I first came across a mention of Drumbeg in an Irish folktale collection I had read in College. It was described as a place of much power and mystery and one that locals didn’t go to, perhaps having more sense than the rest of us.
When I was studying my map for possible routes to take to the Southwest, I noticed it written there in tiny print, not very close to the solid line of the N71. Drumbeg Stone Circle. I looked it up in my, by now, well worn copy of Thin Places of Ireland, a rare and out of print book for which I had paid too much to mention.
Dating to 1100 BC, Drumbeg is a fine example of a ritual and ceremonial site associated with human burials. In fact, archaeologists in 1957 uncovered a central pit holding an inverted urn containing the cremated remains of a youth.
The circle is made up of 17 stones of graduated sizes. The tallest ones are the pillars at either side of the entrance (the Portal Stones) and they get smaller in size until they reach the recumbent, or altar stone. The altar stone has two cup sized indentations on its surface, one surrounded by an oval carving. Its’ position high above the ocean gave it security. It is thought to have been an important ceremonial site people travelled a long distance to visit, much as they do now to Lourdes or Mecca. Only highest ranking Druid Priests would have been allowed to lead rituals at Drumbeg, which actually is consistent with modern religious practices.
As someone who practices a modest version of the Old Religion, and to whom Great Aunt Doris many years ago said, “You have the gift. All we McCarthy women do.” Drumbeg seemed a natural place to visit, a potential source of healing energy.
I decided to make it a stop along my pilgrimage. In the grey, misty morning I was driving through, a remote place known as the Druid’s Altar seemed a logical destination.
It has recently become a more popular tourist destination, I’d been told. So get there early. 
I followed small signs posted at irregular intervals and trusted my intuition for the rest, until I pulled up to a little turnout within a red fuschia lined lane. I could hear the ocean off to my left, far down below. There was no one else present.
I made my way to the ancient clearing, protected by stone walls, which, had it not been so foggy and misty, would have given way to incredible views of the coastline.
I circled the stones respectfully, taking a few pictures as I did. 
I entered the circle, laid my offering on the altar, said my prayer and acknowledged the energies of the ancients who had been there, giving thanks for being allowed into the circle. Then I stepped back into the center and prepared to take a few more pictures, this time from the inside. I hoped to capture the top of the altar with its indentations and carving.
My camera froze. Nothing like this had ever happened before. It simply froze. It had been working fine minutes before, outside the circle, but here, inside it, after making my offering, my camera malfunctioned. The rest of the Iphone functions worked fine but the camera would not take a picture.
I’m not stupid. I understood immediately that I had somehow committed an offense. I apologized. I stepped out of the circle and backed away some distance. Then I rebooted my IPhone. And waited.
When the screen finally popped back to life, I stayed outside the circle, taking pictures first of the fulacht fiadh 
which is a stone age cooking fort.
It’s quite an amazing set up, really. The circle, which archaeologists reckon was used for roasting and boiling due to the set up of the stones with a fresh water well directly inside, are linked by a path to the huts, where people lived, or stayed over perhaps, when they were there for ritual purposes.
In the 1950’s, a small group of clever archaeologists ran several experiments. By rolling hot stones heated in the hearth directly into the trough, 70 gallons of water were brought to a boil in 18 minutes. Meat then stayed sufficiently hot for safe consumption for three hours.
It is believed that heated pools of water would also have been used for bathing, soaking, dyeing of cloth, even brewing.
I took photos of the ruins of the two conjoined huts, with their separate living areas 
and then returned cautiously to the sun circle itself.
This time I stayed outside. This time my camera worked.
Drumbeg Stone Circle, as most sun circles in the Kerry region, is aligned with an angle on the horizon creating a perfect axis at sunset on the Winter Solstice. The rays of the setting sun shine directly through the two tall portal stones and land on the recumbent, or axial stone, the altar itself.
I took my photos. I wandered through the mist for a few lonely minutes more. I marveled at the location, listening to the ocean below, imagining how it must have appeared to the people who lived and practiced in this beautiful power spot centuries ago.
It is definitely a “thin place”. I walked back to my car in deep reflection.