Well, we survived the night.
It was a touch windy overnight, to say the least. By the morning, the weather remained unchanged – low cloud, drizzle that got you really damp, stiff breeze and basically claggy. Ironically this was probably the best site so far and would have been an amazing spot if only the sun came out, but today that definitely wasn’t going to happen!
We gave The Pup another run on the lovely golden beach and I had a quick shower. The ablution block was basically breeze blocks painted white and cobbled together, but had nice little touches like hairdryers, lots of hooks in the shower cubicle and a nice space to get dried. It was better than yesterday’s which I found dark and a little creepy (I seemed to be the only one who used it) – can’t explain why, but it was my least favourite.
Anyway, we packed up and headed off. We reached the exit barrier before realising that we hadn’t retrieved the fifty euro deposit for The Pup! Yikes. We quickly went back and got the cash – that’s a lot of money! Today’s destination was Achill Island, west of Westport in County Mayo and our route took us back into the Connemara mountains – not that we could see them much with the thick mist enveloping everything. We followed the N59 towards Leenane, with trees and bushes lining the valley before opening up at loughs – it was all very pretty as we steadily climbed – the cloud lifted slightly and we could just make out a vague outline of a mountain. We were so pleased we managed to see them in all their glory yesterday. We passed through Letterfrack and dropped down into Leenane again, where we parked up and had a coffee and cake in The Purple Door cafe – it was busier than yesterday, probably because of the rain! We galloped back to the van as the rain started to get heavier, but as we drove out on the R335, the weather seemed to be clearing, revealing the surrounding mountains. Our spirits rose! We hugged the edge of the Killary Fjord through wooded valleys, past gushing waterfalls and rivers, swollen by all this rain. The scenery got a little more craggy as the mountains joined the fjord and as we went further west, the sky looked brighter – but a quick look back in the mirrors and it was black as your hat! Maybe the sun would join us some time. The sheep who make this country their home, snuggled behind rocks and ledges waiting for this weather to pass – they’re not daft! The road turned inland and the landscape changed to bog land, peat fields, rough pasture and gentle countryside as we headed to Louisburgh, a pretty little town with the mountains in the distance and picked up the coastal road towards Westport. We pulled off to visit Bertra Beach for a bit of a break and to let The Pup have a walk around. There was a height barrier of 1.9 metres which was far too low for the van, so we were unable to get right up to the beach. We parked on a little gravel layby next to another thwarted campervan, facing the sea and looked for sea life through the binoculars. There seemed to be quite a few people walking on the curving beach, considering the weather, so we studied them too through the binoculars – we weren’t too sure if it was a litter pick, or some organised event as there were some workmen with a digger erecting fencing in the sand dunes as a way to protect them. As we watched a pocket of sunshine shone on the nearby islands which glowed a vivid green against the grey sky and sea. It was quite stunning. We piled back into the van and as we made our way back up to the main road, a nearby mountain loomed over us, its summit covered in a stream of low cloud giving it a dark purple hue and a definite broodiness.
We came up to the gorgeous town of Westport and dropped into the centre. A large stone monument dominated the main high street, with buildings circling around it with roads leading off. It was quite handsome. We had crawled in a long line of traffic to get to this point with cars seemingly coming at us at all angles. It was so gnarled up which was a shame as we were tempted to stop for a wander but that soon vapourised with the daunting prospective of finding a parking space. Every town seems to have this traffic chaos for some reason. So we continued on the N59 towards Newport, with a slight nagging feeling of maybe we should of stopped, but then a huge black cloud appeared on the horizon and gleefully emptied its contents on us – maybe the traffic in Westport did us a favour.
As the weather continued to close in and get worse, the N59 bent to the west and towards Mulranny. Here the WAW route signs took us down a side road and the view point of Dumhach Bheag – a perfect place for lunch. The drizzle blotted out distant islands and far below was the exposed beach site of Mulranny Glamping. We felt for them. It was very windy – enough for us to hang on to the van doors – and as we ate our lunch, we peered through the binoculars and the mist – we thought we saw a whale – while the weather gave us brief glimpses of islands dotted out to sea before shutting them out again. We finished lunch and followed the headland round, through craggy countryside and isolated communities overlooking the Atlantic. As one person had said to us early on in this trip “this is our parish and the next parish is New York City” It was certainly true.
We carried on driving, the drizzle horizontal, the wind teasing the long grass – even the hardy sheep had hunkered down. Past Currane and along the coastal road towards Achill Sound – one end being bog land with peat being harvested turning gradually into very rough pasture and grassland. Nothing seemed to grow here and if it did, it was stumpy and leaned at forty five degree angles. But there was a beauty about it, almost romantic and very atmospheric.
A impressive white bridge took us across the water on to the island of Achill and after a brief stop at the SuperValu to stock on food, followed the satnav’s intructions. We weren’t very far off our campsite and a cuppa according to the satnav as we turned down an isolated side road and a little further, another right turn onto a narrow unfenced road and started to climb. At this point, the mist turned into thick fog making us crawl along. Looking left on my side, with a slight hint of alarm, was nothing but a white void – the little grass verge just seemed to plunge downwards. Sheep, sodden and grubby, ambled across the tiny strip of tarmac and stared at us incredulously as we crept higher and higher. I must admit at this point that I hadn’t really given my full attention to where we were going today, so though a bit uneasy, assumed that we would soon summit and cruise down to the coast and our campsite. Except we didn’t. We just kept on rising with the fog getting denser. I grabbed my phone, tapped in the campsite’s postcode and with a great deal of dismay, discovered that we were nowhere near the campsite and currently heading, well it was anyone’s guess.
With no way of turning around, we carried on until we came up to a wide gravelly area where the road ended abruptly. There was a large wire fence surrounding something in the murk, maybe telecommunications at a guess, and then we noticed a massive concrete base nearby with thick nuts and bolts anchoring a chunky cable which disappeared at a steep angle, into the cloud with surprising swiftness. It must be part of a tower, but there was no way of knowing which added to the eeriness of the whole place. We didn’t linger, descending slowly, hoping fervently we wouldn’t meet anyone coming up – deep ditches one side and the unknown precipice the other made it impossible for any passing. The sheep watched us, following our van and almost whispering amongst themselves “stupid humans” – I’m sure one even shook its head – as we slid past and finally the fog thinned and we were saved.
Heaving a sigh of relief from our brief, but exciting diversion, we typed in the postcode for Seals Cave campsite, it was less than ten minutes away and we arrived at a scattered beach community facing a wide grassy frontage with the beach beyond under heavy cloud. The campsite looked bright, fresh and cheerful and we checked in. It was on four different levels as the land rose behind the reception and we ended up on level three with six other campervans, sheltered by a row of trees. The wind still whipped up here but it wasn’t too bad and after waiting for a lady who claimed we had parked in her pitch (campsite’s fault) we set up home and tried to figure out how to dry stuff. Everything was feeling damp, but towels and coats were wet from being used. We gerryrigged a washing line under the awning and took The Pup for a quick walk down to the beach (she was bored and kept booping us). It was still claggy with fog and a fine drizzle hung in the air. We sauntered back, checked the facilities and made some tea. The wind seemed to pick up and rocked the van gently with its gusts. This was pretty rotten weather and hoped that the weather apps, forecasting a sunny day tomorrow, were true to their word.
Sorry for the lack of photos today, but there just wasn’t a view! 📷
apathtosomewhere 