When God Says I Love You

Mullaghmore, An Mullach Mór– A spring day greets us with a full day of sunshine along the Wild Atlantic Way. There is a strand nearby that is a protected use area, a sharehold for farmers. I walk through the green pasture, up over the dunes and to my surprise a man walks up to me, completely nude. I never knew how to get here, but I’ve always wanted to go.

“Hello!”

“Hi,” I reply, wishing I too was naked.

I big smile.

A lovely day to see a middle aged man romping around the beach, like a dog playing in the surf. I admit, I had done research on this topic months ago but when it comes to my adventures, I’d rather stumble upon them versus forcing it, as this tactic always implodes (although I still do it sometimes). The beach, like many along the north west coast is isolated, underpopulated and serves as medicine for my soul.

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Continuing along, the nude dude seems to be away from his compatriots who keep to themselves down by the rocky bits.

A true wild man, away from his pack.

I once read that people with ADD or hyperactivity serve their tribe because they go beyond the boundaries, to explore the world and then report back what they see.

I worry that I will impinge on these free spirits by taking photos, so I try not to point. I won’t say that I didn’t get completely naked and go for a dip but I will say, I’m from Florida and it’s still March. I wander down the beach and back to climb the highest dune.

Yer man kept appearing like those arcade games where you have to hit the weasel. There he was lounging in the tall grass. He was so thrilled with himself, legs outstretched, hands tucked neatly behind his head, smiling into the sun.

Don’t swim here because it is very dangerous, but we know you will, so take this ring buoy, please don’t call for the helicopter, we told you so.IMG_3614

You missed my St.Patrick’s Day post because sharing is hard, it is still here. And if you want to see Mullaghmore on a normal day (the clothed beach) when it is dangerous/my writing was much worse, go here.

Listening to Gavin James “Bitter Pill” LOUD because it is the perfect segue for anyone trying to get over a piece of themselves and because he sounds like Hozier but with short hair.

Still alive and well in me Granny Flat.

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Makin’ it to Mullaghmore

Co Sligo, Ireland- Benbulbin in the back, rocky cliffs in the front, Mullaghmore or An Mullach Mór is Irish for “The Great Summit” and a couple of villages away.  Whenever I meet a local, the conversation usually reveals two things 1) I am not Irish 2) I have not been to Mullaghmore.  With a free day and some curiosity Rolfe and I hopped in the van destined for this famed surfer’s peninsula.

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My iPhone retired itself a while ago, so for navigation I usually jot down the directions and then forget them at home.  Out here, the rural roads tend to be too tiny for two cars to fit fairly, therefore it’s always a game of who has the nicer car.  Generally, I am the one who has to go off-roading.  The best advice I can give for riding around these parts is if the road seems like somebody’s muddy driveway, it’s probably your best bet.

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The waves were dwarfed with no surfers in sight.  I admit, I was a bit nervous, alone, well besides Rolfe, with the wind and wide open ocean below the cliffs.  I was mesmerized for a moment, like the nihilist in me saying “just do it, jump in there, go back to the sea!! let it take you!! Life in meaninglesssssssss!”

I did spot one soul up on the cliffs. I passed him later by the beach, umbrella down, enjoying a little ray of sunshine.  In Ireland it’s always worth it to go out even if the weather seems crummy.

I took Rolfe down to the sandy shoreline.  There were a few signs posted that cattle could be grazing…on the beach.  I kept Rolfe on lead while investigating.  We arrived with windy rain and left the place in the sunshine, typical for Ireland.

IMG_7917We got our daily dose of adorable on the way home.  The new life roaming around this time of year is the epitome of cute.  They use a paint by number system to match the lambs with their mothers.  This kind of takes away from the ambiance of sheep sightings not to mention that this little guy will probably be ordered for dinner sometime soon.  My heart is still warmed by their sweet existence.

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I will return to Mullaghmore to see the Classiebawn Castle and maybe some rad wave BOMBS over next winter.  But for a first run, it was worth the go.