Exploring Skellig Michael: A Journey to Ireland's Edge
Our adventure to Skellig Michael began in the early hours of the morning, leaving our cozy base in Killarney before sunrise. My husband and I packed our bags and set out on a 90-minute drive through the stillness of the Irish countryside, making our way to Valencia Island, where our boat awaited. There, we met our small group — just ten other travelers equally excited for the journey — and boarded a modest boat bound for the iconic island, with its ancient monastery perched on the cliffs.
The ride from Valencia Island to Skellig Michael is about 12 kilometers, taking roughly 45 minutes, and those 45 minutes felt every bit like an ocean adventure. As soon as we left the calm harbor waters, the Atlantic greeted us with rolling waves that rocked our little boat. With each crest and plunge, I could feel my stomach rise and fall, and I noticed others weren’t faring much better. The entire family seated across from us — mom, dad, and their three kids — succumbed to seasickness one by one, looking as green as the hills we’d left behind. I, meanwhile, clung to my stash of saltines like a seasoned sailor and, seeing their distress, passed them my rations. Saltines may be no cure, but they offered a bit of comfort to the poor landlubbers.
After what felt like ages riding the relentless waves, Skellig Michael finally came into view, its jagged silhouette rising dramatically from the ocean like something out of a legend. Sheer cliffs and craggy rock faces towered above, seeming to defy both gravity and time. As we drew closer, I could feel my pulse quicken, knowing the landing would be as challenging as the journey. There’s no gentle harbor here, no familiar dock to steady yourself. Instead, the boat sidles up to a narrow, slippery stone ledge just long enough for passengers to leap ashore. I gripped the boat’s edge tightly, waiting for the perfect moment, and with one hurried, nervous step, I made the jump onto the wet rock. The crew urged us along, their voices carrying a sense of urgency — the boat had to leave, and we had to clear the way. I quickly moved aside, heart pounding, as the next passenger made their own daring leap.
With feet planted on Skellig Michael, the real adventure began. The path to the top is an ancient stone staircase, carved by monks over a thousand years ago. The steps are steep, narrow, and uneven — some barely more than half a foot high, others almost knee-high. There’s no handrail, no modern guardrails, nothing between you and the Atlantic far below. Each step was an exercise in balance and caution.
After climbing a while, I found myself stopping to sit and catch my breath, looking down at the churning waves far below. The height, the drop-offs, and the sheer raw beauty of the island were both thrilling and terrifying. My husband, who’s in much better shape than I am, tackled the climb with steady determination. Even he had to rest along the way, though, so I didn’t feel too bad about my own stops.
As we climbed higher, each step brought a thrill of anticipation, and the world below seemed to fade away, leaving only the rugged, ancient beauty of Skellig Michael. And then, just when our legs felt like they couldn’t take another step, we saw them: the beehive huts, perfectly preserved, standing proudly against the sky. These stone structures, crafted by monks in the 6th century, were even more astonishing in person — sturdy, rounded walls that seemed to whisper stories of resilience and devotion. We wandered around the site in awe, snapping photos of the sweeping vistas and each other, savoring the triumph of having reached this extraordinary place. It was a moment out of time, one that made every step of the climb worth it.
The descent was another challenge entirely. Going down those steep, uneven steps felt even more treacherous than the climb up. I’m not ashamed to admit I resorted to butt-scooting down the scariest sections, clinging to the rocks to steady myself. Pride? Out the window! Better a bit of embarrassment than a tumble off the side of the island. My husband, with his confidence and balance, flew down the steps like a billy goat, while I clung to each one for dear life. Those monks must have had tight bums, given the daily endurance it would’ve taken to scale these steps.
Here I am having a rest, trying valiantly to capture the craziness of these steps.
When we finally made it back to the boat, exhausted but exhilarated, the seasick family we’d shared saltines with thanked us profusely. We set off, riding the waves back toward Valencia Island. As if to reward our bravery, a pod of dolphins appeared, leaping and playing alongside the boat, their sleek bodies glinting in the sunlight. We watched them for a few magical moments, soaking up the joy of the day and the beauty of Ireland’s wild coast.
Tips for Visiting Skellig Michael:
- Book in Advance: Spots on the boats are limited, and tickets often sell out months ahead, so plan early.
- Prepare for the Seas: The Atlantic is no joke, especially on a small boat. Ginger candies, motion-sickness bands, and some light crackers like saltines can be a lifesaver.
- Use the Head on the Boat: There are no restrooms on the island, so be sure to use the facilities on the boat before disembarking.
- Dress and Pack Smart: Wear sturdy shoes with good grip, as the path is steep and slippery. Bring water, a light snack, and a camera, but pack light since there’s nowhere to leave your belongings on the island.
- Take It Slow on the Steps: The climb is steep, with no handrails or modern safety features. Rest when you need to — this trek is about the experience, not the speed.
- Embrace the Adventure: Skellig Michael isn’t just a destination; it’s a journey back in time, a test of endurance, and a truly unique part of Ireland’s history. Embrace the waves, the heights, and the sense of wonder that comes with standing on the edge of the world.