It was a grey and cold start to the morning, something we've become quite unaccustomed to of late. The overnighting spot was completely consumed in cloud and the strong breeze made for horizontal sheets of water swirling around the truck. This did not bode well for the sea crossing that we were going to have to take in order to reach Inis Meáin. As I've banged on about before, I don't travel well.
We were forced to park the best part of a kilometre from Doolin pier as the pay-and-display carpark there only allowed vehicles up to 3.5t and coaches to occupy officiously-signed bays. Not to worry, though, the intransigence saved us €5. And so, through wind and sideways rain we trooped to the pier to join something like 150 other passengers, many of them already in running gear, to embark on the disturbingly small Doolin Ferry boat.
Now, said boat would have been perfectly fine on relatively calm sees but with the massive swells and hideous peaks-and-troughs we invariably encountered it was one seriously rocky ride. Most passengers were - at first - dealing with crashing and fully inundated progress with humour and flippancy but it didn't take long before many turned green and a virtual silence prevailed. It was obvious many were more than a little concerned.
For about a quarter of an hour things were indeed pretty ropey but once we'd made the lea of the first of the 'Inis series' islands things improved to the point of being able to concentrate on holding on to breakfast rather than working through contingencies for shipwreck survival.
Upon glorious arrival at Inis Meáin we were again greeted with sideways winds and sheeting rain. It made for an odd sight to watch around 100 people in bright and altogether inappropriate running gear trooping their way in head-down Indian file to the parkrun muster point about a kilometre inland.
Fortunately, the muster point was a very charitable one. The island very generously allows the use of its community centre as a warm, dry and well equipped place to sit, huddle, get changed and visit the loo. And that's what everyone did. The parkrun is unique in the world in staring at 12 noon. It's received special dispensation to do this to accommodate not only our own, but another later passenger ferry to arrive and decant participants.
Anyway, 12 noon came around pretty quickly and it had, by this stage, stopped raining at least. The parkrun atmosphere was incredibly jovial and welcoming and in spite of the gruelling effort to come everyone was in good spirits. Most participants were Irish but there were many Englanders and a couple of Scots there, too.
It was indeed a gruelling effort. The course is described as hard and hilly - and it is - but with the extra feature of a stiff westerly wind straight off the Atlantic progress was at times pedestrian. Or indeed sub-pedestrian for those who were reduced to walking some sections. The things we do in our leisure time! It was, in spite of it all, a really fun and memorable event. We both did OK, too.
Post run we were again allowed to get warm and dry in the community centre where the local kids selling coffee also did a booming trade.
Thereafter most of the participants walked, or were shuttled for free in the islands community van, to the one and only pub on the island where, you'd have to think, the islands GDP was instantly enhanced by about 600%
We (and a handful of others) weren't particularly keen on the prospect of being tanked up for the return ferry journey, so instead explored the island on foot. It's a charming place. The population is around 180 and the ones of that number we met were extremely friendly and welcoming. Apart from the parkrun influx in Saturdays the island is reportedly extremely lightly touristed and the proliferation of gringos on Saturday is still seemingly a genuinely welcome novelty.
The islands geology is impressive with huge slabs of limestone dominating much of the landscape. This is, I've read, a continuation of the world-famous Burren series of rocks. In the places that soil has developed it's clearly very fertile and supports many (obviously sustainable) pastures and meadows. Drystone walls are a massive feature and criss-cross the island entirely. Many of the enclosures are tiny and the ones containing cattle rarely accomodating more than two or three animals.
A couple of iron age / medieval Duns in good repair also made for an interesting wander around and we constantly came upon features like water pumps and miniature shrines tucked away in tiny less-than-obvious crevices. There were also more than a few archetypal abandoned cars left to their rewilding fate, presumably wherever they'd expired (an extremely common small-island phenomenon).
All together, Inis Meáin proved to be a feel-good and welcoming place of serendipitous discovery. We really enjoyed it!
Come 4.30pm we had to once again brave the crossing back to the mainland, which - happily - was a much smoother affair. We were even able to spot a few birds out to sea with guillemots, black-throated divers, Manx shearwaters and fulmars all featuring.
Back on the mainland the grey mizzle returned in earnest so we decided to simply make the 15 minute journey back to the spot we'd stayed last night to get properly cleaned up, warmed through, and eat our own bodyweight in treats.
Kudos to the truck for allowing all these things to happen totally uncomplainingly.
Post composed at 22:15 on Saturday 25th July from our intended overnighting spot N 53.04569°, W 09.29081° / http://maps.google.com/maps?q=loc:53.04569%2C-09.29081
