On the Run from the Rona
We tore out of Dublin last Sunday morning. Covid had been knocking around locally for ages, but it was getting closer and closer. No matter where we turned, there it was. We’d been doing what we could. Keeping our heads fairly down, hitting the antigen tests on the regular. But friend after friend and family after family had been getting the dreaded visit. It even started showing up at things I felt I should have gone to. I had a few lucky escapes due to a cautious six feet and a bit of outdoor air. Even though we were boosted and the kids were doubled we felt vulnerable.
So we went on the run. All the way to West Cork, the actual edge of the world to try to escape it for a few more days. But even as we pulled out of town our phones started buzzing. Texts saying that Covid had called into more and more of our friends. More horror stories of isolation and uncertainty. We pulled out of town with Covid hot on our tails. It was breathing down our necks no matter how far I pushed the pedal to the floor. Thankfully, there was no traffic and I was able to quickly stick the cruise control to 125 and relax a bit. The car started to feel like an airplane, humming along like some kind of metronome, eating up scenery. But it still felt like Covid was right behind us. The phones intermittent buzzing reminding us that this wasn’t a normal trip and these weren’t normal times. Thankfully, the sun, directly in front of us and low in the sky, felt like salvation and a destination.
As we got through Cork City and onto the long open roads to its west, it started to feel like we were putting a bit of space between us and the virus . Then the GPS directed us to the more inland route to West Cork. As the sun started to disappear behind the mountains, we turned off the main road and started to snake our way towards the coast on R roads. This bumpy claustrophobia let Covid back in for a while. Unable to get a good stretch in top gear made me feel like I was losing a little ground.
I usually take the road through Clonakilty and along the southern rim of the Island and wished I’d taken it on this drive as well. I know that road like the back of my hand and could outrun anyone there. But these roads were twisty and unfamiliar.
Finally, we got to Ballydehob and a bit of familiarity. Ballydehob is a village I know quite well and a town whose whole buzz I love. Its got a decidedly arty vibe to it and the smattering of cool pubs and restaurants and shops would lead me to believe that all the people involved in those ventures have lived in San Francisco or somewhere similar and brought a bit of that here.
We powered up the hill going out of town and put the hammer down for the familiar road to Schull. A road that I have driven more times than I would care to count and one that floors me today as much as it did the first time I saw it. I have been making this drive for over 20 years and even in the dying light, it was magnificent.
Schull looked beautiful with its new found outdoor seating and its bright main street full of twinkling shops and familiar pubs. I love that stretch and have many wild stories to tell about some of those places. We screamed up the hill coming out of Schull as well, having left Covid so far behind it couldn’t possibly find us.
But we are social animals. We can’t live in isolation forever. Our kids are in their teens and need other kids around. Covid has been a large part of their lives and this is their second Christmas of Covid. It’s ours as well and we adults need our socialisation with other adults. So even as we ran from Covid, it was possibly racing back towards us.
Strangely, to escape the oppression of Covid, we also had to run straight towards it. Having antigen tested in the morning and not seen anyone for days, we would be totally safe on the edge of the world on our own. But Covid is everywhere at the moment. It seems inevitable that we will get it. No matter how hard we try to outwit it, it will probably come knocking and we will have to isolate. So escaping Covid by isolating didn’t make any sense. In other words, we weren’t going to the house alone.
Mirroring our journey was another family. A family that we have kept in our bubble. A family that fits very well with us even in these strange times. We all like to eat and we all like to laugh and we all like to go for walks in fantastic places. We have the same number of adults and the same number of children and we all get along, in all of those combinations. Even the dogs love hanging out with each other, so literally everything we do appeals to everyone in the group. And we had all just tested negative on antigens so we had to take the chance.
We got to the house first. Which was great. It gave me a much needed half hour there on my own. That spot is one of my absolute favourite places in the world and I feel such a deep connection to it. The light was nearly gone, but I got a quick walk out into the field above the house and to that view that calms me like little else in the world can; The tower on Castle Point, Mizen Head off in the distance and the faint lights of Goleen and Crookhaven across the vast expanse of water, each one identifiable once the lights flicker on. It felt like coming home, it always does.
I got back to the house just as the other family got there. We were all a bit freaked out. We had gone to the middle of nowhere, to where Covid couldn’t touch us (unless it already had and we hadn’t noticed yet!) and all of the sudden there was a big gang of us on top of each other. It took a little while to get over that and we unpacked the cars with plenty of distance.
But as we unpacked and the familiarity of it all came back we started to relax. I busied myself making a big dinner for all of us. Tacos, with a shedload of bits including salsa I’d made the night before. A winner for adults and kids alike. Dinner together heals a lot of wounds and by the time we finished, things felt pretty right.
To make sure all the cobwebs were blown out, we all headed down the pier in the pitch black for a bit of a walk after dinner. A brisk wind had picked up which added to the feeling that we were all going the last few hundred yards to the edge of the world. We scampered down the old road with thick grass growing down the middle. Around the sharp corner at the tall rocks and onto the old concrete platform of the pier. It was wild; The wind blowing straight in the face, the sound of crashing waves filling the ears. The spray, part sea, part rain echoing quietly against the hoodie. Kids running back and forth, dogs excitedly following them. The sea pushing hard against the rocks, the cold water almost glowing with grey anger in the deep red of the old street light.
Then it was back to the house for a load of board games and rawkus laughter. The sweet salvation of good booze and great conversation. It was nice to step back to pre-Covid times. The kids upstairs making up great games, generating copious amounts of laughter. The adults downstairs, comfortable around a warm fire and able to relax. Eventually it had to come to an end and we all hit the hay. Tomorrow was meant to be sunny and we’d want to take advantage of it.
The next morning was indeed beautiful. Bright and sunny and unseasonably warm. We generally lazed around and had a giant breakfast. Then it was off to Lough Hyne for a big walk, possibly a swim for me, possibly a pint and then back home to cook another big dinner.
We stopped in Ballydehob for coffee and a walk around the village. There was a food truck with a very long line, knocking out lovely grilled sandwiches, but people were waiting an hour and forty minutes in the queue and no sandwich was worth that to me. The town was buzzing though and the sun was shining.
We got a local recommendation for our walk around the lough, which turned out to be very local. People in West Cork walk down country roads for pleasure. I usually drive down them in a large estate so I am constantly flabbergasted that people like to walk on roads with all of their kids and dogs off lead where I am operating a motor vehicle. I generally like to stay off these types of roads because I don’t want my dogs on leads when we go for a walk. But this was a very quiet road and we took the lead from the locals and walked our dogs without theirs. It was a spectacular walk and the amount of locals that we met along the way reminded me that this is how people in the area walk their dogs. There were stunning vistas, heading up away from the Lough with a view of the ocean and the countryside, before delving into the narrow valley steeply back down the lake.
It was sunny for nearly all the walk and then we decided that we’d head down to the swimming area in Lough Hyne. A place that I have wanted to swim for ages. Apparently the water glows at night and swimming there is supposed to be unbelievable. Its a tidal salt water lake so its one to tick off the bucket list anyways. As I quickly got changed and everyone in both cars looked on from active heated cars, I waded into the water. At that very moment a fierce wind picked up and as I swam around on my own a few metres from shore, the rain started to come down in sheets. Usually I love a bit of swimming in the rain, but this was bleak. The water was whipping my face and the wind was starting to push me from where I’d got in, so it was a short swim followed by a sad drying and changing before getting back in the car feeling somewhat defeated.
Then it was into the beer garden in Rosie’s in Ballydehob for a pint, the first pint at a pub for a very very long time.
Back home it was another night of laughter and games and it felt like the olden times where we didn’t have to worry about germs and sickness. I let my mind wander a bit and it would go back to letting Covid in for a few seconds. My brain making little deals with me about how it was ok to let my guard down a little because it was important to have times like these and that even if we got up in the morning and someone didn’t feel well, we had gotten to live a bit of a normal and quite glorious life. But thankfully my brain couldn’t generate that fear that has dogged me for the past year and a half. It was just too obvioius that this letting down of the guard was just as important as had been the putting it up when the virus first hit. On the night, I was able to let my brain relax. When it was time, I slept well.
The next morning was the same as the previous. Sleep in. Big breakfast. This one had a few online work meetings. And then out in the early afternoon and into that low winter sun.
We headed north and into the unknown. We’d been given another recommendation, this one for the Sheep’s Head Peninsula. This was all new territory. We forked off of the familiar road to Goleen and headed across the middle of the Mizen Peninsula and onto its northern shore.
The views across Dunmanus Bay to the Sheep's Head were spectacular. The bright blue water meeting the even brighter greens of farmland on the dar shore before turning a bright gold in the winter sun on the ridge running down the middle of the entire finger of land. From Durrus we followed that shoreline back out to sea. The majestic bay bathed in winter light, the road winding in and out of little coves, each corner revealing something new and fantastic. It was jaw dropping. Isolation was everywhere with only a few houses and a couple of towns and a few closed up pubs. We turned up the hill in the tiny village of Kilcochrane.
From there it was a very steep climb up a one way road full of switch backs. It was surreal. There was no one on the roads and it felt like our two cars were the only two cars in the world. We parked at the small carpark at the top of the ridge and poured ourselves into the landscape.
It was a great walk. One of the greatest I have ever had in Ireland. Full of adventure and excitement. The sea on both sides and a lunar landscape before us. The trail was a wide ridge of softly worn paths through brackish grass and rough stone. We headed straight up towards the highest point ahead of us, but never felt out of breath. There was too much stimulus before us to mind any of that. As we climbed, the wind picked up and we really started to feel like we were on top of the world. We could see rain moving across the Beara Peninsula to our right, dark whisps unfocusing the stark lines in the distance. Clouds moved over us and it was hard to tell what would happen next because we couldn’t see around the giant peak in front of us. But that blew through quickly and all of the sudden The Beara Peninsula exploded into colour. Warm blues and greens and pastel golds and reds colliding in a beautiful cacophony of colour and emotion.
We headed back down the hill with the hope of finding a pub open on a Tuesday afternoon in January during a pandemic only to remember that the low petrol light had been on in the car since we’d left the main road and we hadn’t seen anywhere else on the whole adventure out into the unknown to fill up. There were a couple of ancient pumps in the old village at the bottom of the hill and I kind of wanted to interact with this sleepy little spot at the edge of the world before heading back to normality.
It was a good choice as the Petrol Station/Grocer/Post Office/Pub was a step back in time and those few minutes wandering through the shop gave us a chance to get a peek into the community in this beautiful place.
We had visions of wonderful seafood and creamy pints of Guinness along the shore on our way back, but the pandemic meant that everywhere was closed and there was little to stop us from just driving back towards the house. I would have loved to have gotten a swim in that light on that bay, but there were lots of us and the only way I would feel ok dragging the gang to the shore for it would be if they could be having a drink and something to eat a few metres away. We got a quick pint in Durrus and let the kids play a masked up game of pool and then it was on to one last stop before home.
We called into a friend’s house just as the sun was setting and I grabbed the kids for a quick jaunt up to the top of his property. Its got sweeping views of the surround countryside and even has a large tablet of only recently discovered megalithic carvings.
We got back to the house after dark and immediately started cooking again. The kids got stuck in helping us and we got a roaring fire going in the stove. Once again it was board games and plenty of trash talk. The kids and adults melding into one big ball of laughter and competition. For years we have left the kids to their own devices after dinner and they have always enjoyed it, but we are in a new phase now where sticking a movie on for them isn’t enough stimulation. It felt really good to interact with the kids all night and for everyone to come together for games.
No one stayed up too late. The drive back home in the morning would be a long one and we wanted to hit the ground running so that we could clean the house and get on the road with enough daylight to take advantage of the weather.
I was up early and the weather was glorious. I grabbed my daughter and the dogs and headed down to the pier for a quick swim before the rest of the gang started moving. The sun was warm and changing into my togs was not the unpleasant affair it so often is for a winter swim. I have been coming to this pier for over twenty years and have never swam at it, so this was another bucket list swim, especially on a morning like this.
I got into the water and swam along the shore straight out towards Mizen Head. The water was electric as was the view. I was completely immersed in it, literally up to my neck. Mind and body buzzing. It was one of the most magnificent winter swims I’ve ever had. I was beside myself with joy. I got out at the far end of the small pier and went back to where I had started for another run at it. I could have happily stayed in for ages, but I was also very aware of the cold that would shortly make its way past my body’s defences and would be hard to shake if I pushed it too far. So I got out, calmly changed back into my regular life clothes and headed back to the house.
From there the momentum slowly built to a buzzing hive of movement. We were in no hurry, but there was a lot to be done. We all got stuck in, even the kids and without a cross word said from anyone, managed to feed 8 people and 3 dogs, clean up the house and pack the cars. Then it was onto the road for the long drive home.
We had to drop off our immense bag of recycling (wine bottles take a lot of space, empty or full) so we had a quick coffee with a view in Schull before putting a few miles behind us and then walking the dogs and heading home.
We stopped for our walk at Owenahincha Beach. An old spot for me, one that I spent a few sloppy New Years Eves on before kids had come into the picture. It has been a regular stop since then even though the beach has a strong rip that means that I have heeded the signs on the beach and never swam there.
But in the late afternoon, bathed in the burnt colours of the setting sun, the beach was glorious. It didn’t even feel like Ireland. It felt like California, some of that owing to the fact that there was a trendy little chipper right on the beach, but most of it owing to the fact that the sun was about to set on the water. I miss that more than just about anything about America. I love Dublin beaches, but a sunrise on the water is a completely different buzz than a sunset on it.
We slowly walked along the water. Big sets of long slow waves crashing against the steep shore. The sand soft and deep, feet leaving heavy footprints in our wake. Then it was up along the thin path at the dunes looking down on the beach like some kind of spectators. It was another glorious day of winter sun. Long shadows and deepening colours.
Just before sunset we headed up to the chipper back on the road to Rosscarbery and got a giant meal of fresh chips and wonderful seafood. We all brought it back down to the beach and pulled a couple of picnic tables together and watched the sun set on the water. The whole gang of us, wrapped in splendour. It was a fantastic way to end our holiday and an image that I hope that I never forget.
From there it was back to my familiar. A motorway at night. Once we got back on the motorway on the far side of Cork City, I could put the cruise control back on and let the car power itself all the way home. That always relaxes me and gives me a chance to think about life.
I have taken a week to write this so that if Covid had come knocking I would be able to include it in the story. But thankfully it hasn’t. This was a holiday of pure joy. The community of the house taking the edge off the isolation of the landscape and of the Covid culture at the moment. The momentary normality of pre-Covid times making each day precious.
At the darkest depths of the original lockdown I remember writing about someday being back at the house in West Cork and feeling safe and happy. When I wrote about that, it seemed so far away and unattainable. But that beautiful vision I had back then of standing on that hill, looking at that view over the water, with a drink in my hand and knowing that my family was safe and happy and I didn’t have to worry about them, came back to me and it felt very very good.
Every night we were there, just before I went to bed, I got to do just that. And it was just as fabulous as I thought it would be. I know that we are far from the end of this, but for a few beautiful days I could see the other side. And I could let me guard down. And I could free myself from fear. And I could be that guy I used to be. And it was glorious.
