When you’re a wildlife photographer with a bent towards waterbirds and megafauna and you’re in a relationship with a geologist with a penchant for, well, rocks, your holiday plans tend to be a sort of negotiation; sometimes even something of a continental divide (there’s a rift pun in there, I know it!). So when G semi-surprised me with a trip to Ireland for a long weekend to see puffins (and rocks), I was thrilled.
The other surprise was that it doesn’t get dark in Ireland (especially Northern Ireland) until close to 11pm. We effectively had 3 or 4 extra hours each day. This felt like a bonus: exactly what’s needed when you have next to zero time to research before getting on a plane.
🗺️Here’s a link to the map I made of the trip.
Arrival and County Antrim.
Day 1 was a nice drive from the airport in Dublin through a couple of the designated Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty along the way. They did not disappoint. The coast is a magnificent contrast in extremes: sheer volcanic cliffs, stunningly green greens. The inland areas we passed through were vibrant and green, though it felt something like a patchwork quilt with the bulk of the trees stripped away to make room for the sheep.
We stayed 2 nights in Bushmills (whence the whiskey), which we were to learn is something of a gateway to the gateway to the Antrim coast. Also of note is that the Antrim coast is both seaside getaway and the bible belt of Northern Ireland, which makes Friday night make more sense.
Friday night: We arrived starving, so went into the quaint town of Bushmills to walk around, get our bearings, and find some dinner. There’s an old waterwheel, a walkway along the River Bush, which is stocked with salmon for the local fishermen (the river, not the walkway), and some really nice stone architecture. Overall, a charming ambiance to a solid-feeling old mill town. Dare I say stoney? As we were walking down the street, we ran into a triad of chatty teenagers, who foisted upon us chocolate chip cookies and an invitation to a BBQ and barn dance that evening.
After a dinner of the most gigantic fish and chips I’ve ever seen, we wobbled back out into town and towards the car – which just happened to be next to the Orange Hall where the barn dance was happening. And we just happened to run into two of the girls from earlier in the parking lot, who ushered us into the hall. I had a wave of déjà vu back to camp socials until the sea of people parted and a young, evangelical-type stood in the middle of the room and did a 15-minute talk on Jesus, excuses, reasons, and choices just as we were formulating our excuses (erm, reasons) to leave. I’m probably going to orange hell.
Afterwards, I learned of County Antrim’s deep Ulster-Scots/Presbyterian roots, and the Googles gave more info on the Orange Order as the civic/cultural/religious center of the region. So as we travelled through the area, it all came together and I lost count of the Orange Halls we passed along the way.
A boat…or three
The best place to see puffins on this part of the map is an island called Rathlin. Between the weather (rainy and windy) and the seas (choppy), we opted to walk around Ballycastle on Saturday morning, then make the best of a puffin boat tour in the afternoon.
Puffins, check. Spectacular shoreline and cliffs, double-check. But the sea was rough enough that trying to take action shots of small football-shaped flying things moving at 50mph was a challenge. I saved most of the photo shoot for the next day.
What the boat tour lacked in puffinocity, the cliffs and shoreline made up in rockdaciousness (a totally genuine term from a genuine Geologist. Probably). We went from Ballycastle (where the boat was), past castles and farms, to Giants Causeway, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and local legend (giants, bravado, babies, rocks, second thoughts…) where a spate of basalt columns form an amazing, stepped section that juts out into the sea. More walkway than jetty, it’s where the giant of geomythology built his causeway and hoodwinked a would-be invading giant that he was giant-er and sent the invader running home. Or something like that. In a geological sense, the basalt columns were formed by volcanic eruptions over the (softer) terrain, and subsequent cooling and fracturing of the rock. I’m sure I’ve butchered some part of that explanation, so will leave it to the geologist to fill in the cracks, as it were.
These formations, and the cliffs that soared hundreds of feet above where we stood, can really make you feel miniscule in the grand scheme of things; giants, legends, or otherwise.
We made our way to Portrush, a very odd holiday town (complete with Ferris wheel and a 100-year-old indoor amusement park!), for some dinner at a pub, then a side-quest to find the Dark Hedges. 250 years ago, a family planted hundreds of beech trees lining a long stretch of road. Over time, the branches intertwined to create a surreal arboreal tunnel flanking what’s now farmland. Game of Thrones lore turned this place into Kingsroad, and turned a quiet side street into an international tourist destination. That said, arriving at dusk (per recommendation) this time of year meant we arrived at 10:30 at night. We had the place to ourselves.
The next day we went back to Portrush and boarded a chartered RIB [Causeway Boats and skipper Richard: Highly recommend!] for a 3-hour tour that would take us water side around the Skerry Islands, along the Giant’s Causeway (very cool), and past Dunluce Castle, its frame still standing over 500 years later! All this on the way back out to Rathlin Island for a 2nd shot at better shots. It being a calmer day and a smaller boat, the puffining was markedly better.
Richard left us on Rathlin for the afternoon. The plan was to bus/hike/bike out to the bird sanctuary part of the island, shoot some puffins on land, and head back to catch the ferry back to Ballycastle. Of course the gods of poor planning intervened, so not only did we not have enough time to get to the bird place and back before the ferry, but it began to rain in earnest. So fish and chips and Guinness and a wander ‘round the little town would suffice for this trip.
After a bus ride from Ballycastle to Portrush (and again past some of the landmarks we had just seen from the water), we continued our journey south towards Galway, again grateful for the late sunsets because we were cramming a day and a half’s worth of adventuring into a normal afternoon.
The rocky place.
The next morning, we packed up the car and headed into The Burren, a geological wonder and UNESCO Global Geopark. Time didn’t permit a day hike, so we drove through the park, stopping at different sites to wander and learn. We stopped at the Poulnabrone Dolmen, a prehistoric tomb, dating back between 3800 and 3200BC (a conundrum to the orange people, I’m certain). Strewn across the countryside were ringforts, family compounds from medieval times, so G and I both got our rock fix: I got castles and ruins while G nerded-out in karst and limestone. The Burren literally means “the rocky place.”
We visited the village of Kilfenora and its very cool cathedral, and the Caherconnell Stone Fort for a walking tour through medieval history and a sheepdog herding demo.
The Cliffs of Moher was our last stop in The Burren, with one final view of nesting puffins, before heading into Dublin for our last night.
That classic Irish pub.
Because we were packing our days and on the move in the evenings, we hadn’t really experienced a pub that didn’t feel like we were being plopped inside everyone else’s beach town summer holiday. So when we wandered into the local pub, late and starving, and encountered an old-timer called Jack (and his pub-mates) drinking Beamish (Guinness’ boggier, earthier cousin), and Jack pointed us in the direction of a shop where we could get snacks and of course bring them back to the pub while we all shared laughs and stories until closing time, it really felt like the Irish magic was a crowning moment in our way-too-short trip.
So thank you, Orange teenagers, and the sweet lady at the B&B whose name I forgot, and Richard the sea captain, and Jack and Kevin and the other chatty guy at Ryan’s pub in Beggar’s Bush, for ushering in the sunshine and showing us your real Irish heart.
We’ll be back.
