Walk up the road that runs parallel to Ahakista Stream and half way up the hill there is a sign telling you to bear left in order to follow the Sheep’s Head Walk. This takes you over a stile and onto a loop walk that is no more than a mile. It crosses some rough ground which rises to give a view over the bay before the track runs down again. It goes through a broken down gate where in wet months the ground can be muddy before winding through a thick mass of gorse and bracken. Some of the gorse and bracken has been cut back to reveal a small stone circle. Just past that the path comes to a stream and which it follows  back down to road. Once on the road it is a short walk to the Tin Pub which is where we were standing having a pint to reward ourselves for doing the half hour walk.

The man with the black beard was at the bar and we were talking about the stone circle.

‘It is so feckin’ old they can’t count the number of stones up there. Its either eleven or thirteen depending on how you look at the big ones that have fallen down. And there is some fool that’ll tell you that no-one knew it was there until they cleared the way for the walk. Feck we knew it was there sure enough it was just no-one had bothered to make a path to the place and cut away the grass and the bracken. Now it is just some old pieces of rock in a circle and they look neat and clean up there but before they did that it was a wild place and you had to use your hands to tear away at the weeds to get a look at them. But we knew they were there alright and there were some who would take some comfort from them.’

‘But look now you take the road from here back down to Durrus and there’ll be three or more bungalows with some grass in front and they all have a feckin’ stone circle there pretending to have been there still for the last three thousand years or so. Feck!  They’ll all be be feckin’ fools to think there’s anything more there than a collection of stones and any man can do that. It’s that cousin of Tom Cronin and his digger. He’ll take the thing up to the hills and bang away with it until he gets a piece of rock about the right size and he’ll have it back down here telling the people in their bungalow that it is some stone or other that’s been picked out by some celt or something and he’ll deliver it to them and even dig a ditch of some sort to put them in.’

‘And there you will have it. What any man needs when he has time to put his feet up. A bungalow there by the sea, a good bit of grass in front and a view over the bay there and your own stone circle there by the drive so close you might hit the feckin’ thing in your car.’