walking | Spinning Compass

For our last walk in Ireland I chose Belfast Castle. Not a castle built for royalty, it was built in the 19th century by the 3rd Marquess of Donegall. And in 1934 it was presented to the City of Belfast, which usually indicates financial difficulties on the part of the owner.

adorable bears, but they are extinct now on the island
caves in the hillside, from which Cave Hill gets its name

The castle was not open to the public on the day we were there, in preparation for a wedding that evening. But we weren’t there for the castle, which is a good thing. The visitor center was extremely limited in scope. The brief video wouldn’t play. The staff member shrugged. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.

We were there for the hike. Belfast Castle was built on the face of Cave Hill and offers fantastic views of Belfast and Belfast Lough, especially at the top of the hill at McArt’s Fort, which today is just a few rocks on a promontory. I’d love to tell you more about its history, but there were technical difficulties at the visitor center….

It was the perfect hike for us. Three hours, 900 feet of elevation gain to get the heart pumping, gorgeous views, and sunshine.

When we got to McArt’s fort, there were four guys trying to assemble a kite. Marcus watched them struggle until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Who’s the engineer?” he asked. They all laughed. Not an engineering gene amongst them.

“I’m a clinical psychologist,” one of the guys quipped. “I can help if you need to know how we feel about making this kite.” They all laughed.

“What kind of a knot are you planning to use on that harness?” Harness?

Marcus put down his hiking sticks and shed his camera. I knew we were in for the long haul. The guys watched in wonder as he pulled his multitool from one of his cargo pockets, cut string, and tied knots that would knock the socks off a sailor.

“Should these stays be bowed inward or outward?” he asked. Stays?

“I think it would be more aerodynamic if they bowed inward.” Sure, sure, they chimed in as they watched over his shoulder.

Thirty minutes later, the kite was constructed and Marcus was instructing them on the rudiments of flight. Their eyes glazed over.

“You know, trying to launch a kite on the edge of a cliff is a bit dicey,” he counseled. “You might want to try it on more level ground, where you have room to run with it.” Yeah, thanks mate. We’re good. Cheers!

view of Belfast Lough behind the big heads

We continued our walk. Every now and then we’d hear a cheer in the distance and look back. The kite would get some wind, and then nosedive back to earth.

the city of Belfast with the Mourne Mountains to the south

Of all the things I love about Ireland, I’ll miss walking the most. Every good-weather day (probability of rain less than 50%) we’d find a trail within 50 miles of where we were. We were out in it three or four times a week. And with each walk you never knew what, or who, you’d find. As with this three-month journey of ours, there’s an adventure waiting around every bend in the trail.

It was a gloriously sunny day, and I wanted to be outside. I had read about a cliff walk in the nearby town of Ardmore. There are no two words in the English language more compelling together than “cliff” and “walk,” are there?

We stopped in the town of Lismore first, walked around a bit and had lunch. Then we drove on to Ardmore. It was 3:30 in the afternoon by the time we got there. We drove to the spot that Google Maps identifies as the trailhead. A hotel? We drove into the long, narrow car park, but couldn’t find an available spot. Obviously we were not the only ones wanting to get outside on this beautiful day. We wiggled our way back out and snagged a spot on the street where a car was just pulling out. Score!

We were walking back toward the hotel when I spotted a sign pointing up the hill that read “Cliff Walk.” How fortuitous! We trudged up the hill.

As is typical, we’ve found, there were no further signs. We saw a local woman walking her dog and asked if we were on the path to the cliff walk. She looked at us, confused for a second, then said, Yes, they’ve plowed up a field, but you can take the next street.

Kinda vague: Field? Street? Maybe it will be obvious when we get there. We walked on.

We spotted several plowed fields, multiple streets, and a castle-looking building that appeared to be at world’s end. Perhaps it’s on a cliff! We tried to get to it, but every street led to a plowed field that blocked our path. “If the next street doesn’t lead to a cliff walk,” I told Marcus, “we’re giving up.” Twenty minutes later we were returning to the car.

As we came back down the hill, I had a thought. “I’m just going over to the hotel for a minute.” I had seen something at the end of the car park that I want to check out. There was a path marked “St. Declan’s Hermitage.” No mention of a cliff walk, but maybe… I started down the path, and, sure enough, it led beyond the hermitage to some cliffs overlooking the Celtic Sea.

I ran back to get Marcus. It was 4:30 by this time. We had no idea how long the path was. Should we just call it a day? Of course not! Have I taught you nothing? [Backtracking in the Wicklow Mountains]

I would like to say that, confident in our decision, we walked with abandon, but that’s not us. At every bend in the path we stopped to reassess: What time is it? Should we turn back now? Is it getting dark? (We have an obsession with time, and a tendency toward overthinking.)

Fortunately, every bend revealed something intriguing that propelled us to the next one until we had completed the entire walk. It took us 35 minutes to walk out, but only 15 to return. And we still had hours of daylight ahead of us.

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Cliff walk