As midwinter approaches, people, on hearing that you live in Connemara, feel the need to commiserate, to comment on the bleakness, the relentless rain, the cold, the quietness, the isolation. But winter can be grim anywhere in these islands at the edge of Europe. After all, what's the difference in getting soaked by rain at a sullen city bus stop and getting drenched on a deserted evening street in Clifden? Winter offers a totally different view of life in the west, and, when that obstinate curtain of rain parts and lets the sunshine through, it's a view worth experiencing.

From the top of Errisbeg it's a pleasure to see how insignificant our impact is, or at least appears to be. On a bright winter day the road that groans under the weight of summer traffic between Ballyconneely and Roundstone is an all but empty grey strip, winding its diminutive path between the wilderness of Roundstone Bog and the pristine vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. After a sweaty clamber to the top of the hill, you can look west beyond Doon Hill to make out the lighthouse at Slyne Head. Eastward and inland, the Twelve Bens and Maumturks stretch into the distance, the incongruous radio masts paling into insignificance, almost apologising to their mountainous neighbours. The only sounds you hear are your own breathing and the clicking of the camera. The unending ribbon of holiday homes seen from the road – locked and deserted now in the winter months - are inconsequential beside the countless sparkling pockets of blue water all the way to the mountains.

You get the same feeling, that you're a mere inconvenience, when confronted by the vista that opens in all directions around the stone alignment near Derryinver. The heather is a mass of cobwebs that undulate in the cold, gentle breeze and glisten in the weak afternoon sun. As ever, to the west, the Ocean dominates, but here you can make out a scattering of islands, patiently absorbing the relentless pressure of the tide.

During the frenzied months of July and August it is often difficult to get used to living in and sharing such places. So many people want to visit, to experience for themselves; they want to take photos, or scan their camcorder steadily from left to right, hoovering up the entire panorama so it can be relived during long winter evenings in Manchester. On any day you could end up as an extra in half a dozen photos and two or three videos. Reveries are often rudely interrupted by the knowledge that you'll soon be appearing in the home movies of a man from Milwaukee. In the midst of it all, you're trying to go about your daily business, but you can't blame people for being awe-struck by surroundings that still have exactly the same effect on you.

Unfortunately for many of these people their roadside view is often punctuated with the number plate of the camper van or bus in front of them, they don't get a chance to see except from a passing car. They should visit at this time of year; they'll have the roads to themselves. Except, of course, for those of us who already know better. (18/11)

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