Murvagh Beach: A Place That Always Brings Me Back

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By Joy Browne, Tourism Manager, Donegal County Council
Choosing a favourite place in Donegal is almost impossible, but if I had to pick just one, it would be Murvagh Beach, just outside Donegal Town. It’s a Blue Flag beach with a long stretch of golden sand, perfect for swimming and ideal for a long walk when I need to clear my head and reconnect with nature. Murvagh has a quiet calm about it that never fails to ground me.
Some of my earliest memories of Murvagh go right back to childhood. I still remember my mum, Norma, collecting me from Glebe National School on a warm, sunny day just before the summer holidays began. We spent the afternoon at the beach, and the excitement started the moment we drove over the cattle grid at the entrance. I can still hear the sound it made. As we drove towards the car park, the sea appeared on my left and the forest on my right, and I knew a perfect day was ahead.

Those days were filled with simple pleasures—building sandcastles, swimming, and picnics that always consisted of a flask of tea, Marietta or Rich Tea biscuits, and dilute orange. Tea and biscuits always taste better at the beach, even when there’s a bit of sand mixed in. We slid down sand dunes, searched for shells, and spotted jellyfish along the shore. I also remember the old wartime lookout hut that stood on the beach and how we used to play inside it. Over the years, coastal erosion has taken its toll, and the hut has slowly sunk into the sand, making it impossible to enter now—a quiet reminder of how the landscape changes with time.'
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Murvagh is a place my family and I still visit often, and over the years we’ve made countless happy memories there. I love the peace and quiet of the beach, and the fact that you have both the forest and the shoreline to explore in one place. There’s no traffic allowed on the beach, which makes it feel safe and spacious, and the water quality is excellent. During peak season, lifeguards are on duty, which adds to that sense of ease.
One of the things I love most about Murvagh is that it can be enjoyed at any time of year. Each season brings something special. In spring, the whin bushes along the roadside burst into yellow flowers that smell faintly of coconut. Summer mornings are my favourite time for a swim—there’s nothing quite like an early dip as the sun rises. In winter, I wrap up warm and head out for a walk, breathing in the crisp sea air that clears the cobwebs, especially on Christmas or New Year’s Day. Autumn brings its own magic too, particularly in Murvagh Forest, where the colours quietly shift and soften.

Many people don’t walk all the way to the far end of the beach, but I always recommend it. Just beyond Moyne Hill, the beach becomes even quieter, offering a peaceful spot to pause and take it all in. If I only had half an hour at Murvagh, though, I wouldn’t skip a swim. The sea here is invigorating, the water is clean and calm, and swimming is popular all year round. It’s the perfect way to start or end a day.

What I notice most when I’m there are the small details—the sound of the sea as the tide ebbs and flows, the fresh sea air, the golden sand, and the changing colours of the Bluestack Mountains in the distance. In spring, the scent of the whin bushes is the first thing that hits you, and it instantly signals that brighter days are on the way.'
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Murvagh also holds a deeper family connection for me. My grandfather Jack Bustard, from Ballintra, and his brother Harry had an uncle, Tom Kearney from Lacklum, Drumholm, who wrote a poem many years ago about the wonderful views over Donegal Bay from Moyne Hill. He later emigrated to British Columbia, where he continued to write poetry, but Murvagh clearly left its mark on him, just as it has on our family through generations.
When I visit now, I usually start with a walk and often bring my dog Bonnie with me. On quiet days, I let her swim, which she absolutely loves. I tend to do a full loop—from the car park, over the boardwalk, along the beach, and back through the forest—taking in both sides of Murvagh. A coffee afterwards, a sit-down to enjoy the view, or a swim if I haven’t already had one feels like pure bliss.

There’s plenty to explore nearby too. Murvagh Golf Course is a must for golf enthusiasts, offering world-class links golf along the Wild Atlantic Way with stunning views over the beach. Donegal Town is just a short drive away and well worth a visit, with Donegal Castle, the Old Abbey, the Railway Heritage Museum, and local favourites like Hanna Hats of Donegal and Magee 1866. There are also fantastic restaurants serving locally sourced food. If you love beaches, Rossnowlagh is another favourite not far away, and Mullinasole is ideal for watersports or a scenic walk.'
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For anyone visiting Murvagh for the first time, my advice is simple: park in the main car park if you can and bring plenty of layers. The forest is more sheltered than the beach, so it’s best to be prepared if you plan to explore both.
What makes Murvagh uniquely Donegal, in my eyes, is the sense of space and wildness. Here, you can find yourself alone on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, right on our doorstep. It’s rugged, unspoiled, and deeply calming. If Murvagh had a mood, I’d describe it as invigorating.

Some of my favourite memories are from when my two sons were small. My mum and I would take them to Murvagh on summer days, where they built sandcastles, splashed in the water, and climbed on top of the lookout hut, while we enjoyed our traditional tea and biscuits picnic. Simple days, but unforgettable.

If I had to recommend one perfect photo or video spot, it would be at the very end of the beach near Moyne. From there, you can capture the long golden strand stretching out ahead, surrounded by the colour and natural beauty that makes Donegal so special.'
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flexible_blocks_8_wysiwyg_content_block => '“My Grandfather Jack Bustard from Ballintra and his brother Harry had an Uncle called Tom Kearney from Lacklum, Drumholm who wrote a poem about the wonderful views over Donegal Bay seen from Moyne Hill, Murvagh. He emigrated to British Colombia from Donegal and wrote more poetry there.

The Hill Called Moyne

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Have you ever stood on the hill called Moyne, when the day was bright and fair,

And filled your lungs with the breath of life, from its clean salt laden air,

And gazed from far Ben-Bulbin, to the gap of Barnesmore,

With Mountcharles lying midway, climbing up beyond the shore?

 

You may travel over continents, whose distant scenes may call,

But what scene is more enchanting than the Bay of Donegal,

When a big full tide is heaving, down below you on the shore?

If you’ve viewed it in its splendour, you’ll forget it never more.

 

There’s Donegal with its castle gray, once O’Donnells fortress brave;

And the silent Abbey ruins, mouldering now by many a grave;

From the banks of Dooran stretching, to the hills of Ballyweel,

There’s a panorama sweeping, that you fain would with you steal.

 

The emerald gems of verdure, St. Ernan’s and Bells Isle,

Their wooded lands so restfully reflecting heaven’s smile.

Fair Murvagh scene of quietude, its groves so deep and green,

All hold you still in rapture, when from Moyne’s big hill they’re seen.

 

Stand the far off Leitrim mountains, in the distance blue and tall,

See the fields like patchwork marching, mile on mile beyond Brownhall,

There, the brown cliffs of Rossnowlagh, and the shores of Innisfad-

Do they not bring back the old days when you roamed there as a lad?

 

Twixt St. John’s and Ballyshannon, lies an ocean vista blue,

You can watch the little fishing boats, come sailing into view.

West, the wide Atlantic stretches thrice a thousand miles away,

Where dwell many a son and daughter from around Tirconaill’s Bay.

 

You must close your eyes and listen, while you gather in the sounds

That rise above the swelling tide, that down beneath you pounds;

Hear the plover, and the seagull, now the curlew’s strident call-

Sure it’s Moyne you’ve got to stand on, for to see all Donegal.'
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