NORTHERN IRELAND
A Land of Giants
Many know the island as a whole, which includes the Republic of Ireland, as the Emerald Isle. Game of Thrones fans know Northern Ireland itself as the Iron Islands. Anyone visiting this part of the UK will discover, as I did, a lot of rugged, breathtaking beauty.
After I visit a revitalised Belfast, with its excellent Titanic museum (the ill-fated vessel was built in the city’s shipyard), it is surfing that entices me to head to Northern Ireland’s north coast and to settle in the quiet beach town of Portrush. But the Antrim coast has a lot of fascinating places to explore, and I am soon boarding a local bus to nearby Giant’s Causeway, the biggest attraction in the region.
A UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is simply fascinating. A hike up the
Shepherd’s Steps takes me to the clifftop trail, where I watch the waves crash onto the basalt columns created by a series of volcanic eruptions some 50 to 60 million years ago, and stare in awe at the power and beauty of nature.
It is a mind-boggling experiment to try to imagine the sheer volcanic power that created such a masterpiece, one of almost perfect mathematical precision that stretches some six kilometres along this piece of coastline. It’s thought that cooling lava formed these interlocking columns, each typically with five to seven sides; some of the columns are as tall as 25 metres. Science demands that we wrap our heads around the creation of this chessboard of basalt and accept the power of nature for what it is: unfathomable. And so we look to the myth for a somewhat simpler explanation.
The tale goes that a giant named Finn MacCool (or, in Old Irish, Fionn MacCumhaill, a hunter-warrior in Irish mythology) created the causeway by tearing up chunks of the coastline and hurling them into the Irish Sea so he would have a path on which to cross to Scotland. He wanted to reach the Scottish giant Benandonner, who had been threatening Ireland. But when he discovered that Benandonner was terrifyingly massive, Finn beat a hasty retreat.
The Scottish giant followed, but Finn was saved by his quick-thinking wife, who disguised him as a baby. When the angry Scot saw the baby, he decided that if the child was that big, Dad must be really huge, and returned home, tearing up as much of the causeway as he could. Indeed, similar rock formations are found on the shores of the Scottish isle of Staffa some 130 kilometres to the north.
THE DUNLUCE CASTLE KITCHENS, ALONG WITH ITS STAFF, FELL INTO THE SEA IN 1639
With the weather holding up, I take the walking trail alongside the Giant’s Causeway & Bushmills Railway to the town of Portballintrae, about three kilometres to the west, crossing the Bush River. The village of Bushmills, home to the Old Bushmills Whiskey Distillery, is just a short distance inland, but I want to stay on the coast to take in the scenic views of the North Atlantic.
Continuing west for another couple of kilometres, I come upon the precariously perched 16th-century Dunluce Castle, which became the seat of the earls of Antrim in the 17th century. The castle kitchens – along with its staff – fell into the sea in 1639, and the second Earl of Antrim and his wife abandoned the place.
With the sky starting to cloud over, I make my way to the Magheracross viewpoint to take pictures of the sweeping vista before finding cover while the rain brief ly lashes the coast. After the rain comes the rainbow, and I walk back to Portrush where I’m staying, watching the surfers manoeuvring the icy waves under double rainbows.
Another day and another bus. I head east, back past Giant’s Causeway to the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, which visitors have to muster a bit of courage to cross. On narrow planks suspended 30 metres above the sea, this rope bridge bounces as you traverse the 20-metre-wide chasm between the coast and a tiny island that is home to many seabirds. It’s a more modern version of the bridge that the local salmon fishermen originally built in 1755 at this very spot. I forgo the dizzying experience and instead walk along the coast, watching families cross the bridge, their shrieks of laughter and fear mingling with the wind.
Want ing to cont inue walking in such fine weather, I follow the Causeway Coast Way a short distance to Ballintoy Harbour, finding myself squarely in ‘Iron Islands’ territory: this is where parts of seasons two and four of Game of Thrones were filmed. Away from the harbour, and the tourists on a bus tour, I make my way across muddy fields crisscrossed by rivulets and overrun by rabbits. The ruggedness of the coast that translated so well on television is exhilarating in reality: waves crash on rocks strewn along cliff bottoms, seabirds whirl overhead, and the wind has a mind of its own.
Alone but for the elements, I attempt to continue on to White Park Bay beach, known for its wild surf and beautiful sands. However, the tide is working against me and a cliff