County Clare in Ireland, where my mother is from and where I spent nearly every summer of my life, is to present day Ireland what the South of Bohemia was to that great Czech collector of fairy tales, Karel Jaromir Erben, what the Aran Isles were to Ireland's own twentieth century poet and myth collector, William Butler Yeats (1889-1939), whose own career hunting for the 'real' Ireland was actually pre-dated by Erben's (1811-1870) search for the ‘real’ Bohemia by almost an entire generation.

And while like in the Czech Republic, many modern day Irish have rejected or turned their back on their legends and myths, and as well, have written them off as mere fantasy or superstition, and where, like in the Czech Republic again, people can and will finally openly question and doubt their historical and pronounced Catholic faith--if not out and out reject it entirely--the West of Clare, my family's region of the Emerald Isle, remains steadfast in its ability and in its desire to embrace the two, both God and myth.

So much so that Ireland's modern day William Butler Yeats, her living breathing Karel Jaromir Erben, Eddie Lenihan, has taken up residence in this western section of Ireland, where, while many of today's present residents may not lay claim to having heard the scream of the Banshee, seen the haunted walk of a man named Jack and his golden lantern, a man cursed to walk the Earth forever and to answer to the call of Jack O'Lantern, nor have been helped by a woman named Biddy Early who uses ancient Irish healing methods and hears the voices of the fairies who teach her how to help the sick and ailing, a talent that drew the ire of the Catholic Church and got her decreed a witch, most long term residents to this coastal province will claim that they know 'someone' who has.

Thus, it must be said that, during my early years in the Czech Republic, while surrendering to her beauty and her architecture, I was a tad bit surprised by the Czech lack of a fear of the unknown. Not that I had been hoping to enter into a culture where the vast majority of the populace had an experience that was mystical, mythical, or even paranormal (believe me, I had enough of that in my youth), but I was slightly more than stunned when I would ask students and friends alike about an Erben character such as Polednice, to which some would respond, 'it's probably Moravian, it's definitely not Czech,' a statement that would perhaps depress Erben to no ends, as Erben specifically sought out Bohemian, not Moravian, legends.

But, for every blank stare that I received upon bringing up mysterious and forgotten creatures, there were many other Czech friends who kept my desire and drive to hunt down these creatures alive. And even though one would assume--after my having lived in the Czech Republic for seven plus years already--that my curiosity and study of Czech mythology would have waned by now, if not have abated entirely, it has only grown with time. After all, the Czech peoples do take a certain amount of pride in their 'pohadky,' or fairy tales, which they watch annually for about three days around Christmas, as well as, since the advent of the DVD player, throughout the year. But as anyone with children will tell you, Czech children do not harbor a fear of the creatures that derived from their ancestors’ imaginings. After all, the Czech water sprite known as Vodnik, who in a time before the Age of Reason was renowned for drowning children and young girls throughout the lakes and ponds of South Bohemia, has been turned into a cute, friendly and magical sprite who one can have over for dinner and some Christmas fare. And the demons, aids of the devil who once possessed your soul and drove one to do the unspeakable things that one wouldn't ordinarily do, are now almost child-like, friendly beings, which are prone to enjoying the slapstick antics of the nemesis of the film.

I am a long way from Catholic and mythical West Clare indeed, I sometimes had to think to myself as I sat in my mother-in-law’s flat watching pohadky while waiting on my Christmas dinner.

Of course, these 'softer' portrayals of the beings that once caused the peasant classes to avoid going out at night, while carrying the benefit of not causing children to look under the bed to see if 'he' is there, does leave one feeling as if Erben, that great legend and fairy tale gatherer, must be rolling over in his grave. After all, having been raised in a house where these things weren't real, per se, so much as they were at the least plausible, I do somewhat miss the nightmare aspect, the nightmare aspect being what Erben fought so hard to uncover and preserve.

Fortunately, I do teach English to several graduates of the Literature Gymnasium, ISS Nahorni Knihkupectvi, and while they were quick to point out that while things have decisively changed in the Czech Republic since the time of Erben, my sought after Vodnik and demons both could be found in the region of the Czech Republic known as South Bohemia. Immediately we agreed to a hiking expedition. It was a trip that was done without as much research nor study as one should undertake when one plans on walking in the footsteps of a beloved Czech historian and literary figure like Erben, our trip being laid out due to the convenient location of one student's weekend home, a place which was to serve as our base of operations, as well as a place to rest, cook meals, and have some drinks after our long forays into mythological and mystical Bohemian realms.

Of course, we were at least four generations, if not six, removed from Erben and the wanderings of his day. That older generation which had provided Erben with fodder for his tales of terror were long dead and buried, the results of which were obvious when, to the embarrassment and dismay of my students, I asked several elderly Czech locals if they knew if any of the many lakes and ponds in the area were reputed to have once 'housed' a Vodnik at one time in their history.

Mostly my question was met with chagrin, a few raised eyebrows, and way too many, 'Ja nevim's' or, 'I don't know's.' So after two days of rejections, and many long hikes past lakes and ponds in which a Vodnik or other form of aquatic life didn't reveal itself, we decided it was time to get into the car and to move on to the Devil's Wall, or Certova Stena. A place where there was, if not the physical evidence to prove that the devil and his demon cohorts at one time dealt in mischief to keep the Czech people on their toes, than there was at least geological evidence to keep the tale from disappearing from local folklore and myth all together.

The tale of the Devil's Wall, which was not retold by Karel Jaromir Erben, but by the poetess Eliska Krasnohorska and Czech national composer Bedrich Smetana, is that a group of monks wished to found a monastery in Southern Bohemia along the Vltava River near Vyssi Brod, something that the devil and his minions were truly adverse to. So, the devil constructed a wall that would serve as a dam that would flood the monastery upon its completion. Of course, the wall collapsed via the aid of a religious hermit, leaving the rocky remains of the wall strewn along the beach until this day as a reminder of that event in pre-rational European history. It was while we were studying the remains of the wall, that an old woman happened by. In my horrid Czech, I begged the question, 'Excuse me, where's the monastery that the devil wished to destroy,' my curiosity being to see the building that drew the devil's wrath, as well as hoping against hope, as I am certain that the Czechs Krasnohorska’ and Erben had before me, to find further proof of the myth's origins, or perhaps, dared I have thought it, evidence that the myth was actually fact.

The old lady, obviously confusing Brian, the West Clare myth hunter, with Brian, the West Clare Catholic, smiled and said, 'The devil,’ the woman started, pointing at the stones, ‘he did this. But as for the monastery, I'm sorry. I'm not Catholic. I am atheist.'

I had to smile. I was a long way from West Clare indeed!