Frank was very well-informed about local history and drove at a speed that allowed me to take in the lush green and often rocky grandeur of the Ring. We stopped by Dingle Bay to take photos, and to eat at a restaurant where I had my first authentic Irish stew. They called it just plain stew. Frank gave us time to shop in Sneem on the Kenmare River, a very quaint tourist trap. I was thrilled to find the beige natural lamb's wool sweater I could never afford in the Irish Shop in Toronto, and bought a book on flora in the United Kingdom. The end of the tour was the best part of it when we drove through the Killarney National Park, past its lakes, the awe¬inspiring Dunlap Gap, and the hobbit-like woods and wildflowers. It was magical. I had every intention to come back and hike through the park.

The first time I headed out to the Killarney National Park I stopped in at the tourist bureau to pick up brochures and maps. I needed something to help me to navigate on my own. Mary had cautioned me to stay on the main path. I didn't think to ask her why. I took a two¬wheeled horse-drawn jaunting cart to Muckross estate, on Lough Leane, to visit the Friendship Garden, and headed back to town via the woodland trail on foot. From time to time I would meet walkers coming the opposite way but most of the time I was alone on the trail, until I came quite close to Killarney. I saw a young man walking an Irish setter. He walked with a shillelagh made from a very sturdy, bumpy branch. He looked every inch the country gentleman out for a stroll. At the edge of the woods that opened onto a pasture where cows grazed, he scanned the vista with his binoculars. A red fox dashed across the field, chasing another fox, probably female -

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