Northerly and raw, a land of big lore

March 13, 2011|Hilary Nangle, Globe Correspondent

GLENARM, Northern Ireland — I attained enlightenment in County Antrim. Not the lights-flashing, God-appearing, hallelujah kind, but a subtle, restorative, all’s-right-with-the-world kind. It hit me not while clambering over the Giant’s Causeway, or swigging a dram of whiskey at Bushmills, or white-knuckling my way across the tightrope known as the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. I found it in forested glens, along cascading waterfalls, on windswept headlands and a remote island.

Not that I came here looking for renewal. I came, with my husband and father, to tool along the highways and byways of this country in the United Kingdom, to explore the castles and ruins, and soak up the Irish “craic,’’ or good times, along with a pint of Smitty’s or Guinness. Sure, I had a list of must-sees, but as soon as I arrived in the Glens of Antrim, I tossed it aside to let serendipity rule.

Legend and lore permeate the Glens, glacier-sculpted valleys of woodlands and grasslands, peat bogs and beaches, cliff-edged mountains and rock-bound headlands that stretch along 50 miles of the county’s coastline. Wee fairy folk are said to reside in woodland caves and coastal crags. Rural byways are peppered with ancient ruins and historic sites. Listen closely, and it’s almost possible to imagine hearing long-ago battles amid the bleating of sheep and bellowing of cows.

Tea drew me to Glenarm Castle, one of Northern Ireland’s oldest estates. It’s been home to the McDonnell family, earls of Antrim, since the 17th century. The castle isn’t open to the public, but the tearoom and the walled garden are. We detoured off the main road for tea and scones but could not resist exploring the garden, which dates to the 18th century. The bright colors of blossoming spring bulbs and fruit trees appeared as if fairy folk had engaged in a paintball match.

Continuing north, the scenic Antrim Coast Road squeezes through the Red Arch, a landmark tunnel through a headland cut in 1817, before arriving in Glenariff, queen of the Glens. It would be hard to imagine a finer place to absorb the surrounding beauty than Dieskirt Farm Bed-and-Breakfast, James and Ann McHenry’s working sheep farm. It sits high in the glen, with glimpses of the distant sea over sheep-manicured lawns dotted with spring lambs and a corralled horse and donkey.