Nostalgia Trip

A few days ago I rediscovered this little bit of writing from almost three years ago (where does the time go?) when I lived on Loop Head. There was a small rocky cove close to where I stayed and I spent plenty of summer evenings bouldering there in 2015. I don't think anybody else would be impressed with the climbing here, but for me, by now deeply in love with this unknown townland, it didn't matter if the lines were eliminate or the rock a bit flakey. This was just another gift from a place I loved, a little kingdom with all I needed at the time.

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I spent the evening bouldering at the stony cove. As I was walking back along the cliffs I noticed starlings in a swirling flock above the caves. Behind me the sun burned a hole in the cumulus, orange and red amongst the heavy blue-grey of clouds. The sunset colour reflected on the emptying shallows of Rinevella Bay. A curlew called. The moon, just a fraction from full, was rising in the pink hue above Knockanore. The starling flock gathered numbers. Gannets patrolled the tiderip that stretched away to Rehy. Clouds passed on the skyline, steadily moving on mile-wide sails of grey rain. My weary fingers started to chill in a light northerly. I reached into the warmth of my pockets. The starlings returned from the east, even more now, swooping and swaying as one fluid flock. Like the oil in a lava lamp, the murmuration melted from shape to shape, stretching as a long oval and springing seamlessly back into a tight-knit ball. Their wings whirred when they turned, matching the rush of little waves reaching shore. They dived below the cliffs, out of sight. Then up again, in ones and twos, then as a long line racing over the cliff edge and hugging the ground. I never knew starlings to move so quickly. The source of their speed soon showed up; a kestrel, escorted by two displeased pippits, came up and over the cliffs and perched on a nearby fence post. A fine silhouette in the dusk. The Kilstiffan buoy blinked red. Gannets cruised by again. Earlier they dove gently near the coast, circling down slowly before diving shallow in near the water’s edge. The grey rain carried clouds to West Kerry but above me the sky was clear. The kestrel left. I followed its lead. Self heal and silverweed lined the laneway home. Gaps in the hedges showed lichened stones, stacked to mark out redundant fields spilling over with summer grasses. The grass in the lane brushed the skin between my sandal straps. My feet pressed into soft ground. The blackberry blossom lightened the hedges. In five minutes I was home. I love living here.

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Below are some images of this unassuming place that kept me captivated for so long, and here is a video I put together of the climbing. I don't think I've ever gotten as much from anywhere as I did from those few square miles. There are so many things I want to say about it but I can't put it together with words. I'm not sure what I expect from posting all this nostalgia tripping. But there are worse things to waste your time at online I suppose...