In search of the Alpha and Omega stone at Loher
On to the Alpha and Omega stone at Loher! With the afternoon ahead of us and an amazing site behind us, we have gained confidence and talk animatedly about everything we know connected to early medieval Ireland.
It’s a good thing we buoy ourselves up because it quickly becomes apparent that even with the best OS map, it’s ridiculously easy for a small red dot indicating an ecclesiastical site to be swallowed up by the typeface of a neighbouring place name. Ryan eventually locates the dot on the map, but finding the field, and then the site itself, is still a challenge. A kilometre or two turns into a surprisingly large distance when extended in all directions, and one stony, boggy field looks very much like another. And there are a lot of fields. From what we’ve seen at Caherlehillan, gravestones resemble random stones if there has been frost-heave disturbance. We walk from one field to the next, avoiding sheep, some of which have very young lambs. In fact, when I look closely, I see a ewe trailing a placenta. I definitely don’t want to get too close. I note uneasily that I am being followed by the farmer’s collie. There is a smell of wet hay, and something funkier, like old meat.
Ryan paces his way backwards and forwards, establishing a grid, then gives a shout — “I’ve found it!” — waves his map, and walks towards an upright stone. I follow, keeping my distance from the sheep, increasingly apprehensive about the collie a few steps away. It doesn’t look like a family pet. With its matted, oily fur it looks more like a wild beast.
But mostly, I can’t get over how these irreplaceable antiquities stand, unsigned, in someone’s field. I try to take it all in but the collie is now slinking low to the ground behind me. I want to ask Ryan if collies are known to turn feral and attack, but Ryan has unexpectedly dropped out of sight.
“Well, I’ve never seen that before!” Ryan exclaims, popping out of the tall grass. “What an amazing sight!” He is glowing, ruddy with fresh air and sunshine. A lamb struggles to its feet in front of him. “She just had her young ‘un, right here in front of me!”
I think that searching for an old Alpha and Omega Loher stone must seem anticlimactic to him in comparison.
“And look, there’s another giving birth!” he exclaims. “Get away, you! Ya!” He runs at the collie, now devouring a placenta.
But the fields are obviously the collie’s terrain, and after a few minutes the dog slinks off with a second placenta.
Ryan shrugs. “Free protein,” he says. “The farmer probably counts on the dogs to clean up the field. Better that than attracting predators. Crows know.”
I glance up; large black silhouettes circle overhead. There’s something primal about farm life.
The Loher stone turns out to be fifty feet from us, right beside the major walking trail known as the Kerry Way. There’s even a sign explaining its significance, which we would have seen if we’d approached like tourists from the parking lot and not as wilderness trekkers. I feel a bit chagrined.
But turning around, I’m struck by the sight of Skellig Michael rearing out of the sea. The Loher site must have been chosen with the island in mind: Saint Michael, defender against chaos, as represented by the tumult of the Atlantic Ocean. Surely tomorrow will bring calmer seas and I will be looking out from the heights of Skellig Michael towards the mainland.
