Off the rugged coast of Donegal, Owey Island feels like a step back in time. Once home to a thriving community, this remote, car-free island was abandoned in the 1970s.
Now, a group of seasonal residents is bringing it back to life offering adventurous travelers a rare chance to disconnect from the modern world.
On a Friday evening, smoke from burning turf lingers in the salty air as locals share freshly caught fish and odd jobs. Dogs and chickens roam freely, and the only sounds are the crash of the Atlantic and the murmur of conversation. It’s hard to believe that for over 25 years, this island lay deserted.
Located 15 minutes by boat from Cruit Island accessible only by private vessel or kayak Owey lacks electricity, running water, and a ferry service. At its peak, around 100 people lived here, but by 1977, the last full-time residents left, drawn to the conveniences of the mainland.
I arrived on the island with the Wild Women of the Woods, a group that encourages outdoor adventure for women across Ireland. Organizer Rachel Pedder chose Owey precisely because of its inaccessibility. “You have to be respectful that it belongs to the community,” she said. “As long as you do that, they welcome you.”
One of those islanders is Paul Cowan, whose family fled Belfast’s Troubles in the 1970s for a safer life on Owey. After settling back in the city as an adult, he returned to the island in the early 2000s and saw potential in its ruins. Along with his siblings, he began restoring his family home. Others soon followed, and today, around 20 houses stand once more, forming a small but growing seasonal community.
Life on Owey remains intentionally simple. There are no shops, no public facilities just a single six-bed hostel and a spot for wild camping. Visitors come seeking solitude or adventure, whether it’s kayaking through sea caves, climbing jagged cliffs, or hiking the island’s hills.
Local Frankie Gallagher, whose father was born on Owey, splits his time between the island and the Donegal mainland. He and other islanders rely on solar panels, gas stoves, and rainwater collection instead of electricity. “We would never be looking to get electricity here because we can actually do well around it,” he said.
Owey’s isolation is part of its magic. Without light pollution, the night sky is breathtaking, and apart from the occasional quad bike, the only noise is the call of the corn crake, a rare bird once native to the island. The landscape is equally untouched—lush green hills to the south, wild cliffs and towering sea stacks to the north. A hidden freshwater lake, tucked among the rocks, provides a perfect place to swim while gazing out over the Atlantic.
Our final night on Owey was spent around a campfire, sharing stories and singing under the stars. As we watched the flames dance in the breeze, one of my campmates turned to me and said, “We’re winning, aren’t we?” And at that moment—free from the rush of everyday life, surrounded by laughter and song—I knew exactly what she meant.
