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Irish Waves - Ireland
by john Holder | Date >
2005-02-09 | Country : Ireland | City : Achill island
| Area : Northwest |
| (Achill Island) (Searching for Surf in Ireland) (August 2004)
As we were strewn about in the long waving grass, John rolled up in the truck and told us to start packing. We did as we were told, with the thought of better surf down the road. We threw the boards and all of the gear in the back, clambering in behind it all. I took the back, on top of the board bags and sleeping bag, by far the most comfortable seat in the car. Dozing in and out of crazy dreams, I occasionally looked up to see rolling green hills flecked with sheep and vast strands surrounded by clear waters and massive cliffs. I drifted into a deep sleep with the smell of burning turf fires in my nostrils and the chatter of mike and john up front. I woke up to the sounds of howling offshore winds screaming through the sand dunes, climbing out of my den to feel the cold wind on my warm body. As I shook the sleep out of my body, I gazed out upon a long white beach and frigid turquoise peaks with offshore spray floating into the air. As the sun was setting, we squeezed into our wet wetsuits and John poked fun at us for thinking it was cold…’just wait till winter!’ Being the last one down onto the beach, I dropped to the sand to loosen my limbs a bit. To my left were massive stone cliffs that extend out to see and deep gorges protected by dark misty clouds. In front was the burning setting sun, illuminating the water and dancing across the mist from the offshore peaks. Behind me, steep green hills with clouds hiding their peaks like a king’s crown. I breathed the fresh crisp air and dove into the cold water, cleansing my soul. After a good two hours of playful little peaks, we changed back into our clothes and gathered into the tent for eats. With saltwater dripping from our nostrils, we stuffed ourselves with sausage, bread, sharp cheddar and salsa. A good meal indeed. We greedily filled our bellies and washed it down with wind chilled Tenets Lager, soon heading out to the pubs for a night of good crack with a few of John’s mates. Awaking to strong onshore winds beating against our tent and throbbing, Guinness soaked brains; we quickly jumped the fence of the campsite to save some money. Our only company was the sheep who eyed us suspiciously as we grudgingly packed up our stuff. Back into the truck and back up to Easky after a big meaty Irish breakfast.
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