Underfoot

In my beginning is my end [TS Eliot East Coker, The Four Quartets (1940)] Yes, I started where I finished, though Eliot probably meant optimism and despair, renewal and decay, all of which works for this walk too.

In fact I did two walks. For the first, we took Gus who after three wet and muddy kilometres, shook himself dry in the hall. The floor was cleaned - looks like the white wall will need to be repainted.

Then, alone, I walked in the rain along the beach to the Boat House in Bray where I had a deserved latte. It took a lot longer there than back because the tide was full and I was limited to walking on the conglomeratic shingle banks. Fortunately, for the return, the tide had fallen to reveal the easy walking wet sand we know and love. A flat 20 km but the walking surfaces made it harder; there was one place with a welcome mat on the muddy path.

In the place where we have often watched dolphins cavorting, there were two people on paddle boards. One of them had a barking dog standing beside him. Thoughtless if they expected dolphins. Thoughtless anyway: this is the treacherous Irish Sea not a lake. Mind leap: it reminded me of a woman we know who played a gramophone to a small island harbour some 25 km north of here: back in the 1940s, it attracted curious seals to a place where there were no rivalries for fishing-pot owners.

The recent storms have done damage to the ice-age mud cliffs, especially along the less well known section between Shanganagh Castle and Woodbrook. More collapses and erosion than I have ever seen before. The sand martins will return in April and have to build new nesting burrows in the freshly exposed sandy layers. On a positive note, there was much less flotsam and jetsam than in years gone by - hooray if the MARPOL regulations for ships is even vaguely responsible.

So, in sum, 23 km today, leaving 411 km, which keeps me on track for the magic 500.

Scalps

It's 11 km from Scalpwilliam to The Scalp and I walked there and back in the rain. I've done it before. This time I walked and it rained. I walked and walked and it rained and rained. I was soaked through, squelching sock wet despite all the rain gear. Once I left the coast, it was so overcast at times that there was nothing visible beyond twenty metres. Yes, there were vaguely interesting thicker clouds sitting on the highest ground but to this walker, it was simply more suspended water, waiting for me. With my back pack, I was like a snail, going up the mountain, slowly, wetly.

As ever, it's a shame about the roadside litter. I saw many glittering harps, perhaps because I was rain avoiding, looking down rather than around and above.

21.5 km today, 449.5 to go. I last did this return walk on December 30, 2015 and a few months later completed the entire Dublin Mountain Way in one go, blogged here.