The Wild Atlantic Way reaches the end of its northward trek in Donegal, a county rich in soaring peaks and windswept beaches. Ancient ruins remain scattered across her weathered landscape, telling a tale of lives spent and lost.
The Slieve League cliffs are the county’s crowning glory, rising to almost three times the height of the legendary Cliffs of Moher. Standing upon the shoulders of these craggy giants, locals and tourists catch sight of Sligo and Mayo across Donegal Bay. Mankind’s fragility is powerfully captured in the sheer magnitude of these mammoth cliffs.
Donegal, like the Wild Atlantic Way, is a land of paradox. Her coastline is a patchwork of contrasting textures, from the woven faces of lobster pots to the battered strings of grass that line her cobbled strands. Donegal is wild and tranquil. She offers adventure and peace. She is a towering mountain pass and a glistening sunken lough. Donegal is the end of the journey. And yet she is only the beginning.
Meenlaragh (above)
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