'You're still the king of the Island': RTÉ spotlight on Mayo stone lifting

On a rain-lashed hillside on Inishturk, a modern-day strongman stands before an ancient test of manhood, his hands chalked and bleeding, his legs cut from repeated attempts. The wind howls, the rain hammers down, and a 200-kilo stone stubbornly refuses to budge from the ground where it has sat for decades.

"The stone can sometimes decide whether you're worthy or not," says David Keohan, known to his followers as Indiana Stones. "I don't think this stone wanted to be lifted today."

But for Keohan, one stone holds particular power: the lifting stone of Inishturk. "The stone that lives rent free in my head is the Inishturk stone," he admits.

He had attempted it the previous year, but storms prevented any serious effort. Then fate intervened in the most Irish way imaginable—he met the last man to lift the stone in a taxi in Westport. Tony O'Toole had accomplished the feat in 1967, nearly six decades ago, and he remains the last person on the island to manage it.

Their encounter crackles with competitive spirit and mutual respect. "I'd be very happy to hear you can't lift it," O'Toole tells Keohan with a grin. "I must send a message to Mick to throw a bit of oil at it."

The documentary's climactic sequence captures Keohan's attempt at the Inishturk stone, positioned outside the island's restaurant where wind and weather hold court. Everything that can go wrong does.

"You're outdoors. The elements are against you. You have to give it your best go," Keohan says, psyching himself up. But stonelifting offers no guarantees. "I was chalking my hands—it was blowing into my face. It was raining and I couldn't get a grip on it. My legs are cut. My hands are cut to bits."

After multiple attempts, reality sets in: "Not today. Not happening."

There's something almost mystical in Keohan's acceptance of defeat. "I don't think this stone wanted to be lifted today. I think that's why the elements blew up. I don't think I was worthy of it today, but there will come a day when I will be, Tony."

He picks up the phone to O'Toole and offers the ultimate tribute: "Tony, you’re still the king of the island. You're the last man to lift it—maith an fear, you absolute animal."

Then, the competitor resurfaces: "Can't say I'm not fucking disappointed though."

Keohan's mission to document and attempt these lifts isn't mere athletic ambition—it's cultural archaeology. Each stone he finds, each story he collects, each attempt he makes (successful or not) helps ensure that Ireland's stonelifting heritage won't be completely forgotten.

For now, Tony O'Toole remains king of Inishturk, his 1967 lift standing as the island's standard. 

This moment of defeat and defiance lies at the heart of RTÉ's compelling new documentary Made of Stone: with Indiana Stones. The programme chronicles Keohan's quest to revive Ireland's largely forgotten tradition of heavy stone lifting—a practice that once marked the passage from boyhood to manhood in communities across the country.

David Keohan and JP Scott in Scotts in Aughagower

In Aughagower, the Cloughundra stone has pride of place and weighs in at over 185 kilos.

JP Scott recounts tales of sheep fairs packed with farmers, where "only strong men can lift it" after throwing back a couple of drinks—liquid courage for an age-old challenge.

Then there's the giant lifting stone of Aughagower, which bridges mythology and reality. Westport man Charlie Keating recalls his astonishment at witnessing a successful lift by Indiana Stones: "Never before did I see someone lift it—you're not a big man." 

"I can go off and brag I saw this Waterford man lift it."

JP says it has been good for tourism locally and "like everything, social media has given it a new life. For years and years, you'd hear about the odd one – someone would mention it after a few drinks, talking about who lifted it and all that. But not really, until the last four or five years. Then it started getting going again, and all of a sudden, this guy David Keoghan appeared."

Since David first tried to lift the stone a couple of years ago, several groups of people have followed in his footsteps. One man from Longford successfully lifted the Cloughundra stone, as did another from the north of Ireland and a man from Cork 'might' have done so. 

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Ireland's stone lifting heritage rivals that of Iceland, Scotland, and the Basque Country, yet unlike those regions where the tradition thrives, Ireland's connection to its lifting stones has faded into the mists of time. These weren't recreational weights or fitness challenges. At weddings, funerals, and social gatherings, men would attempt to lift impossibly heavy stones—ranging from 130 to well over 200 kilograms—to prove their strength and secure their standing in the community.

The documentary is available on RTÉ Player for the next 30 days—catch it before, like the stones themselves, it slips back into memory.