Bone Wet

Heading out from Belfast (if you missed this part, please see the previous post), our course took us up along the coast for a slow, relaxed drive north and then west to our nights stay in Port Rush. The day was amazingly beautiful and we stopped here and there for pictures and to take in the wonderful ocean view. You couldn't ask for a better drive. We carried on like this, with big smiles on our naive little faces, until...dark grey blobs began to seep out of the horizon at its edges and ooze across the sky.

We headed on to our first real tourist hotspot as the grim grey slowly extracted all of the day's beautiful color. A few sprinkles fell here and there, but then subsided. The sky looked content just to stone face the sun. Perhaps that's just what we told ourselves.

Pulling into the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge parking lot, the sky looked grim. The rope bridge was a must see on this Northern Irish coastal tour, so we suited up and headed up to the entrance point. Half way the drops started falling.

"Perhaps we should head back, sit in the car, and wait this out? We're in no real hurry." I said, trying to avoid damp pants.

"Nah, this little bit of rain could go on for hours. Lets just power through!"

Mariah was insistent, and we were suited up with rain jackets. Not liking to take pictures in the rain, I was primarily trying to avoid ruining that part of my experience (photography has become on the most enjoyable piece of traveling for me), but in all likelihood this marginal kind of rain could continue indefinitely.

We continued on.

As we arrived at the ticketing booth, as small line had formed and we took our places. A few more people stacked up behind us and we progressed slowly on toward ticket freedom. Not more than five minutes into this process, but far enough that we were committed...

BUCKETS!

Buckets, and buckets, and buckets, and more buckets, and fire hose of rain descended down upon us. We scrambled to draw our bags and cameras under something waterproof. Mariah produced a half-a-person umbrella for the two of us and we huddled beneath it. The rain, seeming stored in those clouds to a bursting point, soaked us bone deep within a matter of seconds. Anything without protective cover was fully saturated. Any chink in that armor was penetrated. The "water resistant" wind breaker I was sporting was re-defined as "water resistant only until saturated with ludicrous amounts of water and then seepy wherever it has contact with something else" windbreaker.

The rain continued at full force. And we stood...in line...

Tickets purchased were immediately wet, stuffed into an already wet pocket. An extra plastic poncho was purchased for me, in hopes that the extra layer would help seal things up. It did...sort of. Everything, however, was already wet, or at some varying level of dampness. The only thing kept safe was the camera bag, shielded via life and limb.

We trudged on towards the bridge, rain beating down.

I can't really put into words how unbelievably pissed I was (the rage version, not the drinking). Shooting through my head were the first few moments of moderate rain where I had suggested we wait in the car. I had wanted to wait! And despite the completely logical decision to move on, and the incredibly unlucky timing (and lack of any proper shelter), I had been TRICKED into enduring this dousing of biblical proportions (I would envy the quantity of water in my own shower)! TRICKED!

The rain slowed...and then it stopped...mostly.

I decided that this might be my only opportunity to take any pictures before the rain beast returned, so I drug my camera out from beneath the many layers of plastic. We made it down to the bridge entrance (a good 10 minute walk from the ticket booth) where another line was forming (crossing had to be done in shifts and was slow). We waited for a bit, with rain sprinkling intermittently, a constant reminder that the beast could return.

The bridge, a rope bridge, though sturdily made and fairly modern, spanned from the mainland across a 30 foot drop over to a small island. In crossing I didn't feel one bit of un-safety, though I did make sure to keep my camera squarely in hand. Disappointing to say the least.

Once on the other side we managed our way up to the top of the small island. The only thing going through my head at this point was "It's a f***ing ROCK! we just got soaked to cross a pathetic little not-scarry rope bridge over to a rock with nothing on it!"

I took pictures as therapy...

As we felt the experience coming to an end, it was ended for us by the steady increase in spatters against the already dark stone. The rain frothed up again, no where near to its previous level, but more than enough to end my picture-taking fun. We crossed back over and headed for the car. More of the day was left than I would have liked, given the squishy sensation in my shoes, but we headed on to our next stop.

The Giant's Causeway was...more rocks. Much more interesting though, being the columnar basalt brand of rocks. The rock formations yield a step like formations that go along with a load of legends linked to the place's title that you are welcome to check out on your own. Something about giants...

It was grey and miserable, but not nearly as raining. A few shots were taken, a few incidents of almost slipping and cracking my head open, and then we headed on.

Bushmills Distillery was next on the list. Unfortunately we arrived just after the last tour at 4:00pm (nothing in any Ireland seems to stay open late...except pubs...). Fortunately we weren't far from Port Rush and our hotel for the night, so we could come back. The rest of the evening was spent drying out...

The next morning was beautiful again, a disgusting sneer on the weather beast's face. We took a tour of Dunluce Castle ruin just near Port Rush on the edge of the coast and the views were incredible. It was a great tour with some very interesting history. We moved on to tour Bushmills Distillery and Mariah had opportunity to drink a few shots of whiskey at 10:00am. An experience that shouldn't be traded by anyone.

As we drove away and it slowly approached afternoon, the sun shifted to clouds once more and left no shinny sparkle to keep our interest. We were headed back to Dublin, and besides a drive through a few not-so-noteworthy towns and villages, we took the now long road back to Dublin with limited interest.

The moral of the story...rain sucks...

See all of the pictures.