I was down at the Crops and Cover Crop Cultivations open day in Oak Park a couple of weeks ago. It was a good, well-organised, and informative day but I have a feeling that the machinery demonstrations lured guys away from crop trial stands.

Fellows couldn’t be standing still in the hot sunshine looking at graphs while there was lots of action in the next field.

Me? As I’m not the world’s greatest fan of cover crops, a quick nip around the machinery was enough for me. Upon leaving the event, there was a short five-question survey to see what you thought of the day and what your take-home message was.

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Mine was altogether different. While lunching on the Coke, burger and chips, Frank Burke, whose son Brendan is farm manager at Oak Park, joined the craic. He recommended that I should take Mrs P down to Inisbofin, a few miles off the Connemara coast.

Strangely, my sister and someone else had said this to me recently. So my take-home message was to get my butt down there and quickly before the rapidly approaching harvest begins.

Whirlwind visit west

Back home and with no holiday plans made, Mrs P thought it a smashing idea so she cranked up the auld first-gen Samsung laptop and smartly put together a four-day/three-night whirlwind visit to the wild west.

I was a bit worried about the six-mile sea crossing as I’m so bad I get seasick in the bath.

But no problem; the ferry is a big, solid, steel vessel and rides out the swell. You leave your car behind in Cleggan, so it was either walk or ride for the next three days which was grand.

You could bring your car if you really wanted to, on another ferry. But I wouldn’t recommend it judging by the state of the rusty jalopies that are resident on the island.

I didn’t actually see them at it but the natives must play bumper cars with their own vehicles as, almost without exception, every car or jeep was dinged or scraped or had the bumper hanging off.

I think it’s a kind of easy-going independent republic, which appears largely free of such inconveniences as motor tax or the NCT and possibly insurance.

But I loved it for all of that. There are lovely walks and great hospitality and two or three good restaurants and hotels.

Agriculturally, it’s almost entirely sheep with only a few cattle. As a result, there’s hardly a tractor on the island as they don’t conserve any fodder, all of which is a mixed blessing for ground-nesting birds.

Birdwatching

Nonetheless, on the second afternoon we were walking at the eastern end of the island (it’s about 5km long) on a very quiet country road and, lo and behold, we heard a corncrake.

The corncrake is alive and well (and safe) on Inisbofin and, for this and other bird species, it is frequented by birdwatchers

It was really close by but, try as I might, I couldn’t see it. This is usual as they stay hidden in the meadow and you shouldn’t try to rise them.

My uncle David, who died earlier this year and was always really into nature, rang me a few years ago to ask did I still hear the corncrake in Rathcormick on summer evenings? I didn’t, of course, as the poor corncrake has long since disappeared with the finger-bar hay meadows. It was very much a childhood memory for David and one which he hoped to relive in his twilight years.

Anyhow, the corncrake is alive and well (and safe) on Inisbofin and, for this and other bird species, it is frequented by birdwatchers. But I couldn’t find a shag for love nor money on the Inisbofin holiday. The shag, you understand, is a commonly seen seabird on the island.