There may have been a dried-up mill-race or some similar structure so there was a sheer drop in levels if you deviated too much from the path.

Coming from the other side of the Glennamought River valley, past another disused corn mill, a tight, straight path led through to an open area where, once you reached it, the river revealed itself to you on the left. A steep hillside rose of to the right.

Leaving the path and exploring the river, three or four little pools were situated maybe 40 or 50 metres apart. Each pool still has its own topology and morphology. One deep and dark, another wide and shallow. You could clearly see the bottom.

Further on, towards the Kilcully entrance, the flood plain was boggy – a sure location for finding frogs amongst the rushes. Or else, in the summertime, we'd head over the river, lie on our stomachs, and use a small bucket or net to catch little minnows (‘Tawrneens’) by the bank. After gentle examination, the frogs or fish would be returned to their homes.

Somewhere in the valley, there was a crab-apple tree and, in many places, blackthorn. Despite knowing how astringent the apples or sloes would be, you’d have a taste anyway before launching the remainder high up into the air above the river.

My father would demonstrate how you could take a piece of thick grass (careful not to grab too tight or you’d cut the palm of your hand), place the grass length-ways between your thumbs, to form a rudimentary whistle. Blowing through it, you’d get a loud, screeching, distinctly un-musical sound which could be heard up high on the valley sides. Like a duck quacking.

It did seem like this place was wild. Far wilder than the centre of nearby Blackpool where we spent our days. Although there was nature there too, it was not this kind of ‘wild’ nature that you got the impression had always existed – would always exist there. Whether people came up from Blackpool to see it or not.

And now, perhaps, it won’t. The recent plans to direct the new Cork Northern Distributor Road over Murphy’s Rock could have real negative repercussions on this rare piece of public nature on the northside. In an area grossly neglected in terms of green spaces, to lose another would be tragic.

How many of the recently-opened public parks in Cork have been on the northside? The Marina and Tramore Valley – both valuable resources but also firmly southside. Even Ballincollig Regional Park, inherited from the county, is south of the river.

At Murphy’s Rock, the road infrastructure necessary to vault the valley from one side to the other would be on such a colossal scale – indicated by a little, inconsequential bridge symbol on the provisional plans - that it cannot fail to have significant, negative impacts on the valley during its construction. 

If completed as planned, we will end up with a green space of much degraded value by virtue of the damage done by construction but also the presence of a busy road hanging over the valley.

It is not an exaggeration to say that I am where I am, teaching and researching on the natural world, because of a love of nature cultivated on the banks of the Glennamought River by my father. It goes without saying that Murphy’s Rock holds an emotional attachment for me, but I’m not the only one.

Generations of Cork people have their own stories. Murphy’s Rock has deep cultural, historic and scientific importance locally which deserves much more consideration than ploughing a road over it.

Although there are elements of the Cork Northern Distributor Road which are worthy of our admiration, I don’t believe the people of the northside want a road like this at all costs. 

I encourage those concerned about the future of Murphy’s Rock to view the plans and consider making a submission by April 10. The current plans and information on making a submission is available at cndmrpublicconsultation.ie.

• Dr Eoin Lettice is a lecturer in plant science at the School of Biological, Earth and Environmental Sciences, University College Cork.