Cape Clear Diaries (4): Changing Pace

Gorgeous views – imagine the smells!

A change of pace was the reason I booked our out-of-season accommodation on Cape Clear at the end of last year. I had predicted that around this time, I would be starting a new novel and that I would need a clear mind and a change of scenery, away from the usual distractions, to make a solid start.

I find that switching from one major project to another is only difficult if you try to make the switch in your everyday environment. Some people thrive on routine but for me, it brings a certain level of ennui that makes the ideas sluggish and the writing process less joyous. I don’t need to be in the same spot at the same time to write. In fact, I prefer the complete opposite.

But why choose Cape Clear?

Firstly, it’s just across the water from home – I gaze upon its two towers every day from the mainland – and it’s easily accessible by ferry. Then, of course, the island is beautiful, with plenty of character, lovely walks and stunning views. Visiting out of season is advantageous, as you’re completely free to work to your own timescales, uninterrupted. And even more importantly, the incredibly strong sense of pride, identity and community that prevails here helps you focus.

Being on Cape Clear has certainly provided the change of pace I needed to kickstart this new novel. Island life is lived at a slower pace during this time of year and for me, there has been no routine to speak of over the last two weeks, other than several walks to various favourite views and locations across the island. And that means concentrated productivity.

If I hadn’t gone exploring, I never would have found this beautiful creature (known as sea raft, by-the-wind sailor, purple sail, little sail or velella)

My first week was mainly spent writing, exploring at unusual hours and switching from the juggling mode of thought to pure creative freedom. There was a non-structure to my day which I found really fired my imagination and my desire to create. This last week has been much more about enjoying the company of my husband and dog, taking longer walks and socialising. I’ve still been writing, but the tempo has changed again.

The other night, I wasted almost an hour debating whether to join my husband in the pub for a music session. I’d written my daily goal of 2000 words, but even though I’d achieved my aim, guilt began to gnaw at my conscience. It sounded something like this:

‘I’m here to write so that’s what I should be doing, if I can. If there’s still an iota of possibility that more words could flow, then I should stay put and carry on. Especially since I’ve relaxed more now my husband has joined me on shore.’

The peaceful, uninterrupted writing time I’ve garnered since my husband’s arrival has been pretty irregular, so accompanying him for some fun rather than using the time effectively like I usually would felt like I was cheating myself in some way, deviating from my aim. But then my husband made a very good point.

“A change of pace. A different approach. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

So despite the random attack of guilt, I abandoned my extra writing session and went to the club. And guess what? It was a great night. The world didn’t explode, my typing fingers didn’t drop off and my ideas didn’t dry up. I got to spend some time with some really lovely, really interesting folk, full of stories, information and talent. I also learned a French jig and heard a rendition of Spancil HIll translated into Spanish.

The next day, I wrote another 2000 words without issue. Good, solid prose that probably won’t need much editing.

Some say that an island is a microcosm and I consider this statement to be true, especially if Cape Clear is anything to go by. Living in West Cork I’ve discovered that everything is magnified in rural conditions – from insecurities to weather dependency to community spirit – but an island emphasises things even further. There’s nowhere to hide. It opens you up and lays you bare.

An incredible view of Sherkin Island from the end of Cape Clear

Being here, I’ve learned a lot and I’ve realised that perhaps my initial search for a change of place to create a different tempo was unnecessary. It’s the head space that I’m fighting for and against. And that can be achieved anywhere.

Now, I know I’m lucky to live so close to a wonderful island like Cape Clear but being on the island has taught me that whatever you’re into – learning a language, playing instruments, sports, writing – if you’re serious enough, you’ll be disciplined and you’ll adapt. Because it’s part of who you are. It’s as simple as that.

Cape Clear Diaries (3): A Silent Island Speaks

South Harbour

May 11th, 2013

In the peace and tranquility of an almost deserted island, it’s easier to watch the environment and hear what it’s trying to say. These are a few things that have struck me on Cape Clear over the last few days:

• Abandoned buoys flailed in the water, flung mercilessly by the frothing sea.

• The East Harbour’s milky tide crept upon the rocky beach, until only the whisper of a rock could be discerned deep below the undulating water.

• Amidst the long wavy grasses and spongey moss, vetch and seapinks, briars and monbretia that line the rocks, bees fed and walked aimlessly, as though oblivious to the harsh wind.

• Nothing on an island can be certain; in the east the wind rages, with angry white horses for waves. In the south, the water is calm and glistening, like no wind has ever touched its beauty.

• 

  A harbinger with a story to tell

  A boat called Atlantic Freedom tugged at its moorings, riled and determined.

• As the wind calmed, the buoys on the side of the big, orange ferry swung restlessly, as though eager to crash against the waves of the turbulent Atlantic.

• The turquoise sea suddenly turned petrol-grey as a thick cloud covered the sun. Combined with the wind, speeding shadows crossed the land, making two fishermen quickly haul their shrimp pots as though fearful of some giant beast’s arrival, ready to swallow them whole, boat and all.

• Huge Celtic cross tombstones in the graveyard overlooks the harbour like a warning to always respect the sea.

Cape Clear Diaries (2): An island awakes

South harbour, 5.32 am this morning

I’m not sure if it’s the enduring silence, the rush of ideas still trying to settle, or being alone, but for some reason I’ve been finding it difficult to sleep since arriving. This morning I awoke at 4am and couldn’t get back to sleep at all. So instead, I continued reading Wonder by R.J Palacio, one of my ‘research’ books for this trip. An incredible novel, if you haven’t yet read it.

At 5am the birds started singing a beautiful melodic tune which seemed just for me (I’m certain anyone else on the island was fast asleep). That’s when I noticed the silhouettes swooping and diving past the window and I forgot all about reading.

I can’t see a thing without my glasses or contact lenses but one thing was for sure, the birds were feeding while flying & singing so they had to be swallows or swifts or house martins. Curiosity got the better of me, so by 5.30am I was up, dressed & out in the still morning air.

Have you ever walked around an island at 5.30am when the rest of the world is sleeping? Liberating is one word that comes to mind. Grounding is another.

By this time, the swallows had stopped feeding and the gulls were out. There were some loud birds making a crazy amount of noise, including croaking noises in the undergrowth – more like frogs than a birds. The chorus turned out to be a mix of starlings and blackbirds.

A walk at this time may sound adventurous but to be honest, I didn’t explore very far; just from one harbour to the next. A very short walk (about 10 minutes according to the sign posts). But it was enough for what I wanted; to watch the world wake up. In particular, the Atlantic.

East harbour as dawn breaks

Sitting on the harbour wall, I watched the clear water gently wash against the pebbles, making a sucking ‘sloop’ noise as it retreated. I saw driftwood & seaweed fronds floating on the calm sea, black-headed gulls resting on the tide or circling overhead.

The wind shoved a break in the clouds across the sky and I wondered whether the ferryboat would run today. I noticed the harbour lights switch off at 5.43 exactly. The clouds slowed down and the water turned from dark grey to the viridian of evergreen trees.

By 6am, the island was shrouded in the murky half light of an overcast day. But as a pink hue stretched to the south, I realised – hey! It’s only just 6am and it’s pure daylight! Summer is here!

Despite the chill on my fingers, the woolly hat, and the rain that started to fall at 6.18, I stopped trying to decipher why I couldn’t sleep and felt thankful for it instead.

Surely, after those short dark days of winter, a morning such as this is a gift?

Cape Clear Diaries (1): Dangerous Seas

Wednesday, May 8th, 2013

Cape Clear Ferry – excellent skippers

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)…

1. sit as close to the back of the ferry as you can and with your back to the direction you’re going
2. keep your eyes on the horizon to minimise motion sickness
3. stay alert to the movement of the boat; when the front end lifts, tense your stomach for the drop
4. 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.

Cape Clear East Harbour; calm after the storm

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.

Thousand Words in a Bottle

I’ve been promising a grand unveiling for a while and it’s finally here; my husband’s music video for Thousand Words in a Bottle.

Now, this song has a bit of story behind it – and was also the closing part of our wedding ceremony – but for now I think I’ll let the song (and video) speak for itself. Enjoy!

To be happy, look up!

Glorious West Cork sunset taken from our front door

While walking around the local village, I’ve noticed a huge amount of people looking to the ground as they’re walking.

I’m not sure whether it’s shyness, sadness, confidence or an overloaded mind, but seeing as we live in such an idyllic spot, it’s certainly made me think. Why are people looking down instead of up? Is it a habit, an unconscious act or a lifestyle choice?

If people are always looking down, thinking inwardly, is it impacting their life in a negative way?

(Take a look at the photos on this page to see what people have been missing – they’re all natural, no filters).

Another intriguing cloudscape

Another thing I’ve noticed is that people regularly walk while texting/tweeting/playing games on their mobile phone. Although we all multi task and have other concerns on our mind, I wonder – is this really necessary?

As you all know, I love the outdoors and spend plenty of time gardening, walking, running and cycling (with rowing recently added to the list). Part of the reason I moved to this gorgeous part of the world was to enjoy the beauty nature has to offer. And I honestly believe that part of the reason I’m so happy is because I connect with nature throughout the day, every day.

Moody, but such incredible beauty

Remember that feeling of joy as a kid when jumping in puddles, playing in mud, building sandcastles, picking wild flowers or collecting skeleton leaves?

Even living in an inner city suburb or council estate (like I did), these things were attractive, sought out and enjoyed.

If you find yourself asking the question, where did those days go? – guess what? They’re still here. That feeling doesn’t have to change. Go play!

And no matter how busy you are or how heavy your heart, please remember – to be happy, look up.

Recharge!

I just spent a week away in Bergamo, Italy, and I have to say, it was wonderful. Daily doses of sunshine (always desirable if you live in Ireland), great food and gorgeous scenery (think clear blue lakes surrounded by snow capped peaks and winding cobbled streets surrounded by ancient walls), as well as plenty of time to spend with my husband without worrying or thinking about anything other than just being.

View of the old town, Bergamo

Why am I telling you this? Not to make you green with envy, but to encourage you to take some time out.

Whether you’re a writer, a jeweller, a gardener or a teacher… Whatever your career/vocation, this is a call to arms.

Take some time to relax and recuperate. Right away, if possible.

Running the risk of sounding like a reformed smoker, hell bent on conforming everyone around me,  I think it’s so important to let the batteries recharge. And that means properly…

Try closing the laptop, shutting down Twitter (as well as Facebook, Pinterest and LinkedIn), and engage in the world immediately around you. Just be for a while. Be spontaneous. Even just for half an hour. See if it makes any difference to your energy, enthusiasm or mindset. It may not, but it’s worth a try.

In my experience, this relaxing malarkey isn’t something people are particularly skilled at these days. We seemed programmed to multi task and achieve, hell bent on keeping going against all odds and never giving up.

Dedication and determination are fantastic qualities – to a degree. Yet like anything, too much can be a bad thing.

As writers, we need to have a clear mind to create. Yes, the jumbled thoughts do contribute to creating characters, plot, dialogue etc – but only if we’re not worrying about other external factors such as money, chores, emails, the number of Twitter followers and the latest funny YouTube videos of ninja bunnies.

One way to achieve this is to shut down, away from it all, and just engage.

Holidays aren’t always a possibility, but you can take a walk, play with the dog, plant a few rose bushes, sketch your surroundings or try something new – take some time for yourself to let your brain recharge.

How do you relax and recharge? Any tips for others?