Walk along a Wexford, Irish Beach

This morning, on a cloudy blustery day, I drove to Morrisscastle Beach, Co. Wexford. Through Kilmuckridge village we went and on past Ann Marie’s Castle Delights bakery and cafe where I’d enjoyed a coffee and cake the previous day. The cafe is halfway along the road to the beach and her cakes and buns are delicious. All along the sides of the road are entrances to holiday home parks, not yet busy as the Irish schools have yet to break for summer. We parked up, Buttons, my dog and I and then hopped out of the car, straight into the company of two smaller dogs, returning from their walk.
“Wrap up warm,” said their owners so I fished my rain mac out of the car boot and slipped it on. The wind was negligible in the car park and on the wooden boardwalk to the beach but the moment we stepped out from the shelter of the sand dunes the wind slapped us firmly in the face. I was blown a step backwards and almost lost my footing for a moment. Peering ahead I could see a mile or more of rolling sandy beach which presently was acting as a wind tunnel as it blew a veritable storm of tiny sand granules along its length.

The beach was itself was bordered by grey foaming wild seas on my left and tall vegetated sand dunes to my right. The lifeguard’s metal hut sat perched on top of a dune, locked and deserted.
I braced myself, zipped up the rain mac to its fullest and let Buttons loose on an almost deserted beach.  You know, with a bit of sunshine and another 10 degrees you could be in Tenerife. But I knew that was just a bit of wishful thinking.

We stepped out onto the firm white sand and walked into the teeth of the gale, knowing full well it would be at our backs on the return trip. Buttons, now released, scampered along the sand and stopped only to sniff anything he could find, the detached leg of a large crab, a pink lump of seaweed, a broken branch and stones, so many stones.

On we walked for about a kilometre, my face growing cold with the chilling breeze and sore from the sand stinging my eyes. Slowly the figures in the distance drew nearer and nearer until I had to summon Buttons and put back on his leash.

There before us was a young Irish mammy and her two toddlers digging holes in the sand and building sandcastles, all in splendid isolation. Armed only with rain macs, wellingtons, one bucket and two spades the threesome squirrelled out a good time from the damp sand in trying conditions. The mother smiled back at me and there they stood, alone, determined to have a day out regardless of the weather.

It made me smile and recall my own dear Mum who likewise burdened with young children, for three months every summer, braved miserable weather to get us all out onto the beach for a good time, whether we wanted to or not! The alternative, she knew, was sitting in the caravan and refereeing four boys knocking lumps out of each other. I know which option I would have chosen if I were her.

The family were gone by the time we turned back. The sand storm was now replaced by driving rain and with dark clouds gathering even the dog needed no second prompting to make a run back to the car. But that’s all part of the charm of Ireland. This time last year we had a heat wave. Life is never dull or predictable on this tiny island.