View from the Pier

This image was taken on the Antrim coast of Northern Ireland.  The shot captures just a small area of the extensive remains of Dunluce Castle.  While just fragments of its former self, the sprawling structure is still a commanding presence along a rocky promontory jutting into the ocean, some 100 feet above crashing waves.

I was traveling with my mother and a new Irish friend, Des.  We had come to this castle-topped crag from the beaches, or “strands” as they are called, of Portrush.  Named from the Irish Port Rois, meaning “promontory port,” the town is built on a mile-long peninsula, Ramore Head.

The weather had been unusually cold and rainy, even for Ireland.  Just as we arrived at Portrush,  the last of a long train of low, grey clouds that had been skimming along the sky spitting rain passed, and there was an infusion of glorious sunshine.  We were en route to the Giants Causeway, the impetus for touring this part of Ireland, and I excitedly declared that we would have to forego exploring this beach in order to get to our primary destination while the weather was cooperating.  Des kindly pointed out the futility of that kind of thinking and suggested nicely that I enjoy the sunshine where I was at the moment.

The proverbial light dawned and I took off my socks and shoes and rolled up my pant legs and walked along the waterline, taking in the spectacular shoreline.  Its wide, sandy expanse is backed by cliffs, the tops of which are carpeted in lush greenery, and the feet of which are strewn with blackened volcanic scree.  Scattered here and there are huge, free-standing, mysteriously-shaped, chalky white rock formations, one of which featured a massive arch, worn into the basalt by eons of wind and water.  A more modest geological wonder than the Causeway perhaps, but one well worth savoring, and I am glad I did.

Arriving next at Dunluce, the wind had kicked up again and big drops of rain pelted us.  Happily, adjacent to the grounds was a cozy cafe where we enjoyed a snatch of the August morning sunk in deep-cushioned easy chairs by a roaring fire, sipping steaming cups of coffee.  Fortified, we ventured out as the sun began shining again, and crossed a bridge over a steep chasm to the outcropping on which the castle was built.  Its precipitous location surrounded by sheer cliffs was no doubt a strategic decision by Richard Og de Burgh, who first built here in the 13^th century. Known as the “Red Earl,” he was a Norman, a people who trace their roots to the Norse Vikings, and are famed for their culture, particularly a unique Romanesque architecture.

The property was next in hands of Scottish origin, owned by the MacQuillans in the early 1500s– their chieftain was known as Lord of the Route.  In 1584, Sorley Boy MacDonnell took the castle by force, with several different colorful accounts of its capture.  In one story, he accomplished this when one of his men, employed in the castle, hauled his comrades up the cliff in a basket.  In another telling of the tale, the McDonnell army covered a boggy area with rushes and positioned men on the few areas of firm ground—supposedly the McQuillens charged straight into the bog, becoming easy victims for the McDonnell soldiers. A traditional local expression says “There’s been nobody fooled by a rush bush but a McQuillen.”

In 1584, Sorley Boy MacDonnell discovered a mass of treasures lying in the shipwrecked boat Girona from the Spanish Armada that had washed up the Irish coast, and used these riches to modernize his castle.  Dunluce Castle next became the residence of Sorley Boy’s son Randall, the Earl of Antrim, and his wife, the Countess.   In 1639, part of the castle, including the kitchen, fell into the sea along with seven cooks—supposedly an itinerant cobbler sitting in a corner of the room survived.  Dunluce was abandoned after the Battle of the Boyne in 1690, one of the best-known conflicts in British and Irish history, which prolonged Protestant dominance in Ireland.

I am always touched and awed when walking the grounds of any ruins, be it a castle, an abbey, or a fortress.  The skeletal remains of once massive monuments of stone are a reminder of both our impermanence and our endurance.  To have witnessed this particular patch of history was remarkable in that the politics of the place for many years made the region more inaccessible to tourists than Dunluce’s sheer rock walls.

As the castle’s long chain of ownership shows, power and wealth are fleeting in the overall scheme of things.  Fortunes come and go but the human condition, with all its foibles, is timeless.  In 1973, Dunluce Castle appeared on the inside cover of the multi-million selling Led Zeppelin album Houses of the Holy, a record I blasted in junior high much to my parents deep concern.  I wonder if those bad boys Page and Plant would have made as much sense to Sorley Boy as rap music makes to me.  Perhaps as my experience along this coast demonstrated, it’s best just to enjoy those moments of sunshine when and where you can.