We went just the once, in 1977 (I knew diddley squat about music then - aargh!) and we climbed Brandon Peak/Brandon Mountain. In four weeks I got three punctures and the roads nearly wrecked the bloody suspension of me Morris Minor. We stayed for two weeks (unintended, but we loved it) in a lovely B&B at Cross Cloghane, a few miles from Brandon, which was run by Mrs O'Neill, Nellie I think she was, who was well into her 70s then. Our breakfast was massive and we didn't have to eat again until evening. Being the man, I always got one more egg than my wife! Her sister ran the aforementioned pub at the quay at Brandon and it was called Murphy's then. I think it was her surname but I can't be sure. We took a huge salmon to the pub from Mrs O'Neill's house one night, wrapped in plain brown paper (we didn't ask), and they cooked it in the pub and we were rewarded with an invitation to join in the feasting on the magnificent beast in the back room. None of yer factory-farmed muck there. We did get a view from Connor Pass and, being a bit of a botanist, I found the genuine St Patrick's Cabbage growing near the top. I remember a lovely young lady called Ellen serving us the breakfast at Mrs O'Neill's. I wonder whether she's still around.