The caves of Keshcorann are easily accessible, located halfway up the western slopes of Keshcorann mountain. They are situated on the road from Ballymote to Boyle, just before the village of Keash. The caves are clearly visible from the main road, and a side road to the left brings you within a short, although very steep, climb to the caves themselves. If you continue the climb up the mountain, you will find a cairn and the remains of a ringfort at its summit. There are seventeen caves and, although very little evidence of human habitation has been found in them (excavations found only the bones of hares, foxes and bears), they are an important site in terms of their legendary associations. The mountain range on which they stand is called the Bricklieves, or Speckled Mountains, and from the slopes of the caves there are fine views over the surrounding countryside. Some of the caves link into each other, and wet-weather gear is essential for exploring them, as the floor is covered in a heavy brown slush which seems to contain a large percentage of liquefied sheep manure. In one cave to the left of the range, however, the interior is a vivid green world. Here, the rocks are spilt with tiny fronds of fern and psychedelically bright algae.
Keshcorann gets its name from Corann, a poet of the Dé Danann whose music calmed the rampaging sow, Caelchéis (Céis means ‘The Wicker Causeway’). In gratitude for saving the people from the beast, the lands were granted to him, to hold his name forever. This connection with the ancient mythical sow suggests that, as at Ben Bulben, some form of very ancient animal worship or sacrifice may have taken place here. The caves on the hill were one of the resting places of that ubiquitous pair of lovers, Diarmaid and Gráinne, and also the home of the magical smith, Lon Mac Líomtha, the master craftsmen who had only one leg and one eye, but in recompense had three arms. In one of the caves, a she-wolf suckled the infant Cormac in the days before he took up his rightful place as high king of Ireland. Until relatively recently, the caves were visited on Bilberry or Garland Sunday, the last Sunday in July, in an echo of the ancient Lughnasa rite.
On the other side of the mountain is Lough Arrow, the site of the famous Second Battle of Moytura, when the Tuatha Dé Danann defeated the race of the Fomorians, their rivals for the control of the land of Ireland. Myth and history mingle on the shores of the lake, for this is the location of Carrowkeel, Sligo’s second great Megalithic graveyard and ceremonial centre. Carrowkeel is one of the most impressive ancient landscapes in Ireland. Many of the tombs predate Newgrange and may be from as early as 3800BC. The complex contains wedge, passage, portal and court tombs. Pottery from the passage tombs has given its name to a pottery type, Carrowkeel ware.
At the time the Carrowkeel complex was built, the slopes of the hillside at Keshcorann would have been heavily forested in elm, hazel and oak, honeysuckle and holly. Now there is long, slippery grass and a dotting of golden furze and white hawthorn. Sure-footed sheep graze around the caves and the view is over placid, cultivated countryside. This area is a quiet one, with small friendly towns – many, such as Tobercurry, with a strong tradition of Irish music. Near Tobercurry is another famous mountain of the Sídh, Knocknashee. In Castlebaldwin there is an information centre which would make a useful start to any exploration of the area. The countryside here is less dramatic than in north Sligo, and few people visit the caves. When we visited the site on a wet June Sunday, we met only one other person – a writer who had come from Australia because of the myths associated with Keshcorann. For most of the time, the caves are undisturbed, silent places of transformation and mysteries long ago forgotten.
THE HAGS OF WINTER
Fionn, the great warrior and hunter, ran through woods on the steep slopes on Keshcorann, delighting in the brush of branches against his arms and legs, the sharp smell of early winter, the call of the hounds and the shouts of his men. He was bound, he felt, for an adventure, a tale to tell during the long winter evenings around the blazing hearth of Almiu. Only his hounds and his companion, Conán, were with him, for he could still outrun all of the Fianna, even his son and his grandson; the only one to match him on any day was Caoilte Mac Rónáin. However, although the adventure that was about to befall Fionn would be told at many a fireside in years to come, it was not Fionn who would be the hero in it, but the man who would become his bitterest enemy – Goll Mac Morna.
Suddenly, the forest disappeared. A thick mist had come down; the dogs began to whine. The two men forced the hounds onwards, for they had been on the scent of a deer and were determined not to let it escape. But another smell was taking over from the scent of the deer – a smell of darkness and decay. The way up the hill was steep and very slippery underfoot. Fionn fell once and cursed as he tried to wipe off the brown, stinking mud clinging to his knees and hands. As the mist cleared slightly, the two hunters found themselves at the mouth of a cave where the smell grew stronger. Just discernible in the darkness were three old women. Each was uglier than the next; each was misshapen and wrinkled. Each had crimson hair, bristling out like the bristles of a boar; each had a stubbly beard and their black lips hung down to their withered breasts. Worst of all were their eyes. Each one of the six eyes gazing on the warriors was a blank white space, faintly veined with blue, with no iris or pupil. The three creatures were spinning, and as they spun, they hummed. Curious, Fionn and his companion pushed back the holly bush that grew at the mouth of the cave, and made their way inside, calling on the dogs that had hung back behind them, shivering and whining. As they passed the bush, the two men felt a great weakness come upon them and they fell to the ground. The spinners were witches, the daughters of a sorcerer; they were called Camóg, Cuilleann and Iornach. They were set to take revenge on Fionn on behalf of their father, who hated to see the wild things of his woods disturbed by the hunting of the Fianna. The three old women wound the great Fionn and his companion in their threads and they lay there, trussed up like babies, while the hags cackled at each other in victorious joy.
Soon, the rest of the Fianna appeared, drawn to the cave by the howls of Bran and Sceolan, the wise dogs who had refused to enter the enchanted place. When they saw their leader bound and gagged, the Fianna rushed forward into the cave, but they too were overtaken by the magic, and left as weak as kittens, trapped like flies in the spinners’ webs. The smiles of the hags became even wider, and they were about to start stringing up the Fianna onto their cooking spits when an almighty bellow came from the mouth of the cave. It was Goll Mac Morna, who had slain Fionn’s father and who would, in turn, one day be slain by Fionn. Goll had never lost his loyalty to his companions in arms. Cleverer and older than the rest of the men, he did not put one toe beyond the holly bush, but waved his sword and challenged the hags to battle.
‘There’s three of us and one of him,’ said the eldest. ‘Let’s shut him up.’
The three witches came forward and set upon Goll like angry hornets, but he spun around with his sword flashing in the weak winter sun, so that, half-blinded, they put their hands to their eyes. In an instant, he had managed to split two of them with one sword-stroke. The third hag was so aghast at losing her sisters that she threw herself down before Goll, promising to remove the enchantment from the Fianna if he spared her life. This he did, and Fionn and the Fianna came from the cave, rubbing their eyes, their legs still shaking. But just at that moment, a fourth sister witch appeared, yowling in rage. In an instant, Goll had lifted his sword again and killed her also.
Entrance to the caves at Keshcorann, County Sligo.
They left the bodies of the witches at the cave for their father to find, but they took home the young deer that the Fianna had slaughtered.
In gratitude for his rescue, Fionn offered Goll his own daughter, Sgannlach. She was a good wife to Goll, and stayed faithful to her husband even after enmity had broken out again between the two men. The couple were hunted by Fionn the length and breath of Ireland; finally, they ended on a barren rock far out to sea on the west coast, with Fionn on their tail and a great army ready to destroy them. There, far from the fertile valleys and bird-filled forests, Goll begged his wife to leave him and save her own life. But this she refused to do, and so they died, side by side, bound together by ties even stronger than the magic of the witches of Keshcorann.
