An Irishwoman's Diary

Gannets diving over a tranquil, indigo Atlantic. A lost storm petrel sheltering with her chick. An occasional glimpse of several antler tips. Silence for the host's stories about Port na bPucaí, the Blasket Fairies' Lament.

It doesn't seem like two summers ago since Mr Haughey was sitting outside his home on Inismhicileáin (as he himself always spelt the name of the island), discussing the origins of the piece of music which he had played earlier on tape. The lament had inspired Seamus Heaney's The Given Note, he explained, and islanders believed it marked the death of one of the fairy community. However, there was a theory that Port na bPucaí derived from a seal's call.

We had seen the seals - plenty of them - on landing, and en route from Dingle had passed within several wave-lengths of a minke whale. We knew we were being watched by several dozen shy red deer as we clambered up the steep hill. On that August day in 2004, the most southerly Blasket commanded a mist-free view of Puffin Island, the long black shadow of Valentia, the Skellig outposts to the south-west.

Our escorts, fishermen Sean and Jimmy Hand of Lispole, had warned us. "After you've been out there, you'll be very disappointed when you go to heaven. . ." Small wonder that monks had settled, and had been buried under the long, flat stones at the island's oratory. Mr Haughey laughed as he recalled how he had caused "pandemonium" in Trinity College, Dublin, some years ago when he had contacted it to say he wished to look at the original island stone, marked in ogham. "Eventually, someone dug it out of storage," he recalled, and the National Museum had suggested that a replica be made.

Time stopped as he mused over conflicting opinions about the origins of the island's name, the health of the red deer stock he had introduced from Killarney national park, the problems with wind turbines, his plans to repair the sun dial he had installed. As my son chased rabbits with his grandson, the world was put to right.

Nine years previously, the former taoiseach had given me permission to call during a circumnavigation by sail for this newspaper. However, westerly gales had scuppered a safe landing. In 2003, a Christmas card illustrated by the late Arthur Gibney arrived in the post. "Thought you might recognise these Inismhicileáin dolphins. If you would like to attempt another visit, give us a call."

So it was that the elements were favourable this time. As we punched out into a light south-westerly with the Hand brothers, we could hear the "Inis" calling the Naval Service patrol ship LE Ciara on the VHF. The perilous nature of the landing stage is nature's security against casual visits. Yet few patrol ships - or craft of any sort - passed without an invitation. When we arrived the island residents were already entertaining a party of four officers from the Ciara, led by Lieut Cdr Paddy Harkin. They were being plied with "fortified" tea in the living room of the low-lying cut-stone cottage - Mr Haughey ribbing the captain about his Donegal roots, Mrs Haughey joining in the jokes. Amid some talk of politics, the host was scathingly critical of Taoiseach Bertie Ahern for forgetting about the marine sector in the new Cabinet of 2002.

Mr Haughey had regarded the creation of a separate Department of Marine as one of his key achievements - and he had maintained a keen interest which extended well beyond his own yacht and the Dingle fishing fleet. There was talk of a rescue off Slea Head that weekend. The Dingle coast and cliff rescue team was using An t-Oileánach, an inflatable which the Haughey family had donated.

It would be an intrusion to describe much more, but over the fireplace were memories of late-night chats with French president Francois Mitterand. On the hearth were a clatter of antlers. "Must give your lad one of those before he leaves," Mr Haughey said. "It's not every child that can tell the difference between a greater and lesser black-backed gull." The sun was low on the horizon when Sean Hand called up on the VHF to say his day's fishing was nearly done. We bade our farewells, and on the walk down the grassy track Sean Haughey took us past the original dwelling occupied by the Ó Dalaigh family, former owners of the island. The tiny cottage has been restored, and was providing shelter for a wandering storm petrel. Two of the Ó Dalaigh brothers, Paddy and Tomás, had returned regularly to shear sheep, and had shared their knowledge of the island with the Haughey kids when camping with their dad during the early years.

We looked back. The host was looking out on Inishtearaght to the west. He raised his arm in salute. Sean Haughey stopped. "My father forgot to give your son an antler," he said, looking at his watch. "He will be very upset about that." We reassured him. We couldn't have had a better time.

However, 10 days later, we took delivery of a large, amorphous brown paper parcel, complete with bubblewrap and wine corks for the sharp bits. Here was the legendary CJH attention to detail. .. It is not every seven-year-old who gets an antler, and a little piece of Hy-Breasail, in the post.