Hiking tales from Ireland: Tramore to Annestown beach

We walked to the edge of Tramore with our sights set on hiking to Annestown, but not before stopping in a shop to buy food for the next couple days. Provisions having been procured, we were standing outside adjusting our packs, debating the likelihood of rain, when a man pulled up in his car. He asked us where we were going, and offered us a ride.

Normally we would have politely declined, but this was a chance to make it to our camping site before the rain began, so we graciously accepted. The driver rearranged the mass of amplifiers and other music equipment that nearly filled his car before driving us the 12km or so to Annestown and dropping us off at the beach car park. As soon as we stepped out of the car, the smell of the sea was heavy.

As we walked out onto the rocky back section of the beach just past the stone wall and carefully made our way to the sand, we were happy to see that the tide was out. Had the tide been in, we would not have been able to access the submerged rocks across to the island where we were planning to spend the night. (52.136923, -7.271288) It rises from the southeast end of the beach and appears to be part of the land at one time - a tiny peninsula perhaps that was cut off by the sea through years of wind and wave erosion.

It takes about 10 or 15 minutes to make your way across the slimy moss and seaweed covered stones to the base of the steep hillside. They’re unbelievably slick, almost comically so. When you’re walking, you have to make sure that your foot is on a perfectly level surface (even if that surface is the plants) and that the pressure of your leg is applied very slowly, straight down on your foot.

At some points while crossing the rocks are spaced further apart so that it becomes necessary to actually ‘rock hop’ your way through certain areas. The procedure is exactly the same, but the timing is a lot quicker and must be made with a much greater degree of precision because the movements are preceded by a jump, allowing no time at all for any type of gradual adjustment of weight or pressure.

As fun as that sounds by itself, it’s made even better when there is a backpack filled with everything you own pressing down on you, constantly shifting your weight in exactly the ways that you wish it wouldn’t. You jump, and either you have it right when it counts, or you’re wet.

We made it to the top of the hill and were greeted with a tremendous gust of wind sweeping across the vast and wide open sea. Standing on the very edge of the southeast coast of Ireland with the sea in front of you and mountains towering proud and majestic behind you evokes the sense that you’ve actually reached the absolute fringes of the earth. Everything is ragged, torn and beautiful. The sound of the sea still washing across ancient stony beaches is a melody unlike any other. The smell of the perfect is completely satisfying, yet somehow still leaves you never having nearly enough of it.

We found a suitable spot and set up our tent against the determined gale of the summer’s coastal breeze and camped out on a hill overlooking the Irish coast with its endless miles of jagged rocks spilling into the sea.

I snapped a quick photo to capture the moment - over her shoulder, looking out the door of the tent and west down the shoreline right as the tide rolled in, trapping us for the night.

I proposed at sunset.