 "I live in Ballybofey, but I'm originally a Tyrone man — you could call me a sort of a traveller. I have a shop in Donegal Town.
It's my third time here. The first time was when I was 16. Hadn't been back until my 53rd birthday. And now I'm back again. It's a tough place to come, but you take so much out of it. It's good for the mind — time to relax, no phones. To me, it's the most special place I've ever been. People travel all over the world for pilgrimages, and there's one right here on their doorstep. I think everyone should come here to St. Patrick's Purgatory at least once."  "Like most people my age, I first came to Lough Derg struggling with college exams. Then didn't come back for another 20 years.
It was my father who brought me back. He came here every year, and I was curious — what was it that kept drawing him back? When I came with him, I found something I hadn't expected. It was the first time I had been completely quiet. Work was always busy, the phone was always on. But here there was peace. Time to think. Time to reflect. Time to be grateful for everything I had."  "I'd always promised myself I'd come after my Leaving Cert. But I live in southern Ireland — it's a four-hour drive — and I never knew how I'd actually get here.
Then I met a woman who brought a busload of pilgrims up from Limerick every year. I asked if I could come with her. She tried to explain what it was like, but it didn't make a lot of sense. So I just came anyway. And I've come back every year since. I love the peace of it. I love the way it works like a delete button for your head. The calmness. The nothingness. Nothing here except the island — surrounded by water, completely isolated. Every year is different. Every year something happens — something funny, something unexpected. I've met the most amazing people here. Every year I say it'll be my last. I've just spent 36 hours up fasting in my bare feet, thinking — why am I doing this? But I know when I leave tomorrow, it'll all be worth it."  "I've been coming here for 59 years. I came twice in some years too.
The first time I came, I was only halfway around the first bed and I said to myself — in the name of God, what brought me up here? I had no intention of coming back. But I don't know what it is. It just draws you back. You'll say never, never again — but by the time you're halfway home, the feeling is gone. And you'll be back next year. I only missed one year. The year of Bloody Sunday. A priest asked me to organise a pilgrimage for his parish, so I came with them. Then another group asked the same. Once you organise, you have to come with them — you can't send people somewhere you won't go yourself. In the old days I'd have a bus of fifty-seven pilgrims, with a waiting list to get on it. 59 years of organising trips, bringing thousands of people to this island. It just draws you back."  "This is my fifth time here.
The last time I came was two years ago — this year I was at a real low point. I felt drawn to come, so I asked God to help me. And I made Him a promise: if He came through, I'd be back. Sure enough, He did. So here I am. Fulfilling my promise — and saying thank you."  "I'm back this year. I didn't make it last year — I thought of every excuse under the sun not to come.
I felt so bad about it. On the way up yesterday I was still fighting with myself. Will I come, or won't I? So I asked my dad and my brother to help me. They've both passed on. The signs I've received from them since — they're extraordinary. I just love it here. The peace. The tranquillity. Getting away from everything. It's hard. But I love it. A year isn't a year until I come here." For a long time, the loudest thing in my life was my phone. The constant ping of notifications and the endless scroll of news left me feeling frayed, like a battery that would no longer hold a charge. I knew I needed a reset, something deeper than a weekend on the couch. I needed breathing space.
That’s what led me to step onto the boat for a One Day Retreat at Lough Derg. As the boat pulled away from the shore, I felt a physical shift. The ten-minute crossing is short, but it feels like a journey between worlds. Leaving the mainland behind: and purposefully tucking my phone into the bottom of my bag: I watched the wake of the boat cut through the grey-blue water. In that moment, the digital noise simply stopped. Upon arrival, there is a gentle hospitality that makes you feel immediately at home. After tea and scones, we gathered in Saint Patrick’s Basilica. There is something sacred about the weight of the air inside those stone walls. We were guided through a rhythm of prayer and reflection: a far cry from the chaotic noise and distractions of daily life. Here, the silence wasn't empty; it was full of presence. The highlight for me was the Eucharist. In the stillness of the afternoon, the world felt right again. I wasn't an employee, a parent, or a consumer: I was just me, unburdened and held in a deep, ancient peace. Pilgrim Vanessa Visited September 2025 Last July, 22 years after my first visit to Lough Derg, I went back for the three-day pilgrimage or 'challenge' as I described it to my curious friends.
Plenty of people asked 'Why are you going?'. There were a few reasons. I had a list of people that I decided to pray for as well as my own worries. The tragic death of a young person whose family I knew. A digital detox. Gratitude for surviving the pandemic. Concern about family members. Anxiety over a toxic workplace. Recovery from traumatic experiences. Concern about the influences affecting so many young people today. Wanting to see if my prayers would really help other people and make a difference to my life. Arriving on the St. Oliver Plunkett pilgrimage bus, the heavens opened and it rained non-stop (or so it seemed) for 24 hours. The wind cut through my bones like a knife. I witnessed with awe, the small acts of kindness all around me. The gentle help to an older pilgrim who was in danger of falling in the mud. The offer of a dry coat by someone who was heading to bed, to someone whose clothes were soaked through. The bonding between people who would not have known each other in their ordinary lives. We were "all in it together". Being alone without distractions made me reflect on what I had done and where I had failed and what I wanted to do better. There were also some fun moments - the conversations and laughter at our 'mealtimes' and sharing our stories. When I left, I was glad that I had done it but said an emphatic 'No' when I was asked, "Would you go back?" So now I am looking at the website and thinking, "When are the bookings opening?" Special thanks to the organising team who made it happen and to the people who went out of their way to help others who needed it during that rainy weekend in July. -Anon
And sure why would I need to, when it is said that if you complete Lough Derg three times you receive a “Plenary indulgence into heaven” so when I got an invite to join a few friends, I have to admit I did hesitate at first when I remembered how hard it can be, but then I thought a fourth visit might gain me some extra favour, so I joined my friends in that holy place on Thursday 10th July 2025. Looking across at St. Patrick’s Basilica, with the sun shimmering on the water and the temperature in the mid to high twenties, it’s a breathtaking vista. I quickly take a few photos with my companions, then disconnect my phone from the iCloud and begin to reconnect—with myself, and with the man above. It’s the first time for a few of my colleagues, and as we step onto the boat with our sunglasses on, one could easily mistake us for holidaymakers heading to a weekend spa retreat at an exclusive island resort. That fantasy is short-lived. The moment we set foot on the holy island and remove our shoes and socks, the sharpness of the well-trodden concrete beneath our bare feet delivers our first reality check: this is a very different kind of retreat. Early into my first station, on the stones outside St Patrick's Basilica, I’m reminded why Lough Derg is known as the toughest pilgrimage in the world. However, knowing that saints once walked on this holy ground does sustain you in moments of discomfort. Time here, even in the sunshine is still hard going, it forces us to take stock, It is designed that way to challenge us. When life becomes too comfortable maybe this is exactly what many of us need. And here I am again—barefoot, walking the sacred soil and stones—for another three days of discomfort: fasting on dry bread and water, keeping a 24-hour vigil, steeped in continuous prayer and reflection, detoxing from digital devices. It forces us to let go of the daily stressors and distractions that so many of us have become addicted to. In letting go of all that stuff, in the stillness, we can hear God whisper. We’re given back time—for ourselves and for genuine conversations. Those moments when other pilgrims share their stories of grief, resilience and faith, makes you pay attention and listen with empathy, uninterrupted by texts, emails and app notifications. We are reminded what human connection feels like: Our feet grounded to the earth, we're on land and off line, our souls connected to something greater. And that truly matters. With every sharp stone beneath me, I’m reminded how lucky I am to carry memories of walking this holy ground 30 years ago with my father (RIP). At that time, our family was still overwhelmed by grief following the death of my brother Laurence (RIP). In those stormy moments, every station felt harder. The whole Lough Derg experience was far more difficult to endure than this one in the glorious sunshine. This time, I was drawn back to Lough Derg for a few personal intentions—but mostly, out of gratitude. Three days of sacrifice here feels modest compared to the unimaginable hardship faced daily by people in war-torn regions across the world. Thankfully, the Ireland we know today lives in relative peace. How many prayers have been whispered on this island during the Troubles, begging for that very peace? From this position of comfort, it’s sobering to witness the suffering that still persists elsewhere. The night before my pilgrimage, I saw the towering bonfires of the 12th July—some displaying sickening effigies that do nothing but inflame hatred. Moments like that remind me how deeply conflict, chaos, and contempt for one another continue to stain our human story. Even though walking barefoot is gentler when the ground is warmed by the sun. But one can easily forget to protect the tops of the feet from sunburn. As if barefoot walking weren’t challenging enough—add sunburn and a few blisters and it’s another layer of discomfort. 2025 is a Jubilee Year—also known as a Holy Year—centred around the theme “Pilgrims of Hope.” Here in Ireland, pilgrims are invited to visit three sacred sites: Lough Derg, Croagh Patrick, and Knock Shrine, each offering the opportunity to have your Pilgrim Passport stamped. All three are steeped in history, meaning, and spiritual significance—and each one is well worth the journey. Nowadays, we’re steeped in comfort, convenience, and instant gratification. There’s an app for everything, and it’s tempting to always choose what’s easy. The one-day trip to Lough Derg might feel more accessible—and for many, due to medical limitations or time constraints, it’s the right option. Even so, it offers a glimpse into the transformative power of this holy place. But for those who choose to immerse themselves fully—embracing the extended sacrifice—the rewards run deeper. Beyond the discomfort lies something richer: the enduring value of delayed gratification, a greater appreciation for simplicity, and a profound sense of connection that comes only when we step away from what's easy... and walk barefoot into purpose. Day 1: The 24-hour vigil was the toughest for me. Rolling into Day 2 sleep deprived and hungry, I was running on spirit alone. But then came the Sacrament of Reconciliation—Confession—which lifted some weight from my shoulders. It’s amazing how unburdened and light you can feel, even after so little rest. The fast continued, bringing us to a full 72 hours, and by 10pm on Night 2… I didn’t need any bedtime stories. Day 3: We rose at 6am for the final stretch—barefoot once more, kneeling, walking, praying, and reflecting deeply before slipping our socks and shoes back on. We say our goodbyes and lined up for the first boat off the island. Feeling proud of ourselves for completing this once dubbed "The Iron Man of pilgrimages" Onboard in a last moment of silence before departure, we received a final blessing and I swear, it raised our vibration one last time. All of the above makes you very aware of a few of the many paradoxes in life: To heal, we must first suffer; to find peace, we must first face chaos. When we do things that are hard, it’s often because they truly matter. When we ground ourselves, we become uplifted. When we persevere, we’re rewarded—with a deep sense of accomplishment. I have it on my bucket list to walk the Camino de Santiago, the path of St James, which would take many weeks and numerous trips, it won't happen for me this year. However, first I fully intend to complete my Irish Pilgrim Passport and get it stamped for Croagh Patrick and Knock Shrine before this year is out. Your Jubilee 2025 Pilgrim Passport is awaiting you. If you feel called to pause, reflect and reset, these holy places are calling for you, will you answer? Pilgrim Justin
10th July 2025 I have had a profound sense of peace after completing the 3 day pilgrimage. My head and body felt lighter and all my worries are left in the hands of God. Thank you to all who make this journey so rewarding.
MC June 2025 |
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Lough Derg
Sanctuary of Saint Patrick Pettigo County Donegal F94 PC60 |
Phone: +353 (0) 71 9861518
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Email: [email protected]
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