Let’s go for a walk

I know a lot of you enjoyed the music before, here’s a little backing track for today’s read. By the wonderful Kate Rusby.

I was alone to drink it all in, the bright winter sun lighting my way in technicolour, shaking my head in dumb disbelief at the beauty of it.  I retraced the paths I’ve walked hundreds of times, looked out at the views so familiar and placed myself so fully into the landscape that I felt I was seeing and experiencing it all again, the way it used to be.  It seems like such a long time since I had a walk where I wasn’t keeping an eye on little feet veering too close to the waves or climbing up steep ledges, where devotion to the darlings compromises my full immersion in and appreciation of the environment around me. So here I was without distraction, with time to meander, a slow ramble stopping to check for creatures in rockpools, search for cowries, watch gannets and day dream.

I have the fortune of being surrounded by the most beautiful open spaces of countryside, dramatic shorelines of basalt and limestone cliffs, wild Atlantic waves and stretches of coastline with awe inspiring beauty.  Come with me.

The winding road down to the fishing hamlet of Portbraddan is steep and not designed for big cars or tractors, which inevitably are the main vehicles you will meet.  At the bottom the small car parking area sits above the little bay looking out to Whitepark stretching along to the right towards Ballintoy. Straight out across the sea is a beautiful vista of Rathlin Island, the West Light easy to spot.  I often say to visitors that seeing the Causeway Coast is much more than The Giant’s Causeway itself and experiencing the coastline on foot in either direction before the main event, as it were, gives a much more impressive perspective. 

Taking the path towards Dunseverick I pick my way over the rocks, the sun is beaming on the basalt today, showing up patches of yellow and white lichen.  I decide to take a detour up to Templastragh, a ruin of 16^th century church, with evidence of an older church founded in the 600’s by St Gobban. The engraved stone on the gable wall is said to come from the early site, it is now strategically fenced off and difficult to photograph, an act of cultural or ecclesiastical vandalism? Or maybe just to keep the sheep out. I’m fascinated by the stone walls, as ever, running my hands over the surfaces, noticing the spaces between.  Like many vernacular buildings (and the odd driveway pillar) in the area they include the polygonal shapes from columns formed by cooling lava which make this volcanic coastline so famous.

Turning back down the hill towards the shore I decide to scramble over some rocks on a promontory I’d never been on before, which seems so odd since my childhood was spent scampering around this headland.  The tide was out and getting right to the edge of the water felt necessary.  Exploring this spot was magical, strange ancient shapes in the bassalt, tranquility, perspective and beautiful pools for dipping, cold water therapy with incredible views!  It is hard to get your head around the hugely cataclysmic events that led to the existence of this special landscape.  And here I am casually sipping my cup of coffee whilst carefully stepping across the slippery rocks to find a seat!

Even though summer birds have long since migrated there is the chance to spot the winter visitors; Whooper swans or geese passing overhead, waders picking around in the seaweed or ducks bobbing in the water. Unmistakeable calls from Curlew and my favourite, Lapwing…always reminding that we share this place with nature, though not a sentiment everyone seems to remember. I try to identify the different seaweed and think of the stunning work of amazing local glass artist Andrea Spencer.

I walk back through the hole in the cove to the salmon fishery (Port Bradán means Port of the Salmon), there are still remnants of this mighty industry which dwindled as the salmon population couldn’t keep up with the appetite of the masses. Bertie was the last fisherman here; a friendly and kind old man with a sparkle in his eye, we’d play all summer long with his collie Brandy as we spashed in the water of the bay.  Strange how quiet these places are now in winter, with none of the houses being permanent residences. Such a sad waste, though I’d most likely spend my day looking out the window so maybe it’s just as well.

I take a minute to lie down on the old jetty, I can feel the slowing down, a dormancy. Winter is time to relax, take it easy, with longer nights for our benefit. I’ve set aside my plans for the new year for now*, I’m looking forward to the Solstice on Thursday and the fortnight of seeing friends and family with much merriment!

I wish you a very happy and healthy festive season, looking forward to much more Substack community with you in 2024. Love love love x

• well almost, obviously I never stop thinking about how this would be the best wee cafe for me, DREAM