Between the seventh and ninth centuries, Irish monasticism produced a peculiar genius: men who believed the path to God lay in extreme isolation, on rocks where nothing grew, where the wind never stopped, where survival meant collecting rainwater and seabirds' eggs. Ardoileán is one of about thirty such islands strung along the Irish west coast between Inishtrahull off Donegal and Clear Island off Cork. Each held its own small community - a handful of monks, sometimes a single hermit. The remains on Ardoileán include the ruins of beehive cells (clocháin) built without mortar, a small oratory, and an enclosing wall, all attributed to the followers of Gormgal of Ardoileán, who died in 1017 and was buried here. The seventh-century saint Caolánn is also associated with the island. The hermits cultivated nothing. They prayed. The Atlantic did the rest.

In 1969 the Irish poet Richard Murphy, then living on Inishbofin to the south, learned that the owner of Ardoileán was thinking of selling. He wrote later in his 2002 memoir The Kick: 'I got excited at the thought of buying this inaccessible holy island, restoring the beehive cells and oratory of its derelict hermitage and preserving the place from destruction either by tourists or by sheep.' He bought it. For nearly three decades he tended it, repairing collapsing stonework, keeping the sheep numbers down, allowing only careful scholarly visits. His 1974 collection High Island was named for it. The poems treat the island as a meeting point between the medieval mind and the modern - the ascetic hermits and the modern poet both choosing solitude on the same rock. Murphy sold the island in 1998 and died in 2018.

In February 2019, Ardoileán went on the market through Spencer Auctioneers for 1.25 million euros. The Guardian's headline read 'Craggy island for sale: gulls, grass, wind and no mod cons.' The listing came with no buildings beyond the ancient ruins, no mains electricity, no fresh water source beyond rain, and one of the most challenging landings in coastal Ireland. The article was widely shared. Whether the asking price was achieved was not publicly disclosed. Whoever now holds the deed inherits Gormgal's ruined cells, the wall the hermits built, the beehive structures the gulls now nest in, and the same Atlantic that for thirteen centuries has carried prayers, fishermen, monks, poets, and the occasional auctioneer's helicopter out to one of Ireland's lonelier corners.