I like those spots you turn up so where you can’t see the breaking wave from where you kill the engine. Park up on the cliff, at the end of the lane, under the mountain, at the gate… sometimes you can hear it as soon as you get out of the car and sometimes, before you get out of the car.
With all but the twinny still in hospital the trip north was much simplified. No agonising over which boards to jam into the little car or strap to the roof. Should I bring a log, or both, if I’m catching up with…? No. Twinny in, suits in a bucket and away. En-route the call from G came through with a recommendation.
The Dunes Bar in Strandhill, Sligo. Crikey, anyone remember the Halloween when the Hulk was there? I mean, really there! Anyway, if you’ve survived one of the sessions you can now (well soon) get the t-shirt.
Keep an eyeball on their facebook space for when you can get your hands on one. If you’re not already a regular, be sure to get out there for their, now infamous, Monday night Open Mic. Pens are out getting a 2-3-colour version of the design for a screen-printed poster…
“Annual leave doesn’t roll-over so you’d better take it.”
Yes boss. This the inevitable mid-winter gluttony – get what you can, when you can. Fun size with a good period and no wind. Leave at dark and get back at dark. Now, at this stage of the evening I’m in bits; involuntarily twitching from the bends and buckles composited after several hours of attrition in the Atlantic.
One lone ranger had this to themselves. Waist-high and ruler-edged the whole way through; 100m? So much serenity…
Shallow, square and empty. Despite this however, 15 or so others were happy enough to hustle and thrash about for shifty peaks only 50-or-so metres away without giving it a sideways glance.
The inevitable. Any suggestions as to the nearest rhinoplasty specialist on the West coast?
The choicest of chunks saved for last. Sums up the above really. Visions of the molars on this beast will devour me in my nightmares for weeks to come. I am always more than happy to volunteer my meat whenever it awakes hungry and disgruntled.
Every destination has its dark secrets. Strandhill, County Sligo, has one of the highest incidents of aerial attacks by gargantuan invertebrate predators of all of Ireland’s west-coast counties. I love it. The terrifying spectacle of seeing locals and tourists alike being devoured by slugs from the sky.
This summer in Strandhill, keep your children close, your eyes peeled and you may just make it out alive.
“Slugs from Above (Strandhill, Co. Sligo),” by Ian Jermyn
Digital artwork produced from pencil sketches
The days-long tantrum of the Atlantic has abated leaving its easing seas to shudder more lightly upon the shore. Coaxed from jobs, from dogs and beds are those who, with patience have stalled their own fervour to play with her emotions, now twinkle out upon her skin dancing to temper their own seas within.
We had business to attend to. For this kind of business we had the need for business suits, appropriate office equipment and a working soundtrack that is, of course, the business.
Getting a wave in was by the by; there were folks to see out the way there to toss about a few ideas, inhale some inspiration for a future project but most importantly to get the bitumen shifting behind us at a swift clip. The rattle and hum of a little car on these West Ireland roads vibrates a fine rhythm throughout your body and can be most conducive to coaxing the abstract from a brainstorm into more tangible and malleable forms.
The lines of both road and coast bend and buck fitfully as one winds themselves south from Ballisodare and out toward Enniscrone. Clumps of houses, dispersed
Our journey is in staccato, halting here and there along the hedges and decaying, albeit persistent, stone walls to peer through cracks and gaps seaward. The Atlantic is heaving its seas heavy against reef and beach. With the arc of each headland or promontory-to-be its energies are refracted or reflected, inward or elsewhere. The language is both familiar but unintelligible and the furious dialogue that ensues between the sea and the shore when the Atlantic decides to have words with the West here is a debate surely worthy of attention. We’re hear with open ears, wide eyes and nostrils flared as we hang on its every word.dwellings, slate-coloured shells of abandoned ideals protrude from fields like broken teeth – busted and rotting as those of cloven hoof shuffle about or shelter within in their daily dance with the weather.
There are spaces where the debate appears to be more eloquent, arguments coming in turn as finely crafted verses. Here one might find a chance to slip silently into the theatre and come a little closer to the conversation in the hope that a chance may come to participate in the conversation.
As it happened, we did find such a suitable forum and were gifted the opportunity to put forward our suggestions.
Ahh… Now I’m stoked to let folks know that Outerpoint Surf Shop in Co. Sligo, Ireland, have come on board to be the first European stockists for OD. Wonderful news! Saves me on postage! Head into the shop and say g’day (might be met with some confusion; alternatively try, ‘alreeeeeet boyo’).