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Eyrephort at sunset; Photo by Mark Furniss Photography
The Landscapes of Connemara
Ireland’s Savage Beauty
Behold the wonder of Ireland’s West. For centuries, Connemara has entranced poets, authors, and artists, who have captured her beauty in their works so it may live on forever. It seems she may yet be immortal, as modern photographers document her rolling hills, bogs, cliffs, and forests daily. There are few places more magical than the top of Diamond Hill at daybreak or along the beaches of Errislannan or Lettergesh. The wilds of Connemara bring memories of times long past that are preserved and celebrated in this magical region. From hill to shore, she may become your muse.
Words and pictures cannot fully translate the beauty of Connemara; one must experience her in person. Until that time may come, we hope to offer a small window into her life:

The tidal island of Omey while the sea thrift was in full bloom; Photo by Mark Furniss Photography
The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.
—W.B. Yeats

Inishturk Signal Tower, which was built around 1805, is located at the highest point of the island; Photo by Mark Furniss Photography
Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.
— Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist
- Puffins can be seen on their Inishturk nesting ground from April to the end of July; Photo by Mark Furniss Photography
- Rossadillisk—one of the most picturesque piers in Connemara; Photo by Mark Furniss Photography
- Silky clouds kiss the tops of the Bens behind Lettergesh Beach; Photo by Trevor Dubber
You use a glass mirror to see your face: you use works of art to see your soul.
— George Bernard Shaw, Back to Methuselah

July evening at Roundstone Harbour; Photo by Robert Riddell
Connemara is a savage beauty.
— Oscar Wilde

At the day’s end on Errislannan pebble beach; Photo by Mark Furniss Photography
Connemara
is a state of light.
Of fluent sky, flayed rock
and flowering bog.
Of storied lake and inlet
and deep song.
Of wind and wild.
— Michael Cody
— V —
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