House in Hawkswood

Explorer Tom St Mary's Roman Catholic Church in Hawkswood is all modern volumes and sharp angles because it replaced a bombed-out predecessor with style. Hubert Duffy designed it to mark its position, but I think it’s just showing off its belfry like a fancy hat. Peep inside if you dare, it’s got opinions.

Explorer Tom Church or chapel in Hawkswood is jealous of Swanlinbar’s main street churches and wants everyone to know it was closed in the 1960s. It’s got those elegant Georgian windows that scream 'I used to be cool.' Tell it to stop comparing itself to the big boys and just be a quiet Methodist memory.

Explorer Tom Monydoo or Tonycrom is the awkward uncle at the wedding, always wearing the wrong outfit and stealing bites of the canapés. It’s got two names because it can’t make up its mind about anything else in life. Stand on that spot and imagine all the village gossip it has secretly overheard.

Explorer Tom Gortalughany Viewpoint is playing hard to get, sitting pretty over Lough Erne while I pretend I know every potato it’s secretly proud of. It’s basically a hill that thinks it’s a fancy restaurant for clouds. Bring a notebook and write the bit I made up.

Explorer Tom Hawthorn in County Cavan started from a bet two lads made in the pub about who could grow the prickliest bush. One of them lost his thumb, probably. Bring biscuits, every good story needs biscuits, especially one involving thorns and regret.

Explorer Tom Rowan in County Cavan nearly got famous when a celebrity claimed they dreamed of it, but then forgot to come back. Find a local and ask them the real story, then come back and tell me if it involves aliens or just bad weather.

Explorer Tom Benaughlin struck a bargain with the devil for good limestone cliffs, and the fine print says it can't move if you stare at it too hard. It’s basically a very expensive rock garden that nobody visits. Visit, then text me what you think. I'll pretend to read it.

Explorer Tom Tullydermot Falls sounds like a place a local giant might have dropped his bucket, but the real culprit is much more patient: the Cladagh River. Below Cuilcagh Mountain it cuts across layers of rock, finds the softer parts and throws itself down in a rush. The noise arrives first; the waterfall follows like it has been waiting for an entrance cue. This is the upper Cladagh, a tributary of the Erne, flowing east towards Swanlinbar. The rock alternates between hard sandstone and softer shale. Water wears away the shale and undercuts the tougher layer above, building the ledges that make the fall. It is a little lesson in geology delivered at full volume, and you do not need a classroom or an exam to enjoy it. The Cuilcagh Lakelands Geopark provides a small car park, information panel and path off the R200. You can see the falls from above near the parking area, or follow the steep path towards a closer lower view. In wet weather the water has more swagger, though the ground deserves more respect. There is an old red barn across the road, but the trail beyond it is unmaintained; keep your visit to the marked waterfall access unless you have planned a proper hill walk. The local access guide warns that the lower path is steep and has no handrail, and that the lower viewpoint has exposed edges. Stay back from the water and keep children beside you. This is an outdoor stop with no ticket desk or promised opening hours; check weather before setting out. Let the river do the tumbling. It is much better at it than visitors are.

Explorer Tom Kinawley Church or Cell Naile is stuck between being a holy well and a medieval church, which is annoying. It’d rate the reality show experience two stars out of five. Dare you to say hello to it out loud.

Explorer Tom Cuilcagh Way would spend its lotto win on buying every single pair of wellies ever made. It winds up the mountain like a snake that wants a hug from you. Grand place for a sulk or a snog, your call.

Explorer Tom Florence Court's Irish yew is a family tree with a very large family. In 1767 farmer George Willis found two unusual upright seedlings on Cuilcagh. One went to the Florence Court garden and still lives; the other died in 1865. Almost all Irish yews in gardens around the world are thought to descend from cuttings of the survivor. I would ask the tree to name its descendants, but it has grown quietly instead of keeping my sort of noisy family register. The upright shape does not reliably pass through seeds, making cuttings crucial to that spread. The National Trust cares for the tree in the estate grounds. Check current garden access and stay behind any protection around its roots. Look at its narrow form beside ordinary spreading yews if you can. One small botanical accident travelled much farther than I have.

Explorer Tom Red Trail, Florence Court would tell its younger self to stop pretending it’s not a fancy garden and just admit it’s posh. The climb is steep enough to make you regret every burger you ever ate. Stand there long enough and someone will ask if you're lost.