Irishman makes anniversary trip 'home'

By DAVID GUNTER

Feature correspondent

SANDPOINT — Roger King is an inventor, a raconteur and an Irishman. Each of those character traits and accomplishments are woven through his life like a Celtic knot — seemingly random at first glance, but inextricably connected and invariably beautiful.

King just returned from his 50th anniversary trip to the Emerald Isle, which he first visited at age 23, as a college student from Iowa.

“This trip was my fifteenth time,” he said, adding that his multiple visits have always felt like coming home to family. “Every time I get there, the first thing they say is, ‘You’re home.’ And when I leave, they say, ‘When are you coming back?’”

Much has changed since he first set foot in Ireland back in 1967. Sleepy villages have become vacation hot spots. Empty beaches now are crowded with sunbathers and tour buses. The most noticeable difference has turned a place of ultimate solitude into a sought-after destination.

At 23, King was at the helm of a converted fishing boat that took a stalwart few out to a towering crag that juts out of the North Atlantic; a place where monks once saved the written history of Western civilization by transcribing sacred and secular texts inside stone “beehive” huts. Officially named Skellig Michael, the island is part of what is more commonly referred to as the Skelligs.

Cut to the modern day and the recent filming of a Star Wars movie series scene where Luke Skywalker resides in this same, solitary spot. The Skelligs, once a secret, now require bookings months in advance for the small fleet of licensed boats that carry those wishing to get their Jedi fix.

“Fifty years ago, we were the first people to make a regularly scheduled run to the Skelligs and we were often the only boat out there,” King said.

Whether it was the gift of gab or the luck of the Irish, he found a way to get out — or at least close to — his beloved islands, thanks to a wooden boat captain who volunteered to brave the rough seas and take him around the shoreline.

For King, these journeys to Ireland are about two things — the care and feeding of friendships and a touchstone to his own heritage. For that reason, his itinerary has remained remarkably intact over the course of half a century, taking him back to old haunts and favorite places.

“Each one was meaningful to me,” he said. “And they’re meaningful yet.”

Take Ballycarbery Castle as an example. Home turf to the McCarthy clan, the castle ruins bespeak an attack that took place nearly 400 years ago during conflicts that swept Ireland, Scotland and England up in the War of Three Kingdoms. For 15 pilgrimages over 50 of those years, King has come back just to be in the presence of this history and the castle itself has remained dependably the same during that time.

“It fascinates me,” he said. “That’s why I keep coming back.”

A monument to Irish pluck, half of the castle walls still vault skyward and proud, covered in vines and steeped in legend. King’s first several excursions there required crossing a cow pasture and clambering under a fence to get a closer look. Today, there is a tour bus parking lot where cows once grazed.

Also different is one of King’s favorite beaches at Kells, County Kerry. Visitors there now see a packed seashore with a newly built pier, surrounded by a host of modern homes on the hillside overlooking the bay.

“When I was first there, there was one family of 18 people,” he said. “Still, when I walk out there, my heart’s in my throat.”

It’s getting harder to see past the layers of “progress” and through the veil to Ireland’s past of stone houses with thatched roofs where smoke from peat fires wafted lazily out of chimneys and floated like incense on the breeze. But King manages to find his way back, nonetheless.

Every trip involves a stay with his longtime friends John and Kathleen Selman, who live in County Limerick in a delightfully rambling estate known as Rathronan House. It’s a place where King is content to sit in the kitchen for hours on end, drinking tea, sharing stories and stoking the wood stove with logs of peat.

“Part of that house was 100 years old when we signed the Declaration of Independence,” he said. “When we sit in the kitchen, it hasn’t changed at all. The same cups are on the same shelves, which I love.”

Not too far from Rathronan House is another touchstone to history called Castle Matrix — meaning Mother Castle in the Irish language. Sir Walter Raleigh once called the place home, but it first showed up in history books due to a murder that happened there. On this last trip, King found the castle overgrown and inaccessible, though memories of his first impression remain as clear as ever.

He had ascended the spiral stone staircase — which has a statue of Sir Walter on a landing — to view the upper rooms, including one with a secret compartment where the resident Catholic priest could hide should the English come snooping around. The place was in its glory then, refurbished, for a time, to accommodate large banquets that included hosts in period costume and music made on a harp which, local lore has it, was once played by iconic Irish composer Turlough O’Carolan.

“I remember walking down the stairs and hearing heavenly music,” said King. “It was the Celtic harp being played in the great hall.”

Still intact, however, were the narrow roads of Ireland. They’ve been nicely resurfaced, King noted, but maintain their white-knuckle nature.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “There are still plenty of spots where you have to stop and move over until you’re rubbing against the brush on one side and they’re rubbing on the other — and your mirrors still barely clear each other.”

A deeper connection to his Irish past comes each time he visits one of the ancient ring forts dotting the landscape. Constructed long before any written accounts of such activity, the structures predate more famous sites in other parts of the world, according to King.

“Those ring forts were 1,000 years old when the pyramids were being built,” he said. “My theory is that the Irish already knew how to do it, so they went over and showed the Egyptians.”

Spoken like a true Irishman.

Pubs, too, have modernized in Ireland, King shared, but you can still find those cramped and cozy public houses where traditional music is played and pints are raised along with the singing voices of the people inside. Just such a scene took place in Kinsale, where a bit of searching for the “old Ireland” paid off.

“It was Irish weather — a rainy, damp night — and we went pub crawling,” said King.

The first stop had an electronic keyboard player set up in a corner. Keep moving. The second had a pair of guitar players singing pop songs. Nope.

“Then we got to this one pub and there’s traditional Irish music pouring out — accordion, flutes, bodhran, a couple of fiddles,” said King. “The leader would ‘shush’ the crowd whenever they started a new tune and as soon as they finished the verse, everyone in the pub would join in on the chorus. It was rollicking, good fun.

“I’m glad I got to be there for that one,” he added, “and to see that the old tradition is still alive.”

Is it possible, in a word, to describe a place so complex and so rich in myth? King thinks so.

“Healing,” he said, almost immediately revising his answer with a better-suited choice. “Or home. When I think of Ireland, it’s a longing for home.”