If you can see Mt. Baker, you are part of The Experience
Lindsey and I awoke on a misty morning in Ireland, ready to stretch our legs. We had scheduled an extended layover on our trip home from Italy, allowing for a night’s stay in the little town of Howth outside of Dublin. The little fishing town was bustling with people when we arrived the day before. It was a beautiful sunny day, and I learned from some locals that this is not the norm. We walked the town, took in the little harbor and explored shops. We ate giant plates of fish and chips and fresh packages of lox, doing all we could to soak up the charm in our limited time.
With hours of travel ahead, we wanted to escape the town and experience a bit of the Irish countryside. Grabbing a map, we found a trail to a lighthouse, so we set out on foot, our only transportation option, to find the trail and, hopefully, the lighthouse. With raincoats on, we set out on the brisk 50°F morning for a little adventure. With the sunny day in the rearview, we were now experiencing a typical Irish day. We walked up a road flanking a bay and, as we rose in elevation, to my surprise, I saw someone swimming out in the chilly waters on this anything-but-warm morning. We stopped to observe and saw the swimmer, trailed by another, then another. They were not wearing wetsuits; they were just off on a morning swim as though it was a warm summer’s day. As we climbed the hill, we could look down on the beach from where the swimmers came, and the beach was filled with what I would learn was a swimming club that met every morning, year-round, to go for a swim.
There were people of all ages, but from my unofficial census, I would say most were on the more mature side of life. What I found impressive, and proof of toughness was apparently average, as this drizzly, mild morning was considered a warm day. Feeling soft in the presence of these seemingly immune to cold locals, we trekked on.
We wound our way past stone houses that looked to be, and may have been, centuries-old, perched up on the cliffs above the bay before leaving the neighborhood and arriving at the trail. As we stepped onto the path, we were met with an iconic scene. The rolling green hills rising out of the steep cliffs were exactly what I had pictured the Irish countryside to be. With each step, I was certain a leprechaun would jump out, as this had to be their ideal habitat.
We quickly left the seaside town behind as nature enveloped us. We walked through patches of little yellow flowers and stopped to gaze out to the sea, where storms were piling up in the ocean. Seabirds swooped up the cliffs, and snails hiked with us along lichen-covered rocks. Around each corner, I stopped to take another photo as the view seemed to improve with each step. From books, I knew that this type of setting existed, but until I was standing on this island looking out to the ocean with the backdrop of an Irish green landscape behind me, it didn’t seem real.
Finally, as we came around a turn, we spotted the lighthouse. Perched up on the rocky point, there is always something alluring about a lighthouse, both a warning of danger and a beacon of hope for those at sea. Above the cliffs and along the rocky green earth, we wound our way around, up and down as we made our way toward it. As we neared, a fork in the trail gave us an option. One path continued to the point with the lighthouse, and one took us up over the hill, looping us back toward town. With rumbling stomachs and a plane to catch, we veered right and over the hill, leaving ourselves a reason to return.
After a little elevation gain, we began descending toward the town. We may not have followed the trail exactly right because, somehow, we ended up in a little neighborhood filled with quintessential Irish homes. Once again, we felt as though we had landed in a fairytale as we chatted about moving to Ireland, living out our lives in this quaint setting. It sounded wonderful until I remembered the swimmers, knowing I would never be tough enough to hang with the locals.
Returning to our hotel, we packed our bags and went out to eat the last meal of our trip: a full Irish breakfast. Designed to warm you from the inside out on a blustery Irish day, I can’t envision a more satisfying meal after a hike.
With full stomachs and fuller souls, we gathered our bags and headed to the airport to fly from Dublin to Seattle. On the flight, I had moments of dozing each time, dreaming of our hike along the coast with the salty breeze and drizzly weather. While I felt like I had been transported to an entirely new world, it also felt familiar, like my coastal hikes at home in the Pacific Northwest. X
