Wednesday, May 8th, 2013
My friend was reluctant to let me leave Baltimore on the Cape Clear ferry when she saw the size of the waves. It’s a good job she couldn’t see past the harbour promontory; out on the Atlantic the waves reached four metres high in places. Places we were travelling through.
As the last ferry of the day pulled away from Baltimore harbour – the rest were cancelled due to weather conditions – I sent a text to my husband in case he was worried. Our home overlooks the waters to Cape Clear and he would see the swells. His reply?
“It’ll be like rollercoasters. And you love those. You’ll be grand.”
He’s a seaman born and bred; he respects the ocean as much as he fears it. And he knows me well… Unlike the ferryboat man who took my fare straight away, saying:
“I’d better do it quick, so, before ye get sick.”
“I’m used to the sea, I won’t get sick,” I laughed.
And I didn’t. The ferryboat man was partly impressed, partly disappointed. Especially since the trip wasn’t an easy one. The ferry lifted and rolled with the waves, pitching and lurching. Sometimes with warning, sometimes without.
There were about eight of us in the galley, watching the shifting horizon through the open door. If ever you end up on a wild ferry ride like this, here’s what you need to do (having trouble with my middle ear, these are tips I learned long ago)…
- sit as close to the back of the ferry as you can and with your back to the direction you’re going
- keep your eyes on the horizon to minimise motion sickness
- stay alert to the movement of the boat; when the front end lifts, tense your stomach for the drop
- move with the boat as though you’re riding on a motorbike
Trust me, these things will help.
The roughest part of the journey was turning into the mouth of Cape Clear harbour; this is where the seas are wildest and cross currents rage. At times, the engine had to be cut off to pull back, preempting the wall of water coming our way. Waves spluttered over the cabin and drowned the deck.
Thankfully, there was cargo on board which steadied the boat. And of course, there were great skippers steering the boat, with a wealth of knowledge under their belts.
Although it was fun, I was glad to step onto land and it took about half an hour for my legs to stop wobbling. It was like they were still following the ebb and flow of the tide.
When I called my husband to et him know I was safe, he told me he’d climbed the hill with our dog, Franklyn, and watched the ferry pitch and flail in the sea through the binoculars, waiting until we’d turned safely into the harbour.
Now on Cape Clear, the island is silent. There are no tourists and few islanders. The air is thick with rustling trees, waves bashing against cliffs and birdsong. A wren dashes out from under a twisting briar and crosses my path, cocking his tail as he perches on an old stone ditch to welcome me.