Head North, Young Man

A very quick update from Easkey on south of Sligo Bay. An unscheduled stop – but then the gale currently building outside was unscheduled until yesterday. And my walk in from the distant headland where my tent is (or was when I left a few hours ago – with the wind still not at full strength, so may be ahead of me on Donegal coast by now) has rewarded me with in order of importance and order in which I’ve enjoyed them; a) a lovely blue hand thrown ceramic bowl to replace the one I lost in the surf when washing up yesterday, b) two newpapers (and thus two ‘wind day’ crosswords), c) a huge all day breakfast, d) somewhere to charge my phone, e) this computer to write on and check emails, and f) shops including one that instinct tells me might well sell wine. Does life get any sweeter?

So six days since I left Clifden and even a cursory glance at a full map of Ireland will show you that the lad has been applying the paddle with a fair bit of dedication. Was so glad to get back on water, even late in afternoon, last Saturday when I left – and even tired and tender after staying up hoping that a very mediocre French band might become interesting especially if I drank more (they didn’t so got to bed about 2ish – that I blasted out of Clifden bay and through necklace of islands, laughing in the face of boomers, and then to Innishboffin which looked tempting but not enough so I kept going and finally ended up on Innishturk. Wasted time and energy and luck looking for landing place amidst high cliffs and muddled sea on western edge before heading back east along coast of islands and spotting a fish save box moored in the water and then a Narnia like lantern on pole above the rocks. Discovered a corridor narrow crack that turned at almost right angles and then opened into the nicest, sweetest little cove I could imagine. A bunch of people above the currachs on the quay. “You’ve come for the dance, I suppose,” said one, Noel Kidney. It was about ten then and – reader – I’d love to say that I landed, made camp in lightening speed, spruced up, slicked down my hair and headed off on the couple of miles of twilight walking that would have taken me to the village hall and the tiny community at play. I failed you. Not least because it always takes an hour or so to make camp, and because one of the fisherman gave me a huge double hand full of crabs toes to boil. Then it was midnight and the dance went on without me.

The next day was murky with big swell, waves and a contrary wind. I pushed off confidently for Clare Island to the north and wondered if I hadn’t been over confident but then made the western tip of Clare okay, if wet and tired and there passed my first ‘other’ kayaker not counting Sam. An English chap doing a mainland to mainland circuit of Clare, with the wind and the current with him, lucky sod. I could have pulled out onto N facing beach on Clare for the night, but felt the sea and the wind was abating and kept going to make the entrance to Achill sound in the evening. A bit of a debate about whether going ‘around’ Ireland required going around Achill Head rather than through sound, but as my mission statement is to enjoy the trip AND to get round this shortcut is a way of making up for all the bad wind and non-paddling days. As a reward where I camped in the dunes I had two hours of dolphins playing in the waters – not bottlenose, but the yellow bellied ones, and in a group. Well, here’s where I compare and contrast with Fungi the sad, sole, leadenly performing auld fella and this group springing and dancing and slapping and splashing all through the evening and into the dusk and into the moonlight. They seemed ecstatic and I was ecstatic.

I woke at dawn in a cold dew, packed everything up and caught the fast n tide flooding up the sound to where it changes at Achill village. I was followed by a young seal.

At the point where the tide meets I pulled a masterstroke; I had to wait a few hours for the tide to ebb northwards up the northern part of the channel. I put kayak onto the slip, spruced up a bit and walked into nearby hotel. Lads, here’s the secret to holidaying in Ireland and good value; breakfast. Nappery, silverware, as much meat and orange juice and goodies and refills of coffee as I could want and…AND change from a ten euro note. From now on I eat out in the morning. That old adage about breakfasting like a king, lunching like a prince and supping like a pauper for health; well, from now on that’s me, and for fiscal reasons as much as anything.
And look at the result. I came out to find the waters galloping northwards; I sat atop their swirling current and poked my paddle into the water the odd time but mosty took a post brekkers siesta and soon was in Black Sod Bay. Another moral debate here; could go outside the Mullet Peninsula to find some good islands and pass round Erris Head, but the forecast was poor and every chance that I’d get stuck out there in wind days for a while. Or I could keep going up Black Sod Bay to Belmullet where there was rumour of a channel that cut through to Broadhaven Bay. Of course I would be stuffed to the tune of twenty or more wasted miles if the rumour proved unfounded. Hot sun. Hundreds of black plumed and yellow beaked scoter duck in the middle of the bay. A fair bit of effort to keep going as the wind changed and veered. Then Belmullet and no obvious channel and some cursing until a small slot in the quay wall revealed something more like a storm drain but with the rising tide definitely swirling up and through it. I paddled into the ditch and was carried nicely for a few hundred yards or more to arrive in a muddy, stinky estuary but definitely on the right side of things. Tide was still coming in, so paddled down as far as mud and stink abated slightly and landed to spend a few hours sunbathing (almost a first time this summer).

Recharged by solar power I caught the tide as it changed again (are you all agog at my superior tidal catching skills; truly the joys of the free ride and the conveyor belt school of sea kayaking) and floated down into Broadhaven Bay proper. At this point I realized that I’d forgotten to buy necessary provisions for the coming days along an essentially village free coastline with a poor forecast. I didn’t panic though as I had two secret weapons; a new high tech fishing line with day-glo super sparkly hook lures which on first and only drop back near Innishboffin had pulled up three mackerel at the same time in this summer of no mackerel, and Melanie’s incomparable fruit cake. Sent all the way from London to post restante in Clifden it had perfumed the paper and stamp glue atmosphere of the post office, so I knew it had arrived even before it was handed over to me, (the first time I’ve used post restante in years and also letters from Erika and suddenly I remembered all the sweet joy and anticipation of picking up real letters around the world – or not in those cases when they were filed under ‘M’ for Mr and similar challenges – and hurrying off to cafés to read them). Anyway, Melanie’s cake has the specific gravity of some kind of benign plutonium, and about the same energy giving properties. I reckoned I could survive about a week on the cake alone, and paddle through hurricanes, across maelstroms and over mountains with a slice or two.

I camped under the lighthouse in Broadhaven Bay. Woke to a dirty windy day with white caps and streaming seas – roughly in the right direction. Just getting the kayak loaded and into the water down a steep wall of rock into a swelling and fetching sea was hard work but decided to go for a look sea, ready to turn off into a bay and land if things seemed to hairy. Got to Kid Island and indeed the seas had been challenging but I got used to being thrown around and the waves slapping over me and seemed secure enough, so I jostled and bucked and splashed my way through the narrow sound between the island and high cliffs with the wind squeezed and speeded up to a 6 or so. I could have pulled off into a cove a few kms on but felt good and secure enough to keep going. It was impressive; dark, black cliffs, yawning caves, great geysers of foam and spray being shot up and exploded from the cliff face. And sudden katabatic winds blasting down from the heights. And jagged rocks and reefs and stacks diverting and stirring the seas.

I had another escape bay a few more kms later but bloody minded and strangely calmed by the initial over expenditure of adrenalin I decided to keep going even though the wind was strengthening. Rain storms blasted in but everything was behind me and I was being helped eastwards into Sligo Bay. Then in the lee of a huge cliff the winds were blocked and I was in a relative calm and silence – the eye of a storm. I had my anorak hood up. A sudden feeling made me turn around. Right behind the kayak was a large dorsal fin gliding along in my wake. A dolphin I thought. It looked similar in shape and almost in size to Fungi, who I’d had some experience of. I had to look forward again to keep balanced. Looking back the fin was still there, only a few yards behind the kayak still exactly in my track. Then I saw the vertical tail fin. This was a fish, not a dolphin. A shark. This was an interesting revelation. Especially as it didn’t seem to square with being a basking shark, which I’ve also had some experience of. The recent talk of great white shark on the radio and in the papers came to mind. This didn’t seem likely. But neither did it seem impossible that I was some large and non-basking shark, great white or otherwise. Strangely I didn’t feel any apprehension at all. Genuinely. Except I felt a very, very strong disinclination to capsize at that point. The waters were still turbulent and the waves unpredictable and big.

So what did I see? A large fish, some kind of shark, probably about twelve foot long. A fish that was calmly following me, with its nose right on my rudder (and how long had it been behind me before I noticed?), swimming calmly and swiftly with little effort to keep up with my wind assisted five knots or so. The fish gave the appearance of bulk – in the thickness of the fin where it joined its back.

What did I think I saw? The water was clear but troubled – I think I caught a glimpse of a rounded head rather than the pointed nose of a basking shark. I sensed a casual curiosity.

What else. Suddenly the shark was gone. Ten or twenty seconds later the fin popped up in the waves circling swiftly perhaps thirty yards away. This seemed far too active for a basking shark, even a flight juvenile. Also the weather, the state of the sea was not what you’d expect to see basking shark on the surface in. But by far the most likely was a basking shark behaving atypically, rather than a big, non-native shark acting typically.

I kept paddling for another hour – necessarily as there was no way to pull out. Nor indeed any point, on reflection. Though unsure whether I’d seen a basking shark or had been followed – stalked – by a predatory carnivorous shark I felt – strangely – elation. Whatever the fish was it felt like a totem species symbolizing a point in the trip where to be out on the waters in all weathers feels normal. I half hoped that the shark whatever it was would keep swimming with me. And being unsure whether it was a benign basking shark or some other species seemed a happy mystery to be accepted at whatever level I chose. Because even half believing that it was not a basking shark but a big ‘other’ shark I was still happy to be on the water and to keep going.

I landed in Belderg Bay on a big bouldered storm beach – this really is a remote and harsh and bleak coast, more so than any other I’ve seen so far on the trip, and with far, far less boat traffic out there on the waters. I’ve seen two or three sailing boats since leaving Achill and very few more crab and fishing boats. I camped on a tiny patch of grass out of the wind next to an old lifeboat house. Asking permission of the nearest house I met Seamas and Ann Caulfield, an exhilarating meeting. Initially it was their kindness that marked them out – driving me to a shop in the nearby village to provision up and granting me permission to camp. But the next morning Seamas arrived to invite me for a full Irish breakfast and a shower; two words that are of huge import to the round Ireland kayaker. Over breakfast I discovered what a remarkable and inspiring couple they are. As a professor of archaeology Seamas made sense of the geology, the landscape and the hidden pasts of the coastline that I had blindly drifted past; we talked for the whole morning – and I will elaborate on this at greater length later, but needs more than the bones alone account that I’m writing here, especially with the rightful owner of this borrowed computer wondering when my ‘twenty’ minutes will actually become an hour. Or has that already gone. Er, yes!.

I pushed off in early afternoon, wondering if I might be shark-scarred/scared. But no, in fact the sea seemed a richer more exciting place. Though I looked over my shoulder a bit more than of yore. The wind and the tide was with me – luckily as the preivous four long days meant I was tired and slow witted and heavy limbed. Got as far as Lacken Pier, and camped on a narrow path above a steep drop. The next day still with a following wind and still with large waves and also a big swell, but also sun I laboured across Kilala Bay to Sligo Bay. There was big surf breaking off the shore – this is Ireland’s premier surfing spot and so poor for kayaking, really. I finally camped in the dusk having passed the seal like surfers waiting on the great tumbling walls of water (I got caught a number of times by unexpected sets, twice having waves break over my head and sweep everything of the front deck and my cap off my head, - though all recovered in the calm on the far side as all tied on but strings going all directions).

Today there’s a gale coming in. I walked into Easkey and – as you’ll recall from the opening para found a paradise of small things.

Back to my tent and a crossword and a beer before seeing what the coming weather holds.