The Ulster Way! Whitepark Bay Hostel, the Giant’s Causeway, Carrick-a-Rede, Alisa Craig and Islay

 

My friend Judy on holiday from France.

The trip to Giant’s Causeway and back took most of the day. I made a friend, Georg from Vienna who I had to leave abruptly on the causeway when I realized that if I didn’t hustle, I wouldn’t make it back before high tide, meaning that I could conceivably get boxed in by the sea against the cliffs, which did not seem an inviting experience to me. I ran much of the way. I’m not certain how far it is. Four and a half miles one-way driving, but the coastal path winds and ascends and descends. At first as I said I had no idea it was a proper path and after passing through a farm of sheep I found myself scrambling a steep cliff above the water, clutching mounds of grass for purchase and realizing I’d veered off course following what I though was grass trodden by hikers. It wasn’t until I found a sign that I realized it didn’t have to be that wild and crazy… and that the route was actually very popular so you could peg a bright jacket of a hiker ahead of you and if you didn’t poke around too much or stop to take too many pictures, both of which I did, you could easily stay on path so long as your chosen target was. Here are some clues you are on the right path. You could also search it in advance and know where you are going if that’s your cup of tea.

If you look around you you will see the columns of rocks sliced into discs almost and then you notice it’s those very discs that make up the part of the causeway that’s left and ye might think to yourself, what happened here? Well I’ll tell you. 

A while back, a powerful giant who went by the name of Fionn Mac Cumhaill lived here. You may have heard of him by the name of Finn McCool. Now if you look out you can see that Scotland is pretty close. It’s right over there. Well Fionn had an arch enemy over there by the name of Benandonner. They were born hating each other and the anger burned on and on in both of them. When they were lads they used to toss rocks over at each other, trying to hit the other in the head and knock him over. 

Well Benandoor had a fine arm on him too and when his rocks landed the whole earth here would thunder and shake and by golly if it didn’t shake all the cliffs all ‘round and loosen them, right along their fault lines. Of course now and then, sometimes in the storms, and even sometimes on a sunny day, a part of a cliff would collapse and the discs would splay across the ground and into the sea.

Well this story begins the summer Finn became smitten with a Scottish lassie, a giantess by the name of Bonnie McGill. Now Scotland is near and giantesses are pretty easy to spot, so of course Finn, being a young virile giant was keenly aware of the presence of a beautiful giantess in the area and took a fine notice o’ her. Well, it wasn’t long before he found himself watching her as she went about her way. And it wasn’t much longer beyond that, that he was noticing her every move. Even from the corner of his eye, he could take in the subtle flick of her wrist, the way she turned it up when she was amused or delighted. He noticed that she stretched her pretty neck to peer into the clouds when the sky turned pink and silver. He found himself thinking about her when he wasn’t watching her. His big ol’ giant heart and his whole rough demeanor softened when he thought about the way her shy smile spread slowly into a grin, and he found himself musing over how her green eyes sparkled with merriment when she was playing with the baby seals. And oh by golly those tresses. They were enough to slay a young feisty giant dead in his tracks.

Finn was growing mad with the need to embrace Bonnie McGill. 

Now Finn could of course also easily make out the comings and goings of Benandonner. And it appeared pretty clear that Benandoor was making a go at the young giantess. Finn could understand that. She was the most beautiful lass on the island. But he could not forgive it. Benandonner’s overtures appeared clumsy and unwanted at first to Finn, but that did not appear to dissuade his rival. 

It began to look like the lassie might be coming around to Benandoor.

Or did Finn only think that because of what Paddy O’Dooligan said over pints the other night, laughing his fat head off, blubbering that that he heard there was a betrothal between Benandoor and Bonnie. Paddy always found a bit of fun in getting a rise out of Finn, but Finn didn’t take the bait. He put on that he didn’t care at all about the lassie.

Finn had a plan. He put out the word that he was going to build a fortress, a huge fortress looking out to sea. And everyone thought: why not? A big powerful giant should have his own fortress if he wants one. Finn began to throw together piles and piles of the disc rocks. He shook the cliffs and the rocks fell off in columns and then scattered into discs. Finn piled up more of the stones. He told everyone who would listen that it wouldn’t be long now before he started setting up the first wall.

But one sultry summer night after the village lights head all been turned down and everyone was deep asleep, Finn made his move. He began laying down stone after stone after stone, building a path with them, working with all of his might and speed. And over the course of just a few hours he’d laid the stones into a causeway stretching clear to Scotland. 

He was determined to run over there and scoop up the lassie. Now the lassie Bonnie did na’ even know Finn. She’d heard of him of course, but she’d never met him. 

When I returned, my feet wanted the cool sea water to soothe them. But as I headed back down the path, one of my legs cramped. My muscles felt like instrument strings reacting to the evening’s chill. I hobbled down to a bench in the sunshine where I pulled on some silk leggings under my pants and sat for a moment shrouded in my warm bamboo blanket. Once I felt sufficiently warmed, I slowly navigated back up the steep path. Outside the hostel I saw Kerrie, one of my roommates. She’s Australian and has been bicycling around the island. She moved out of the room to another that could accommodate a friend of hers from Australia, but a native Northern Ireland lass in the area to take care of her elderly mother who’s had a fall and broken her wrists. Although I was ready to lie down, I first wanted to briefly respond to something Kerrie had said earlier, so I approached them. They had a wine and cheese party spread out on the bench there which overlooks the sea. They pulled me into their sphere like a magnet. It actually was a bit uncanny too discover within minutes that we had all been widowed young and raised children alone, remaining solo. I’m not sure that in all of these years I’d ever met anyway who shared this experience and now it was like looking in to a mirror. reminded Lesley exactly of a dear friend of hers, a songwriter who had written a beautiful song (you can find this on YouTube: The Twisted Sisters “Wonder” - not the famous band you may know but a local one, quite talented). I’ve always found it intriguing that I’ve got doppelgängers lurking about. The lassies had been drinking at the pubs all day and Lesley, who has a lovely voice, burst into song. She was so expressive, throwing her arms up in the air each time she sang the refrain “The Wonder of it All.” I hope I never forget the image of her singing in her thick Irish brogue, the islands Of Alisa Craig, Islay and Rathlin behind her. Then she sang Donovan’s 1966 folk song “Isle of Islay.”

When it got cooler, we moved the party inside and Lesley was able to summon a fire using the precious little kindle we had gathered and a fire starter to light the small bucket of coal we had. It would have been an impossible feat really, but I heard hr chanting a spell.

I woke early so that I could make it to Carrick-a-Rede in time for my entry ticket to cross the rope bridge. It seemed at first blush a silly expense and I had dismissed it, but just like the Titanic Museum, everyone I spoke with about it, including Lesley who’d crossed it many times over the course of her life, insisted it was a must-do experience, worth every tuppence. It wasn’t really. The bridge was not as long as the photos make it appear or as daunting. It was just one more attraction where people take selfies. But it did take me as close to Scotland as I am going to get this trip. Has anyone swum from here? You can see from the photos below how very near it is. The views from Carrick-a-Rede Island are truly spectacular, though they can mostly be seen for free from the mainland.  

If you are planning to say at Whitepark Bay Hostel, which is indeed a fine place, very clean and with the loveliest staff, you can find the tide times at surf-forecast.com or tides chart.com. Being aware of your time constraints is necessary for hiking to the Giant’s Causeway. Again, you cannot cross the rocks at the edge of our beach at high tide and they are quite slippery when the water has gone down as well. Too, wear shoes with ankle support or you will slip. Some of the rocks are quite sharp. 

Here is what you are looking at when you round the bend. It’s not so clear when the tide is high if there will be room to squeeze through.

This is what you will be picking through and clambering over when the tide has pulled back from the cliffs to provide you a throughway. I was grateful to be wearing a pair of rugged pants and have a pair of gloves as well as sturdy shoes, but I confess to seeing a young lassie in a skirt carrying a small dog. I could not bear to turn back and see if she made it. (She had a companion or I would have even though I didn’t want to.) There are wells of seawater in pools in the rocks and sloppy seaweeds of all sorts among them. The shiny black rocks are especially slick. And the quartz especially jagged.

There is of course the option of taking the Ulster Bus 402 which stops regularly in both directions at the top of the drive down to the hostel. If you decide to spring for a ticket, they are sold online by the National Trust and you should do this in advance if you are serious about securing a time slot as it is quite popular.If you are walking from the hostel, give yourself a healthy two hours. I thought I was almost there at Ballintoy Harbor, but the truth is that I would not have made it in time for my time slot had some lassies from Barcelona who had rented a van and were traveling around Ireland for ten days (I think the van was a Windsurfer; they liked it) hadn’t given me a ride up the hill. One of them told me to be sure to go to Sri Lanka once I was in India. I asked her if she had the Ayurvedic treatment where oil is poured over your head that Kerrie had when she was in Sri Lanka and she said she had and it was wonderful. She also suggested a beautiful train ride, purported to be the most beautiful in the world. I laughed because just like the oldest pubs in Dublin and Belfast, I have read so many descriptions of railroad treks that are the most spectacular in the world. One is the toy train from Kalka to Shimla in northeast India, which I hope to ride this Fall. And the train from Coleraine to Londonderry, which I’ll be taking Sunday. The Glacier Express in Switzerland is definitely in the running. 

Here are pictures of the hike to Carrick-a-Rede. Once again, you can find a proper path once you make it around the rocks at the bottom of a sheer bluff, this one to the east of the horseshoe shaped beach just below the hostel. Despite the signs, people swim here. With their small children of course.

Even the seaweed here is bright green! The Emerald Isle indeed.

Babar from a distance sans the sheep who had migrated to the top of a bluff.