Bloody Foreland - Breathe

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 about 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...

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 for this week, 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 that, if you are not from these here parts, 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 ghastly massacre, that occurred in the many troubled days of Irish yore, or from some grand tragic folklore tragedy, where coastal rocks were turned crimson in the wake of a large 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 of the site's denomination...

Finally, since we did mention 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.

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 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 that is exactly what we came here for.

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...

The gigantic Irish rhubarb

Yet, despite giving in 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.

1. One young fellow driving a quad, along with what I assume to be his girlfriend riding at the back, early during our journey, and;
   
2. One young lady, from afar, when coming back.

That's it. That's the whole sum of everyone we met today. But you're never ever going to hear me complaining about that!

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

"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.

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:

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.

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.

"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:

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.

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...

"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...

Another trip well spent

Suggested Sound Track

Midge Ure - Breathe

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 rhythm 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

Bingrania from the east - Try infrared

Click on this image for our track in Google Maps

As you can see, I haven't been posting for a while, for reasons that I am planning to reveal in a subsequent post.

That is not to say that I have stopped wakling altogether, on the contrary. I am always going on hikes. But I have had to stop blogging about those, as it has been taking too much time away from other activities.

Eventually though, even if it manifests itself with months of lag, I will flesh-out the hastily jolted-down notes that I took, after each of these overnumerous hikes, and post something about them. Ergo: there.

And "there" it is

In today's case, "there" bears the name of Bingrania, and happens to incarnate another pleasant hill that is part of our usual after-work rotation (right alongside next door neighbours Croaghmore and Croaghnadownies which I already blogged about).

I have been coming here for quite some time. In fact, I am coming here on such a regular basis that I no longer bother decide which of these hills I am going to climb in advance, and instead simply pick the one that I feel more in the mood for, once I arrive here.

Not so long ago for instance, I chose to head straight for Bingrania, on account that I could see it scraping the clouds in a most striking fashion, and I couldn't pass a chance to get up there and see how it felt to be engulfed in the midst of all these clouds, up close. After all, it is true that I have been known to jump in my car, on a whim, and go for a drive around Lough Salt on account that what I could see from home hinted that the place must be covered in a thick haze that spoke to my then state of mind. Yup, nothing new under the (absence of) sun here...

Glancing at our destination, as we start our walk

Yet, as we start our short hike this evening, the hilltops are clear of any mist, haze or rain, though, unbeknownst to us, this is going to change exceedingly soon... It is therefore with a light-hearted foot  that we set sail on the track, while also recalling how, last time we ascended Bingrania (in January or February of this year), we got caught in a massive downpour of icy sleet and snow as we stood at its stop, even though, for varied reasons, we didn't mind getting battered by the cold elements that much then. What happened after this shower abated is also another story that I am also not planning even remotely hint at any time soon either...

As it turns out, this recollection becomes even more à propos as, whereas we are quickly making our way towards the top, all the weather signs start pointing to the fact that we are going to be in for a repeat of the downpour experience... Oh well, finding a little consistency in one's life never hurts.

The downpour, approaching swiftly towards the summit we stand on.

Sill, since we consider that we have paid our dues last time around, we presently consider it better to try to take shelter from the rain...

Probably a wise choice at that too, as it's quite the heavy downpour sneaking upon us from the south-east, and we will be spending quite a few long minutes, in almost zero visibility, waiting for the clouds to pass. We remain totally unfazed about this slight disagreement however, and, all the while, our spirits remain decidedly high as we tell ourselves that, with days being this long, we do have all the time in world.

Besides, as the rainclouds dissipate in a motion that is about as fast as the one they had when they zeroed in on us out of nowhere, we are treated to the cinematic spectacle of their agile motion, as they swiftly and stealthily glide over the next hill, like a most agile hurdle sprinter.

The rain & cloud screen, departing from the scene

Now, in case you look more closely at the photograph above, one thing you may notice, and that I need to explain, is that the small black shape you see near the top happens to be a burnt car. It turns out that some idiots decided that a nothing could adorn a majestic hilltop better than the trashiest sign of our modern civilisation. And we don't need to get up there (though we will) to know that this is the same burnt car we saw on the western path, last time walked around these parts.

And if you want the complete picture, you should know also that this wreck comes complete with a nice invitation to "get lost", though in more colourful language than I feel comfortable using on this blog, through a message that was hastily etched on a rusty metal plate welded in lieu of the rear windshield. I guess every area must have a pack of disgruntled young wolves, who conceive the openness of the surrounding expanse as a threat to their vision of the world, which they would very much prefer to be both narrow and self-centred.
Still, if some local hooligans want to take to expressing their annoyances towards society right smack in the middle of nowhere, and as much as I loathe littering of any kind, I guess it is still the better outcome compared to their picking up on some random stranger, in the middle of a busy city street.

Yet, how anyone can ever remotely harbour any kind of latent anger, while standing in the middle of this hauntingly beautiful place, remains a complete mystery to me...

I mean, come on, what else could a man ever need!

Now, as it turns out, and as we are steadily making our climb to our partially disfigured summit, the skies are clearing in stunning fashion, and Sheephaven Bay takes to revealing itself in the most astounding evening light.

Clearly, it was worth waiting for the rain to pass!

Where else can you see this a sky?

And since we are standing on the top of of Croaghmore, we also get to see the sun approaching from the other side, as it throws a playful smile onto our old pal, Croaghnadownies.

More lush greens, in the evening sun

Indeed, this country, and this very County, seem to have much to be offer after the rain...

But we can't just leave Bingrania at this time of year without using it as an opportunity to demonstrate something I wrote about earlier, in another entry, on how nobody who has spent an entire year onto the island of in Ireland should make the mistake of describing it as an emerald isle only.

That's because, if you look around you at this time of year, you'll find that the purple of heater is everywhere. And I do mean everywhere:

Trust me, the camera doesn't even remotely do justice to the actual colour

When I told you that whole sway of hills completely turn purple, as autumn approaches. Better take this fiery purple flame in, instead of thinking that the ephemeral artificial light of a hideous burning car could ever content you!

Suggested Sound Track

Well, while I will agree that Prince was a somewhat talented musician and singer, I have never really cared that much for his music. Therefore the hyper-obvious choice of tagging you with Purple Rain is out. Besides, I'm not one for all-to-easy segues. Instead, since it does occur that I haven't published a blog entry for quite some time, I will go for one of these special tracks that I keep in the special reserve, and that I wasn't exactly planning to give away since I fear that sharing a hidden gem with an uncaring world will only tarnish its shine. But since this happens to be a special occasion...
 

• Tori Amos - Concertina

As usual, because this is Tori, I don't have the faintest idea what half of all she's singing is alluding to. But this is absolutely fine by me, because what I do imagine is even better. Besides, if you ever read some of my other entries, you should know that I enjoy cryptic.

So, try not to read too much into it, outside of the lines about clouds descending (which is the reason I picked this song) or weathering this (which, unlike Tori, we didn't get to experience only figuratively). Instead, just enjoy this masterfully crafted ride. Oh, isn't that bridge with the phasing all shades of awesome, like purple heather on an autumn Irish hillside?

Additional Pictures