inishturk, the man from Dublin was asleep or unconscious. He was carried from the boat by the fishermen, while we went looking for a place to stay as the trawler’s captain said we would not be returning to the mainland until tomorrow – and only then if the sea allowed.
So we settled in for lunch at the local Post Office as the man from Dublin was put to bed. While my uncle got down to his business, I went exploring the island, which did not take long. The island was very small but there were some cliffs and water pools and after walking around the whole island, I collected some shellfish for eating later.
When I got back to the Post Office, the man from Dublin was awake but subdued. He was sitting with the others and a small group of islanders who had gathered around a large open fire in the Post Office. He now claimed to have no memory of the events that morning and was telling us that it must have been the tablets that caused the problem. He admitted that he had probably taken five tablets in all. He did indeed have a trip to remember.
Only bad news
As we talked in front of the fire about our failure to return to the mainland, there was a debate about whether to contact our families by telegram, the only method that was running at the time. My father said that he would not send one, as he knew my mother would die of fright if she saw the postman arrive with one while he was away. Telegrams brought only bad news.
My uncle agreed that it was better to do nothing than cause anxiety. We were not to know until we arrived home that there was great concern that we had been lost in the storm. The talk and storytelling continued into the early hours and we could hear the corncrake sing as we broke up for the night.
“The species crex crex,” the man from Dublin said, “otherwise known as the corncrake, on his summer vacation in Inishturk all the way from Africa.” “Back to his normal self,” I heard one of the brothers say as we headed for bed.
The following morning, the sea was calm. We headed for home without the man from Dublin, who said that he would take advantage of the good weather and he would stay behind on the island for a short holiday. We knew that he did not want to have a repeat performance in front of us on the return journey and also needed some time to recover his courage before getting on board again.
Wondrous effects
While we had an uneventful return journey, I was told sometime later, but did not confirm it myself, that the man from Dublin met and married an island woman and spent the rest of his life on the island developing the tourist trade there. All thanks to the wondrous effects of Dramamine.