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| Click on this image for our track in Google Maps |
Less depressed than last week, on account that (no thanks to the people I asked for help) I sorted out a workaround for the software issue I had, and can move forward at long last. But Jeez, what and unproductive week this turned out to be!
Also, everything unfolded exactly as I anticipated, with people wasting everyone's time assuming that I had made a very obvious mistake, even after I had taken explicit steps to dispel that idea by mentioning that I had of course checked for X, Y and Z... So that's about one week of work wasted, as a result of waiting to see if any help would arise, which of course it never did.
That'll teach me to ever try asking for help!
I could actually point you precisely to where this whole story unfolded, since next to everything I do, software-wise, is public, but then I'd have to disclose another of the aliases under which I publish code, which I'd rather not do...
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| The foothills of Cnoc Fola (out of frame, right) |
Anyway, back to today's adventure. It is a blustery rainy autumn day at home (which does effectively suit our mood) but nowhere near enough to deter us from wanting to go elsewhere, to experience the full blast of the changing season.
Therefore we are going to take a chance towards the west, which, as we soon shall find, and in a rare reversal of fortune, is going to pay off tenfold.
Then again it is fair to say that, with its all-hands-on-deck rugged landscape, Bloody Foreland doesn't need much in terms of sunshine, cloudscape or windgusts, to express its fullest oneiric nature.
But maybe I should start by pointing out, if you are not from these here parts, that you shouldn't let the name fool you as there really is nothing ominous about the place. For one thing, despite what one may assume, this section of the coastline hasn't derived its name from some kind of ghastly massacre, that occurred in the many troubled days of Irish yore, or from some grand tragic folklore tragedy, where coastal rocks turned crimson red after a memorable shipwreck.
Instead, the English moniker of today's destination derives from the translation of Cnoc Fola, a.k.a. the one elevated feature that stands prominently over the cape, that means "mountain of blood", presumably on account of the colour it takes at sunset.
All this to say, as we've already seen with the Poisoned Glen, that designation of a place shouldn't scare you, as there is yet striking beauty to be found, which might run afoul to one site's denomination...
Finally, since we have mentioned Cnoc Fola, I'll point out that climbing this hill can also be a nice treat, especially in fair weather, as it offers a very gratifying rate of reward vs challenge. But we'll leave that for another day, as we henceforth desire to witness the weary withstand of wave against wind and will therefore favour close skirting of the coast, where over-abundance of fractal sinuosity should keep us wholly satisfied.
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| Not much in the shape of a tree, to shelter one from the blustery wind... |
But damn is the road leading to our starting point a pain in the ass to locate, especially when coming from the south (i.e. Dungloe). I always end up getting a bit lost around here, since every one of the small roads edging towards the coast could be the twin sister of the one we seek, and, as usual, I ended up picking the wrong one, before finally latching onto the one I was after.
Not that you can really go wrong on this shore anyway: every road leading towards the ocean will bring you to yet another entirely new landscape to discover, and a completely different view of the many abandoned and not-so-abandoned islands, some of whom sit about as close as a stone's throw from shore.
However, we do have a particular circuit in mind for today, so we need to get our bearing straight, which is soon sorted out by parking at our preferred and much deserted place, right in front of a (thankfully) deserted holiday home.
From this parking spot, we can already observe some ferocity in the waves that are engaged in striking the rocks. That's autumn for you, and exactly what we came for.
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| This does look like autumn alright... |
The path to the coast is short, but we do make our usual stop for blackberries there, since they are plentiful around this time of the year, and ripe enough for our taste. Oh, and intermixed with blackberry shrubs, you'll find a bunch of these large (but sadly inedible) rhubarb plants around.
Man, I could go for a blackberry & rhubarb crumble with some whipped cream right now...
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| The gigantic Irish rhubarb |
Yet, despite giving it to the call of our stomach, we have soon reached the shore. As expected, and even as its striking beauty in the breeze should make it a choice destination for any Sunday walker, there doesn't seem to be a soul on the coastal path. Heck, I'm going to go as far as giving you a full breakdown of the complete list of individuals we encountered during this multi-hour walk.
- One young fellow driving a quad, along with what I assume to be his girlfriend riding at the back, early during our journey, and;
- One young lady, from afar, when coming back.
Now, when it comes to fauna, it is a whole different story altogether, starting with the countless seagulls that have elected to gather in the not so sheltered rocky bay we first pass by.
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| These seagulls sure seem used to the unrelenting Atlantic waves |
Whilst the surf is certainly not giving them much respite, these birds don't appear to mind much. From this not so vantage point, we also observe some impressive crashing waves on the horizon, scorching the elongated tip of Inishsirrer just as it starts to glisten under a rare sunny patch.
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| The battered tip of Insihsirrer, under the capricious sunlight |
With the ocean roaring nearby, we're feeling much better that we've felt all week already. Let's continue forward, as another mangle in the cloud cover lets us glimpse some more token of the autumnal gorgeousness.
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| "No windsurfing in this area" |
As we approach the series of sparse low homesteads, that dot the coastline, we get some whiff of the turf burning that's taking place in a few of them. Whether you elected to stand in front of the fireplace, or decided to stand outside, in order to take in the breathtaking dimension of this ever changing landscape, you're definitely not in a bad place to be.
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| The absence of trees tells you that these houses and stone walls have seen some battered winds |
Along the coast lies enough of a path, in terms of length, to keep us happy. Then we start a wet but agreeable climb back towards the road which, through the magic of elevation, starts to produce some magnificent views of Altawinny Bay and the cape that underlines it.
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| Altawinny Bay |
We will of course head for the the cape you see in the above picture. Can't really pass a chance to get close to the wind after all. But before that, we also get a chance to look at the vertiginous cove that marks the end of the bay, and where a huge flock of seagulls is trying to find illusory shelter.
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| "I am a leaf on the wind..." |
If I recall correctly, it is around this time that we start to get the first, in a series of small showers, that will occasionally wash over us for middle part of our walk. Even with the strong winds, it's not nasty enough to inconvenience us but, combined with the surf projections from the sea, it has the unwanted outcome of dirtying our camera lens (for which we of course forgot to bring a clean cloth) and therefore you may find that subsequent pictures become somewhat fuzzier in nature.
The ethereal beauty of this place is more than enough to compensate for this small hiccup however.
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| The shower we just went through is departing on the left... And another is coming, off-frame right. |
From the top of the cape we also manage to get some very good close ups of Tory Island:
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| If you ever visit it, know that there are puffins on the east-side cliffs of Tory Island |
The view from our new standpoint, with more ominous showers looming on the horizon, along with the occasional sunshine, probably isn't too far from what you'd expect from an Irish coastal landscape.
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| Do I really need a caption? |
But hey, since we are standing proudly on the battered north-western tip of Ireland, we might as well go all the way to whatever that large concrete-built meteorological (?) relay-station, that we've been looking straight at for some time, actually is. After all, it happens to be the one element, in this rugged landscape, that's apt at providing us with (limited) shelter from drizzle and wind.
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| "Whatever it is, it ain't local" |
And since that construct is not that far away from the delineation between land and sea, it allows us to observe some more ferocious waves crashing close by:
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| Why can't I shake the feeling that we might be just one large surge short from being swept away? |
Yet this is the time that the late evening sun decides that it's been playing hide and seek long enough, and graces us with its extended presence.
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| Come on now. You can do it! |
The skies may not be as crimson red as the name of this place hints at, but the effect it definitely not lost on the lone wandered that we are...
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| "Mauve and Golden Foreland" may not quite have the same ring to it |
As we slowly make our way back, in an ever more stunning light, we conclude that we certainly made a good choice coming here, to get our healthy fix of autumn. It may be that a quartet of Irish folks have yet to find what they've been looking for, but, for once, we ourselves sure have...
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| Another trip well spent |
Suggested Sound Track
I wouldn't call this a lyrical or even musical masterpiece, but I can't help finding some enjoyment in that, with its syncopated syllables as well as stanzas that appear a fraction of a second off during the refrain, a song about breathing seems to have made a deliberate choice of using a subtly misplaced rythm all over its vocal track... Or maybe I'm just reading way too much into it.
At any rate, it does fit the change of mood we were going for, and that's all that matters.
Additional Pictures
