Adventures in space, Connemara and whiskey

Double Vision with Charlie Adley

The Snapper and I are heading off to Connemara next week, to enjoy a couple of days passing time without care. Little fills our souls more than discovering tiny empty beaches on the Aughrus peninsula; feeling the enormity of the ocean and landscape; visually drinking in aquamarine tones from translucent turquoise to deep navy.

Behind one moment – in front the next – the immense yet sensual silhouettes of the Twelve Pins roll across the plain.

Along with the pleasure and peace of mind I take from it, I give thanks for being able to live in such an astonishing place.

Out there an ‘other-worldly’ sense of timelessness takes over this puny human.

Out there, nearly 20 years ago, time was indeed lost.

Just back from four years in America, eager to see my hills and lakes once more, I hitched from the city to visit friends in Calla.

There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a whiff of breeze in the air. It was that rarest of days in the west of Ireland: a pure summer scorcher. My friend Susan and I walked the beach from Claddaghduff out to Omey Island, and being a nerd about tides, I noticed how the sand was still damp. The water had just left the little bay.

We had years of catching up to do, so we walked around historic and beautiful Omey.

Susan reached down and gave me a small rock, many coloured, multi-seamed, with a perfectly flat top. It was a mighty sea stack, perfectly shrunken to four inches. 
“Look, see how it’s leaning forward. You’re back now, Charlie. This stone represents your return.”

“Thanks Susan. That’s what I’ll call it then: Return.”

That stone still sits on my living room mantlepiece. Tragically, Susan has passed on.

After our walk we settled down on some sun-warmed rocks to talk, to stare at the sand beneath us, to feel the heat on our cheeks.

To read Charlie’s column in full, please see this week’s Galway City Tribune.