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AN IRISH SUMMER (PART II) The farmer and I arrived at the bottom of the hill leading into Lahinch. He turned right into the village as I proceeded left down the road to the beach. We said goodbye and went our separate ways. The cool crisp morning was made alive with the smells from the village. The salt air, the countryside, the smoke from the fireplaces, and the delicious aromas wafting from the homes was strangely magnificent. Between the panoramic view I had witnessed from atop the hill, and the morning meals being cooked - I was in sensory overload. I needed some shock therapy...I needed to get wet! 30 years ago, the beachfront at Lahinch consisted of a fairly wide road separating the town from the beach. On the beach side there was a wall, maybe 3' tall, that separated the road from a wide concrete promenade or boardwalk. Halfway down, and just on the beach side of that short wall, was a trailer that looked 8'x15'. I approached the trailer but stopped short and leaned my board on the fence then put my wetsuit on the board. I sat down on the concrete walk with my back up against the short wall. The wall blocked a good portion of the offshore breeze which afforded a comfortable vantage point to check the surf conditions. As I sat there - a lone figure approached. As he came opposite me, I greeted him with a friendly, "Good Morning." This young Irishman said, "Ah, so you're the Yank from Flooraday whose come here to go surfing." I learned right then and there the immense communication capabilities of a small Irish town. The speed of the Internet pales in comparison to how fast word gets around here! Keep in mind I spoke to a total of two people in the18 hours I had been in Lahinch. I spoke to the woman who let me stay on her farm, and the farmer who walked down the hill with me. Before I could respond, my new acquaintance unlocked the door to the trailer and said, "Now come on in, I'll make some tea for ya before ya head out." He continued in his thick accent, "Isn't it a grand day, the sun hasn't been shinin' in weeks, sure ya came at a good time. We might get a day or two of this weather before it clouds up again. Make yourself at home, for as long as you’re here - you can hang out here in the lifeguard shack. By the way, my name is Dermot." I almost passed out - this guy had my first name! I never met anyone who had the same name as mine. Here I was being served hot tea in a lifeguard shack by a guy with my own name who said I could hang out anytime I want. Needless to say I befriended this Dermot! I put on my wetsuit and headed for the water. I first had to navigate through 5 yards of cold cobblestone prior to stepping on the sandy beach. The cold cobblestones were just a prelude of what was to come. No matter how physically or mentally prepared you think you are for cold water - nothing can match the initial shock. The difference in water temperature from Florida to Ireland was at least 25 degrees; every nerve ending on my body experienced that difference. I was wearing a two-piece O’Neill wetsuit that consisted of a top, which resembled a pullover sweater, and a long legged Farmer John. Suffice to say, given the wetsuit technology of the era, it worked pretty well. However, no hood meant every time you paddled out through a set, or wiped-out, you would get a classic ice cream headache. When I paddled through the first set, and felt the sudden influx of cold water into my wetsuit, I felt every hair stand on end, every muscle tighten up, and every bit of warm air escape from my lungs. But....I calmed down, relaxed, and finished paddling out. Even though I surfed in Ireland two years earlier – and knew the water was cold – it was still hard to get over a 25 degree drop in water temperature. Once over the initial shock, I settled in for a morning session alone at Lahinch, County Clare, Ireland. Given the gentle beach gradient and the angle of the swell the surf reminded me of Daytona Beach (except for the cold water of course!). With few exceptions most of the waves that morning closed out. However, the stiff offshore breeze held the wave up considerably; you could take off and actually get a great ride before kicking out. Paddling into a wave was a challenge. The surf was only waist to chest high, but as you paddled the water flew back into your face. In order to get into a wave, you had to endure the cold stinging spray. But once in, the waves were extremely fun. Cold be damned, I was having the time of my life. I wondered if my girlfriend back in Flooriday missed me… As the sun rose higher in the east it began to provide some warmth. I felt more relaxed and began to take in the entire surroundings. Every stiff offshore gust would bring new smells: Irish bacon, bread, pastry, and the natural smell of peat burning in a fireplace. Despite the cold, every wave I rode that morning brought a smile to my face and a short hoot - a hoot only audible by me but reverberates in my mind today. There are times in our lives we know we will surf forever – for me, this was one of them. After a little more than two hours I was chilled to the bone and came in. I would experience clean waves and even bigger surf during my summer in Ireland but nothing like that Swell Memory back in Lahinch, Ireland. This ritual in Lahinch went for three weeks. I would get up every morning, walk down the hill with the farmer, and meet Dermot at the lifeguard shack. I didn’t surf every day. Sometimes the weather was just too foul; other days there were just no waves. On days when I didn't surf there was always plenty to do. I'd hang out in the lifeguard shack, walk around the village, read, or take a bus to another town. After about two weeks, a steady but thoroughly enjoyable routine set in. However, the cold was beginning to get to me. The cold in Ireland isn't like a cold front in Florida or Southern California where you're suddenly cold for a day or two and then warm back up. No, the cold (and wet) in Ireland comes on slow...its steady....its always there, and seeps through your clothing and settles into the marrow of your bone. I learned quickly how to combat the cold. In the morning, get something hot into your system and dress for bad weather - even if it looks beautiful. After surfing, get dry and warm as quick as you can and get some more warm liquids in you. In the evening, a pint or two of Guinness stout, consumed in a warm Irish pub where laughter and friendship abound, will warm the heart and soul of anyone. I never got bored during my stay in Lahinch! I surfed other beaches in Ireland that summer, Tramore on the south coast of Ireland, and Achille Island north of Lahinch. Each town, beach, and wave was distinctly different. Each had there own unique set of qualities. However, no matter where I stayed or surfed, I was surrounded by the magical spirit and love for life of the Irish people. I came back to Florida after that Irish Summer a different person and a different surfer. ~Dermot whelehan@earthlink.net |
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