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The beach near Ardara, County Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way.
To be shore … the beach near Ardara, County Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. Photograph: Alamy
To be shore … the beach near Ardara, County Donegal, on Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. Photograph: Alamy

Dazzled by Donegal: an activity break that’s big, bold and brilliant

This article is more than 5 years old

The challenge: can north-west Ireland match Canada and New Zealand for an epic adventure? After surfing, riding and kayaking, our writer found the answer on a sea-stack climb

The conversation started at the indoor climbing wall – an attempt to list the world’s wildest and most adventurous destinations. New Zealand and British Columbia were contenders, as was Newcastle on a Friday night. Then Tim, who runs an ethical outdoor gear company called Gather Outdoors, suggested Ireland. I thought about that one. “Ireland can be wild,” I said, “but it’s not adventurous.”

Donegal

“Donegal,” said Tim. “Biggest cliffs in Europe. Loads of sea stacks. Sandy beaches. Spectacular hiking, climbing, surfing, cycling …”

“Holiday bungalow blight,” I sneered. “Endless peat bog.”

But Tim was adamant. He put me in touch with Iain Miller, an adventurer who gave up sailing around the world to settle in Donegal.

“There are holiday bungalows,” Iain agreed, “and some ugly peat cutting, but most of the Donegal coast is wild and unknown. Isn’t that a requirement for real adventure?”

The seed was planted.

Adventurer and guide Iain Miller on Cnoc na Mara. Photograph: Kevin Rushby/The Guardian

I took my 14-year-old daughter, Maddy. We would test-drive every experience we could find. Could Donegal come up with something truly adventurous? The ferry to Dublin was followed by a four-hour drive to the north-west of the country, a part of Ulster, but not in Northern Ireland. We passed into the North, and out again, sending up a silent prayer that the abandoned border structures would never be revived.

Grace and Sean of Macalla Cottage in the village of Crolly met us with warm scones, a pot of tea and recommendations for dinner. We decided on Leo’s Tavern, in neighbouring Meenaleck, a famous music venue. At the bar, people were chatting in Gaelic. A group of locals were playing cards. A teenager banged out tunes on the piano. I got into conversation with Noel Brennan from folk band Clannad. Part of me wanted to forget all that talk of adventure and sink into the warm convivial glow of the Irish pub, but discussion had already begun. We were starting with the easy stuff: a walk across the sands.

Kevin’s guide prepares to launch their dinghy at Cnoc na Mara. Photograph: Kevin Rushby/The Guardian

“The beach by the airport is lovely,” said the barman. “It’s so peaceful.”

Next day we took a look at Carrickfinn beach. I had imagined 747s screeching overhead but Donegal airport only takes two small planes a day. We walked along white sand littered with shells and clambered over granite outcrops, each one a lost Henry Moore masterpiece. The landscape was as curved and soft as a well-worn tweed, at least it was until we spotted the bungalows of Bunbeg over the estuary. Dotted across a magnificent landscape they are as welcome as a bout of the shingles, a box pox of the worst kind. We turned away, then walked for miles. The beaches were perfect. At Gweedore we found a cafe and agreed that bungalow blight did exist, but could be avoided.

If the first day had scarcely registered on the adventure scale, we had at least found wildness. Next day promised a bit more. We drove north to the seaside town of Dunfanaghy, an attractive stone-built settlement centred on a square dotted with cafes, pubs, and the Jaws Watersports surf shop. There we met surf instructor Donald. We drove a few miles east to Marble Hill beach and had coffee in The Shack, a cafe in someone’s front garden overlooking the beach. This is a well-known surf spot, but we had caught it on a quiet day: the three-foot breakers too small to cause prolonged immersion. Maddy loved it – she is impervious to cold water. Donald was a patient teacher but after an hour I could no longer feel my feet, hands, or head. To be fair, it was early in the year - by July or August the sea warms up somewhat.

“In summer it’s superb,” said Donald, who has visited many of the great surf spots around the world. “It’s the best.”

Eventually I dragged Maddy out of the water and into a cafe in Dunfanaghy. It has some good ones: our choice was the Rusty Oven, a pizza joint amid a wonderfully shambling collection of furniture and curios behind Patsy Dan’s pub.

“The next adventure should be warmer,” suggested Maddy. “How about horses?”

We found Dunfanaghy Stables behind Arnold’s Hotel, one of the town’s many music venues. Owner John was shoeing horses; those that were not being shod looked out of their boxes and tried to keep up with the chat, their ears swivelling when their names cropped up.

A pony ride on Dunfanaghy beach. Photograph: Kevin Rushby/The Guardian

Once mounted, we were led across the high street by Poppy, the terrier who commanded the traffic, then on to the beach for an hour of wonderful hacking along deserted sands. That night we lingered in Dunfanaghy to catch a band in another pub, the Oyster Bar. The singer gave us a wave. It was Donald, our surfing teacher, playing with some of Van Morrison’s old session men.

We liked Dunfanaghy a lot, but feeling that the adventure-seeking needed to move up a gear, I called Iain Miller.

The next day he took us south for a hike along part of the Wild Atlantic Way, a 2,500km touring route that runs the length of Ireland’s west coast, from Derry in the north to Kinsale in County Cork. We turned off at the attractive little town of Ardara, heading west to the Sturrall, a vast wilderness of cliffs and wild seas where we tramped along a coastal path, then gingerly picked our way around the grassy edges of Sturrall Point.

Near the end, Iain roped us together: “It’s only a scramble, but I don’t want anyone rolling off!”

A minute later we saw why. The promontory is a razor-edged ridge, with the Atlantic crashing on both sides. We clambered up and tiptoed along it as the weather rolled over us: first sunshine, then snow, then hail, then sun again. Maddy loved it. Later, the sunset on the deserted beach at An Port was as good as they get.

Cruit Island. Photograph: Kevin Rushby/The Guardian

Next morning, however, Maddy was not to be moved from her bed. Iain and I set off, driving across the bridge from Kincasslagh to Cruit Island. This gem is relatively unscathed by bungalows and there are several small, uninhabited islands nearby. We launched the kayaks and paddled out to Inishillintry, a pair of small islands linked by a sandy beach, a magical spot. “There’s tons of these places,” Iain told me. “Hardly ever visited. Tourism has only just got started. Step away from the few honey pots and you have it all to yourself.”

I cried off taking a bike ride that afternoon – the weather had turned cold and blustery – and instead promised to be ready for 6am next morning.

Iain swore he would deliver an epic adventure to finish our visit in style. It was still dark as we set off – a deer leapt across the road. At An Port, where we had parked for Sturrall Point, we met Aisling and John, a couple from Dublin also keen for a big day out. From there we hiked north along the cliffs for an hour before clambering 250 metres down a grassy slope to a shingle beach. Ahead of us, about 50 metres offshore, were two massive sea stacks. “The little one is called Lurking Fear,” said Iain. “We’ll do the big one: Cnoc na Mara.”

He unfurled an inflatable dinghy. The breakers on the shingle looked chilly. I helped pack a dry bag with ropes and climbing gear. Cnoc na Mara was climbed for the first time in 2008. Its summit has seen fewer humans than most Himalayan giants. “No one succeeded last year at all,” admitted Iain.

Maddy tackles the ridge of Sturrall Point. Photograph: Kevin Rushby/The Guardian

The kayak took us, two at a time, through the narrow sea arch of Lurking Fear, then across to the bigger stack and a nervy landing on a narrow ledge. It took an hour to get everything set up for the first section of climbing. As Iain promised, this was pretty easy, but with the next pitch we were scrambling up a razor-edged arête with dizzying drops on both sides. “It’s not the climbing,” Iain laughed. “It’s the exposure.”

The views were stunning. Far below a pair of seals lay on their backs in the water, watching us with some puzzlement.

Aisling, chilled to the bone after getting wet in the boat, had to dig deep, but finally we were all on top: 100 metres up a sea stack. “Out there,” Iain said, gazing wistfully at the savage vista of cliff, rock and raging surf, “there are still unclimbed sea stacks.”

If I’d had a hand to spare, I would have sent my friend Tim a message: Yes, Ireland really can be adventurous.
The trip was provided by Failte Ireland: for more information ireland.com

Getting there

Irish Ferries sails five times a day from Holyhead, from £109 one-way for a car and two adults.

Activities

Iain Miller (uniqueascent.ie) provides tailor-made adventures. A day on the Sturrall costs €50pp, climbing Cnoc na Mara €125pp. Riding at Dunfanaghy Stables is €32 an hour (adult) and €27 an hour (under 18s). Jaws Watersports has one-hour surf, SUP or windsurf lessons for €30, kayak rental €50 a day.

Where to stay

Macalla Cottage sleeps 5 from €225 for two nights.

Best time to go

Adventuring is season- and weather-dependent. Dunfanaghy Stables is open Easter till Halloween. Climbing is best tackled after Easter. Surfing is available all year-round.

Prices

A pint of Guinness in a pub is about €4, coffee €2, Rusty Oven pizzas (on Facebook) from €7.

This article was amended on 18 July 2018 to correct the minimum fare charged by Irish Ferries.

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