Messing about near Easkey

The road to Easkey is a lovely one to travel early in the day. I left the house at around 5.30 on a morning in June; it was one of those warm, cloudy mornings that only the west coast of Ireland can conjure. The clouds were letting fall a fine drizzle that freshened the still air and it was good to cycle into it, my face held up to catch the tiny droplets that soon accumulated in my hair and trickled down my cheeks.

Enniscrone has at least half a dozen ways of spelling its name. Maps differ on the subject as do sign posts, and then there’s the Gaelic spelling as well. Whatever your preference, the tiny seaside village sits at the head of a long, wide beach, and from there the road to Easkey rises past the few shops and pubs that life centres around.

I cycled up the rise that leads away from the village to the top of a crest, and from there through hamlets, villages and quiet, empty countryside to Easkey. I passed through Rathlee, Kilglass and places I couldn’t find even among the cluttered detail of an ordnance survey map. Occasional church spires peered out of clumps of trees here and there and so many derelict cottages sat looking desolate and bereft not far from the road, cottages given up in favour of bungalows built more recently beside them a few metres away, testament to the new wealth that had come to Ireland over the past decade.

The fine drizzle lasted only a while before turning to driving rain, and Easkey was still some eight miles away. I didn’t mind the rain, though it was sore at times when the wind drove it directly into my face.

I’d been to Easkey before; there’s not much to it, just another little hamlet, but one with a reputation as a surfers paradise. There weren’t many waves that morning though; the sea was calm and there were none of the usual signs of surfers: tents, caravans, motorbikes all strung out along the narrow track down past the school.
I crossed the river that runs through the village and on down the track that leads to the sea and the remnants of an ancient castle. I followed the track where it teeters along on that marrow margin between the fields and the rocky shoreline. By now it was about 6.30 and still no sign of life anywhere. I was glad of that though, it seemed right to be alone.

At a small cove I got off and walked around for a while. The rain had stopped and I was saddle sore. The sky sat above me like a solid grey mass, but from beyond the dismal horizon the morning sun was able to send a few rays as a reminder of its presence. They slipped in through a break in the boiling cover of clouds to burnish up the pewter sea and transform the world for just a few seconds. Then they were gone, and drizzle started once again to seep out of the clouds that had begun to darken and come down menacingly close to the sea and the earth.

Mist began to close in and I felt the call of the sea. I propped my bike up against a post and threw off all my wet clothes, bundling them into one of my saddle bags. The heavy drizzle in the air felt strangely warm on my skin and my entire body was soon drenched in it as I ran naked for about 30 metres over smooth slabs of sloping, black rock pitted here and there with rock pools and when I got to the sea it felt good to crash into the first waves as they raced in to meet me.

Some way out from the shore the sea shallowed onto a sandbank that I was able to stand up on, and as I turned to look back to shore I was shocked by the desolation of the landscape. There wasn’t a single tree to be seen, no trace of human life, at least no sign that anyone lived there now. There were traces of litter, left no doubt by last year’s holiday makers, and the crumbling remains of a long abandoned stone cottage. Through the thickening mist I could make out the outline of the castle ruins near the invisible village, and a few hundred metres on along the coast lay the rusting carcass of a large, wrecked boat, half submerged, half thrown up on the field that ran down to the shore. The low, soft, green hills that I knew rose not far away were obliterated by the wet mist, and I stood on the unstable sandbank, up to my knees in water, a ridiculous sight, and stared at the wasteland around me.