It Is something right out of Myst or Riven.

The steps are so steep, one wrong step and it's goodbye..


Blue skies and white clouds. Who lived here? Who dare come here?
Today, my camera and I do. Step after precarious step, preserved so for hundreds of years, built by the very monks buried here. I'm climbing on something they built, I thought. How eerie. I'll never meet them but in a way I am getting to know them, right?

I'm here, I exclaim in my mind.
Yesterday was too dangerous so no boats came. Today nature felt kind to us eager travelers.


The boat trip was surreal. Little Skellig (the island next to it) is coveted in thousands of birds.

As we left the silhouette of Skellig Michael disappeared into the haze. I wonder if the island just showed itself for us. Perhaps that is why the Monks were drawn to this place. In a time of power struggle and control, any place to practice your faith freely and meditate in a remote location, to them, was important enough to die for.

It was magical then too, for perhaps different reasons.