A day off grid – revisiting Station Island

Back in the day, the annual family summer vacation to Donegal was punctuated by the disappearance of my dad on his three day trip to the rather ominous sounding St Patrick’s Purgatory.

This ancient pilgrimage site occupies Station Island on Lough Derg – straddling the border counties of Donegal and Fermanagh. A monastic site can be dated back to the 5th Century but it was common practice for Christians to supplant existing pagan sites with settlements of their own – so a Druidic presence on the lake would explain how a monastery came to be founded here in the first place.

According to legend, St. Patrick prayed to God for help in converting the pagan Irish who were holding out on him and cynically demanding proof of his teachings. God showed him a cave on Station Island that was an entrance to Purgatory.  By revealing this to his doubting followers, everyone would finally recognise the reality of heaven and hell and Patrick would be believed.

A scarcity of documentation alas, nowadays makes proof rather difficult to gauge – not alone of the location of Purgatory, but even Patrick’s presence on the island! Back then though, it became a major site of pilgrimage for Christians from mainland Europe. They most likely sailed via England and landed on the east coast before making there way on foot, stopping at monasteries along the way. The site is mentioned in texts from as early as 1185 and marked on European maps from the fifteenth century.

Map of Ireland, 1513

Station Island, 1666

The place has had its ups and downs since the Middle Ages – In 1632, British Anglicans destroyed most structures, including a small church, to stop Catholics visiting the island. A cave definitely existed but was closed in at some stage and eventually replaced with a chapel. 1846 saw 30,000 people making the journey but numbers would drop off in the years following the Great Famine. A basilica was built in 1931. Numbers peaked in the 1950’s at around 33,000 per annum. The ruins of early monastic beehive cells are now used as stations for prayer (which is where the name Station Island came from).

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In 1978 ( I think!) I joined my dad on this outing for the first – and last! – time! Of course, this teen had never really paid attention to the details and was just looking for a change of scene for a few days.

A mini bus collected us early for the circa 90 minute drive to the island. We didn’t need much – mainly warm clothes! The bus was filled with regulars, all in great spirits – I was the only newbee – and the youngest by 30 years at least! We had been fasting from midnight – so I was already hungry. We arrived at the small pier around 10.00am where the driver waved us off (before heading off himself for a full Irish in a nearby cafe no doubt!!).

It was a short boat ride to the island where we were greeted by cheerful staff and assigned dormitory beds. A programme of activities was outlined and off we went. Most of the following days – as I recall – were spent in prayer, reflection and meditation.

That was the easy bit.

Firstly, I remember the cold. It was August and I was frozen. And we were all in our bare feet for the duration of our time on the island. It rained on and off which drove everyone indoors to huddle around the one fire.

Then there was the 72 hour fast. I was so hungry by mid afternoon on day one. The following was available – black tea, dry toast and soup ( hot water seasoned with salt and pepper!). I’d never tasted anything as good as that toast!

Then there was the vigil. We had to stay awake throughout the first night. That was TOUGH!

By day 2, sleep deprivation and the relentless cold weather overtook hunger and I could barely swallow my toast. There wasn’t much chatter around the fire – actually, it was easier to stay awake outdoors in the howling wind!

With the last of the prayers over for the day, there was a rush for the dormitories. When the head finally hit the pillow – well – of course I didn’t sleep for hours!

The following day, after finishing the assigned activities and prayers, we put on our shoes and socks and headed for the boat. The trip home in the minibus was silent except for the heavy snores. Once in the door, we bypassed the kitchen (we were still fasting until midnight) and straight to bed.

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Last Monday, as a tribute to my dad, on the 10th anniversary of his passing , I revisited the island as a day tripper – he’d have been so chuffed!

Little has changed I think – except for mobile phones of course – banned along with cameras for the day. As day trippers, we didn’t have to remove our shoes, and – we were FED!! Not dry toast and seasoned hot water – scones upon arrival and vegetable soup and sambos for lunch! There was even milk for the tea!!! We were lucky with the day – it only rained twice – and the wind seemed to howl in only one corner of the island!!!

At lunch we sat with 3 elderly sisters from the North – it was only their 2nd visit this year they explained – they’d usually manage more than that. Also at the table was a young girl from Canada – she was getting married the following week (so around now) to a local guy she met five years ago when on a year’s placement in Donegal. Her mum was with her – a Columbian lady who met her own husband when visiting Canada and was now looking forward to an Irish wedding.

There were 160 visitors on Monday – the previous Saturday they catered for 500. With pilgrims numbering around 11,000 per annum, this is still a very important site.

The 3 day Pilgrimage still runs from circa June 1st to August 15th. One must be at least 15 years of age, in good health and able to walk and kneel unaided. A selection of day programmes are also available.

Finally!!!

A man named Conan once threw a worm into the lake. The worm grew into a huge monster called Caoránach that devoured most of the cattle in Ulster. The locals blamed Conan who, enraged, attacked and killed the beast. Its blood dyed the rocks red and that, my friends, is where the name Lough Derg comes from! (Red = Dearg in Irish!)