Belinda McKeon is swept away by the rugged appeal of Galley Head Lighthouse, a Co Cork beacon whose exquisitely restored cottages you can stay in.
We had been driving for almost six hours. Straight down through Ireland on St Patrick's Day, in unexpected sunshine, through towns relaxing after their parades, past packed pubs and playgrounds, past the Rock of Cashel on its proud, high hill. But it was dark now, and we were on unfamiliar ground. We were wondering, actually, whether we were on solid ground at all. Gerry Butler, the attendant at Galley Head Lighthouse, near Clonakilty, in west Co Cork, had given us directions to the steep headland on which the lighthouse and its cottages stand: out past Ardfield, through Rathbarry, on past an ominous-sounding black sign. "But don't worry," he'd added with a laugh. "You'll see her."
Yet as we left Rathbarry, and came onto a winding coast road, we could see nothing at all for a moment, and it was unnerving. We had come here for the sea, for the sight and the smell of the ocean, for the endless glint of its waters, and now as we drove it was all around us, but where? Was this the final turn we'd been told of or a cliff edge? Were those narrow fields we could sense along the dark road or just blind air, salt air, the beginning of water? The night was black.
And then, suddenly, it was white, as white as if a window had opened on to a blanket of snow. A belt of light crossed the landscape in a giant arc, washing brightness over the road, the fields, the way to the cliff's edge, and there came another, and another, five in all, like the sweep of a great arm beckoning us on. We saw her: Galley Head, her huge, burning bulbs in the distance, guiding us home.
When it was established, in 1878, the lighthouse at Galley Head was the world's brightest coastal light. Butler, who met us at a little red gate leading to the whitewashed cottages, spent years of his childhood living here with his parents - his father a lighthouse keeper, his mother the daughter of the Galley's former keeper - and shared with his 14 siblings the task of winding the tower light every half-hour. He was a keeper himself for 21 years; now he looks after the property for the Irish Landmark Trust, which numbers it among its portfolio of exquisitely restored self-catering accommodation. For a very reasonable rate, you can rent one or both of the cottages, at any time of the year - and, although they're charming, they're hardly cottages, with their big, bright rooms and high views over the water.
You can sleep 12 here, between the two houses; the internal door that joins them can be opened for bigger parties. The kitchen is large and modern, the sittingroom cosy, with an open fire, and throughout there are wooden floors and deep, shuttered windows.
Outside that night, under the lighthouse gaze, the sea was throwing a tantrum, and although its walls are solid, its doors well latched, the house seems to whisper of the sea, of its drama: the scrubbed floorboards, the painted white furniture, the little nautical paintings, the starched bedlinen. It is a house of the sea, born of the sea, bearing its mark on every surface. From each one of its windows you can watch the waves crash. In each of its bedrooms you lie bathed in the curve of the light. And if you get up before dawn you can peek out at the lighthouse, its shadow, and then see its huge beams, plunging brightness into the sea out to the horizon.
Unsurprisingly, this place is often booked out months in advance. In summer, families come here for a fortnight or even a month at a time. They leave their affectionate thank yous in the visitors' book, telling of dinners in the lingering sunlight, of walks in the nearby woods of Castlefreke and Rathbarry, of days spent on the quiet sands of nearby beaches.
Summer here would be magical, but so is this time of glimpsing summer, when the seasons crowd into a day and you get to see the place through all of its mood swings. Dawn was angry, but a couple of hours later intense sunlight woke us both; now the sea was blue and glistening; by lunchtime it would be burgeoning with a storm.
We picked our way along the cliffs, looked down the deep holes to the water, walked a beach buffeted by wind, climbed the lighthouse steps with Butler as our guide. He showed us the giant faces of the lenses, told us how each lighthouse is unique in what is called its character: Galley Head's character consists of five flashes in 20 seconds. He told us of the day when the angry sea rose right up to the lookout tower and of the day, at nearby Fastnet Lighthouse, when he was in the process of being carried off by the wind when a colleague caught hold of him. There are often days, he said, when the wind renders the short crossing from the cottages to the tower impossible. To prove his point, he took us out on to the high platform beside the lenses; even on this calm day the wind pulled like a magnet. Our knuckles whitened on the railings.
This place went electric in 1969, and the light was automated 10 years later, so the keeper's role is now defunct, but Galley Head has lost none of its strange romance. It is a joy to come back to after a day driving around Schull and Skibbereen; after an afternoon walking the huge folded rocks and periwinkles of nearby coves; after the wintry bleakness of the Sheep's Head, a headland that redefines the notion of isolation, or after a night talking about the Cork game of bowls with the barman in the quiet little pub nearby - a traditional pub, with all the 1970s Formica and curling GAA calendars the concept implies.
Apparently, the way the beam from the lighthouse arcs across the land as well as across the sea is unusual, and Butler tells the story of how it was made more powerful than other coastal lights because the sultan of Turkey, on a visit to nearby Castle Freke (the ruins of which are still visible), asked to be able to see it at all times during his stay. After the light was made electric, the engineer in charge moved to dim it, so it would not dazzle motorists, but locals missed the light flashing across their homes, across their paths, and asked for it to be restored.
And so, on the narrow roads of Rathbarry, the bright eye of the Galley pulses the way home clear. Close your eyes; you'll see it still.
The Galley Head cottages are available to rent through the Irish Landmark Trust. Rates in May start at €328 for one house (Mon-Fri); from June to August the cottages are available for full weeks only, with prices starting at €700 for one house. Each house sleeps up to six. The Irish Landmark Trust restores and rents a number of properties around the country; see www.irishlandmark.com or call 01-6704733 for details