It’s early in the morning and there’s hardly a sound to be heard. The sky is molten amber and the water so calm that our boat is barely bobbing on its surface. I’ve got a piping hot cup of coffee in my hands, and the mist rolling over the river could be from a smoke machine at a school disco. The scene couldn’t be more peaceful if it tried.
That is, until my friend’s four-year-old barrels into the room, flings himself on my shoulders and screams something about cereal as coffee pours on to my lap. And just like that, the peace is over.
We’re on the Shannon, the longest river in Ireland, spending a week navigating a luxury cruiser through some of the most gorgeous scenery in the west, from Carrick-on-Shannon up to Lough Key. This little corner of the country is in the northwest, only a couple of hours from Dublin, but it feels a million miles away — after all, Co Leitrim only got its first set of traffic lights in 2016.
I’ve stolen my best friend, Lindsey, and her family for the week, so there are three adults and three children all battling for the captain’s hat.
The boat is something of a beast. There is an ample kitchen and living area, a pretty upper deck and four surprisingly spacious en suite bedrooms. I can’t drive a car, so it’s startling to learn that I’m permitted to steer the thing along the waterways and through the locks. I’m even more surprised to realise it’s not that tricky — although, granted, I leave most of the heavy lifting to Rob, once I realise he’s happy to (literally) take the helm, allowing me to revel in my new role: making nautical puns from the sidelines.
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While he leads us on a meandering route past grazing cows and trees dripping with lichen, the rest of us are free to bask in the (unprecedented) Leitrim sunshine. We lounge around on the top deck, some of us with a beer, periodically making a grab for the lifejacket straps of the two-year-old, who seems hellbent on sliding overboard at any given moment.
Although it’s far from balmy up here, the deck is where we spend the bulk of our days. There’s even a secondary steering wheel, so the driver isn’t stuck downstairs on their own (this also comes in handy if you want to trick the children into thinking they’re steering, without smashing into a riverbank).
The first hour of cruising passes in a blissful haze. We watch the gentle ripples of the water, make lists of the wildlife we spot, and wave at the boats that pass (the only ones to wave back are a boat full of stags — with their middle fingers). We see cormorants, herons and, thrillingly, a couple of kingfishers. But there’s a limit to how much fun a boat can contain.
We reach our first stop after an hour’s gentle cruising. Beirnes of Battlebridge is a tiny spot just off the main river, with a harbour, playground and (most importantly) a proper Irish country pub, with turf smouldering on the fire, candle wax dripping saucily down wine bottles and suspicious old fellas propping up the bar. Only the fully vaccinated can eat and drink inside, but there are picnic tables for everyone else outdoors (battlebridgecaravan andcamping.ie).
As Rob manoeuvres our giant boat into a tiny little port, a man in a deliciously authentic fisherman’s jumper watches witheringly from his deck, cigarette in hand. Luckily our cruiser is surrounded by thick inflatable bumpers (much like the kids’ lane in a bowling alley) so it’s more a case of bouncing from pillar to post until I can hop out, grab a rope and pull us into a mooring.
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We figure out early on that any time spent on dry land should be sufficiently exhausting for the children, and luckily we’re bang on the Shannon Blueway, part of a network of waterside walking trails. We start before the sun begins to fade, and walk (or run) alongside the river in the glow of the late-afternoon light. The water gargles under thick stone bridges, then slows to a standstill: the only other sounds are the coo of the wood pigeons and the occasional “Howaya” from dog walkers on the trail.
From there, we moor up wherever takes our fancy. You can cruise for as long or as little as you like — we had decided to travel north, up to Lough Key via Leitrim village and Cootehall, to make the most of the quieter marinas and child-friendly activities. But if you were to head south, you could cruise all the way to Lough Ree.
An hour or two each day on the water is the sweet spot for us, before the children succumb to cabin fever. We thank God for the nearby Lough Key Forest and Activity Park, a veritable wonderland of distractions with its own harbour and power hook-ups. There’s an outdoor trivia trail, a treetop canopy walk, rowing boats and kayaks to rent, and a zip line too. If you fancy dining off the boat there’s a covered terrace: you can either buy from the food truck or bring a picnic to eat under the twinkling lights (adults £7, children £4; loughkey.ie).
While there are places to moor up and dine when you’re cruising — such as the Waterfront Restaurant (mains from £13; thewaterfrontrestaurant.ie) in the Cootehall marina, and the excellent gastropub the Oarsman (mains from £14; theoarsman.com) in Carrick-on-Shannon — we mostly eat on board. In truth, this decision is made with the children in mind — it’s far easier to cook up a feast on the boat than to schlep everyone into a restaurant. But it’s also an added joy to park in a sunny spot then head up to the roof deck to fire up the grill and cook outside.
Before setting off, we had stocked the kitchen cupboards with a mishmash of supermarket fare and bits we’d picked up in Carrick-on-Shannon’s Thursday farmers’ market. One particular highlight? A lunch of local streaky bacon and mushrooms, all sizzled on the flat grill with an obscene amount of Irish butter, the juices mopped up with crusty baguette smooshed right on to the hotplate. As we sit on the perfectly still water, with the smell of crisping bacon filling the air, it’s hard to remember what normal life feels like.
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The only moment of stress comes from navigating a lock, thanks to an exceedingly grumpy lock keeper who can’t decide whether he’s more frustrated by my ineptitude or the toddler’s tears. “What’s wrong with her?” he grunts, as he throws me a rope and expects me to know what the hell I should do with it. Luckily, the racket of the water filling the lock drowns out my reply.
It’s the mornings I love the most, though. I wake up snuggled under the duvet, my breath making little clouds in the chilly air. After a quick head count of the children (not to brag, but we don’t lose a single one), I whack on the heating and the coffee, bringing a cup to my friends in bed.
It’s a week without wi-fi, without laptops and without any cares (for me, at least — I don’t think Lindsey fully unclenches until we’re all back on dry land).
It’s the little things that make it. The ducks that swim alongside the boat, and the cat that sneaks his way on board, much to everyone’s delight. The cuddles on deck when the toddler waddles up and asks: “Can me sit next to you?” The lunchtime beers as the water laps around us and the sausages sizzle on the barbecue.
But mostly it’s the sense of utter peace. There’s nothing except us, the birdsong and a river that feels like our own. It’s as tranquil as can be. Until someone wants cereal, of course.
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Nicola Brady was a guest of Le Boat (leboat.co.uk). Seven nights’ self-catering for nine on the Horizon 4 from £1,979. Budget boats start at £569. Fly to Dublin. International travel restrictions apply. For details, see gov.uk
