SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 30
Off to Baltimore and the ferry to Sherkin Island.
Saffi threw up just minutes before we parked in Baltimore, a sweet town woven into the side of steep hills. Out of the car, she fussed, pulling on the lead, running up to every dog and person. She finally settled down once everyone on the small, red ferry petted her. Once noticed and adored, she rolled into a ball and slept in the middle of the deck.
The ferry ride carried about 10 to 15 people in total though I would guess it can hold up to 40 with one car. It’s an expensive sail at 24 euros return for the two of us (or 6 euros each way).
THE FERRY
It took only ten minutes and we arrived at a small dock and a dirt road leading to the ruins of a stone friary.
THE “DOCK”
Just past the friary, the road splits. About six people went to the right, the rest to the left. We went right, which took us past two large, B&Bs with pubs. At times, the one-lane dirt road reminded me of a path at Mud Bay in British Columbia, which is also lined by prickly shrubbery and near the ocean. But here there are fields and many cows, the land is rocky, and the water much wilder than in the bay.
We walked up a slight hill then down to tiny inlets between the rocks where we lingered, like the other six, who arrived sporadically, each pair occupying their own rocky outcropping. On the map, this is called, “the Dock.” No dock here, though. Confirming again, my growing conviction that Irish maps are consistently inconsistent.
A woman, seeing my map in hand, approached to ask about the trails. From here, there was no loop back so we had to return on the road we’d come on. In total, the island is five miles in length and three in width, population hovering around 100. During the entire day, maybe three cars and the island bus, a small van, drove by.
COMMUNITY CENTER
Once we reached the fork in the road, we went in the other direction, on a road that took us to the island library and community center, both small, cargo container-like, dirty beige, rectangular structures conjoined with a trailer. The words “Community Development Office” were stenciled on the outside of the smallest building. The buildings looked like the “offices” on the Reserve lands in Langley and Pitt Meadow outside of Vancouver. There isn’t a lot of money on Sherkin, or so I thought, until later in the day when we reached the other side of the island with its large, manicured homes that rest on high points or nestled in the hillside overlooking the ocean. Summer homes, perhaps.
Next we passed a one-story, relatively new school house that could maybe hold 30 kids, The road narrowed, the trees were taller, and the path darkening as we continued.
Another split in the road: one road leading to beaches, a narrowing of the island and a coffee shop; the other, up a hill along cliffs and looping back to the stone friary. I needed to go to the bathroom so we headed toward the coffee shop after first quickly walking up the hill to take a look at a church with its fine, high view of the island.
HOMESTEADING
Scattered houses emerged from thick undergrowth on either side of the narrowing road leading to the coffee shop. The ocean was getting closer on both sides. Most houses were small, like prefab houses. It felt as if people were homesteading or had deliberately chosen alternative lifestyles. We passed one plot of land, high on a hill, cliffs dropping to beaches on either side, where a couple lived in a trailer. A young woman sat on the trailer steps while a man was talking on his cell phone in a foldout chair in the open field. Two horses grazed near two small rusting, red cars, and a dog lay in the sun.
From this vantage point, we could see slate-colored rocks jutting vertically into the earth, spiky on top like thin layers of mountains, surrounding the fine sand beaches. At a distance, more islands, painted light green, broke out of the deep blue ocean.
A SO-CALLED COFFEE SHOP
We had reached the spot on the map of the coffee shop and sure enough, there it was…a small, square, metal box on wheels, clearly unmoved in years, grass growing around it, tilted sideways and sunken slightly into the hill. Painted white that had faded and chipped, the words “L’Oasis” were stenciled in bright colors under the small, shuttered window. No coffee, no bathroom here. Crazy that it was put on the island map at all.
We walked down to a long, narrow beach where we ate our lunches. A discarded swimming suit covered part of the rock behind us.
LOOPING BACK
On our return to the church we passed one island resident, a raspy-voiced woman with three small dogs. We followed a looping path up a steep hill past the church for spectacular ocean views and views of Baltimore. The road narrowed into a walking path that ran along the cliff edges. It was along here that we saw the large homes. As we neared the road that leads to the ferry landing, we smelled the diesel gasoline of a farmer’s tractor.
With time to kill, we returned to the pub and sat at a picnic table on a large grassy hill, imagining how busy this now deserted island must be in the summer months.
