At the far western tip of County Clare, where the land narrows to a windswept point above the Atlantic, stands Loop Head Lighthouse. The current tower dates to 1854, designed by the renowned engineer George Halpin, but lights have burned here for centuries.

The first beacon, around 1670, was little more than a stone cottage with a coal fire blazing on its roof. In 1802, it was replaced by a sturdier tower: four rooms, a spiral stair, and a dozen oil lamps, each magnified by glass lenses to cast their glow far out to sea. The present lighthouse was more powerful still. Its lantern, when first lit, could be seen from 23 nautical miles away.

For nearly 140 years, keepers lived a lonely vigil at Loop Head, tending the light through storms and endless nights. Then in January 1991, the lighthouse was automated and fell silent. But some insist it was never truly deserted.

In 2013, the paranormal group GhostÉire spent two nights investigating the lighthouse and its cottages. Their findings were extraordinary. They claimed contact with no fewer than 24 spirits – fourteen male, ten female.

In the old reception cottage, a séance appeared to yield precise answers. The initials W.G. came through repeatedly, and later research revealed two keepers of the 19th century: William Gordon and William Gardener. When pressed for dates, the spirits gave “March” and the years “1916” and “1919” – a curious contradiction, as if even the dead could not agree. Researchers later uncovered a tantalising link: in March 1916, one of the keepers is said to have secretly warned the Irish Volunteers about a British warship – a quiet thread connecting Loop Head to the Easter Rising.

Inside the tower itself, the team reported ghostly phenomena: phantom odours, footsteps echoing on the iron stairs, whispers drifting down from the lantern room, and the chilling sensation of someone exhaling at their side. Overnight recorders captured unexplained noises in an otherwise empty lighthouse.

One of the most dramatic episodes came during a table-tipping session. As the team sang old songs to coax a response, the table rocked, shuddered, even lifted a leg clear of the floor. At one point, a low humming was heard – as though unseen voices were trying to sing along.

The mysteries deepened during a Ouija board session. When asked about a wartime mystery – a headless, armless body washed ashore at Loop Head in 1940 – the planchette spelled out F-A-Z. The group interpreted it as a name, perhaps a code name. Another word followed: Spy.

But Loop Head’s stories are not confined to the lighthouse itself. The surrounding headland is steeped in myth. Just offshore stands a sea stack known as Diarmuid and Gráinne’s Rock, or Lover’s Leap. Folklore claims the star-crossed pair once hid there, fleeing the wrath of Fionn MacCumhaill. Another legend tells how Cú Chulainn leapt the gap to escape a pursuing witch named Mal. She fell to her death, and the nearby Malbay is said to bear her name.

And still today, on stormy nights, locals speak of strange lights dancing over the ocean. Scientists may offer natural explanations, but here in West Clare, legend and mystery are never far away.