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  To Ben Bulben
 
  Riding by the 
                Sea 
  Horse Holiday 
                Farm
 
 
 
   View from the 
                Horse Holiday Farm
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           There are still 
                smidgens of snow, sparkling geometric shapes, up on Benwiskin, 
                Ben Bulben's mountain neighbour. Although the late spring sunshine 
                has coaxed out primproses along every bank, down on Cliffony strand 
                you can see the wind is swirling in from Donegal Bay and unsettling 
                flocks of oyster catchers. It's midday and down in the village 
                of Grange, a little more than a mile away, the Angelus is marked 
                by a taped rendition of "Ave Maria" with bells, relayed through 
                the local church's tannoy system.
           
 "Grange is a great village," says Tilman Anhold as we walk from 
                his house to the stable yeard. "Everyone here pulls together."
 
 There is little trace of a German accent. 28 years ago he came 
                here from Celle, near Hannover, and married Colette, a local Irish 
                girl who spoke a little German. He never went back.
 
 The sound of a blacksmith's hammer on steel rings all around us. 
                It's the day before Tilman and Colette open for the 2000 season; 
                tomorrow they're expecting an influx of Germans and Scandinavians 
                to their quaintly named Horse Holiday Farm, the enterprise to 
                which they've devoted their lives. Yardmen direct power hoses 
                to sluice down the last signs of winter from the stables and walkways. 
                Charlie McNulty, the blacksmith from Donegal, whose noble face 
                looks as if it were fashioned on an anvil, is shooing a large 
                number of the 103 horses that make up his establishment. He stoops 
                and picks up a hoof and lays it upon his leather apron. Then he 
                files down the hoof in deft, rasping strokes until the horse's 
                foot is flat and even to receive the metal shoe.
 
 Tilman's farm - everyone around here refers to "Tilman's" - is 
                found in a setting of exceptional natural beauty. His house over 
                the great Donegal Bay looks out to the Slieve League peninsula. 
                To the distant right, looking over Mullaghmore Castle, are the 
                crowded peaks of the Blue Stack Mountains. To the left is Sligo 
                Bay and beyond it, in the distance, the primal hump of stones 
                that is Queen Medb's tomb on Knocknarea. Directly behind Tilman's 
                is Ben Bulben, flat headed, timeless, enthralling. Directly below 
                Tilman's is Streedagh strand. Cliffony strand is a mile further 
                on. If you're a walker or hiker, this is heaven. If you ride horses, 
                then it is truly kingdom come.
 
 Tilman gives me a leg-up on Beaker, an eight-year old gelding. 
                Sun is drenching down as I leave the yard and am met by Elke, 
                Tilman's neighbour, a Cologne girl who is married to Tommy Wymbs, 
                a local man. Elke has volunteered to be my guide for the morning. 
                She is riding Stonepark, a grey gelding, on its toes. We trot 
                down the lane past a cottage whose colour scheme and plastic window 
                flowers somehow manage to make the term
           
            kitsch
           
           appealing.
 
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|   Gallop at the 
              Sea
 
 
 
Riding on the 
                Beach
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From 
                Beach to Beach at Low Tide
 
 "You've got four strands," Elke says, "starting with Mullaghmore, 
                then Cliffony, Streedagh and Lissadell. At low tide you can ride 
                on all four, from one to the other."
 
 The place names, spoken in Elke's lilting Cliffony accent, sound 
                like blank verse. I remember how Yeats used these local place 
                names:
 Under bare Ben Bulben's head
 In Drumcliffe Churchyard Yeats is laid
 
 The strand at Cliffony provides the horses with irresistible 
                open space. Snorting in the ozone, they take off through the incoming 
                white caps. Beaker is stretching out, trying to let me give him 
                another inch of rein. The sound of our hooves in the tide is curiously 
                muted. Gulls on the sand ahead cling to their territory until 
                the last minute as we thunder towards them. I can taste salt and 
                sea, feel sun, hear water and gulls, smell horse. We pull up and 
                trot in a circle, catching our breaths. We've cantered about a 
                mile. Ahead is the gothic starkness of  Mullaghmore. Sand 
                dunes roll back from the high-tide mark, great, towering craggy 
                hills of sand and pampas grass. There are no other humans in sight.
 
 
           Tilman and 
                Colette Anhold
           Horse Holiday Farm Ltd.
 Grange County Sligo Ireland
 Telephone : (071) 9166152
 Fax : (071) 9166400
 From Europe Telephone : 00 353 71 9166152
 Fax : 00 353 71 9166400
 
 Formular: Anfrage und Reservierung 
 Anreisemöglichkeiten zur Horse 
                Holiday Farm 
The Horse Holiday Farm is Bord Fáilte (Irish Tourist Board) 
                approved and
 a member of A.I.R.E., the Association of Irish Riding Establishments.
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