An Uncomfortable Adventure

Today was an adventure—a stretch actually. It required saying, “yes” to wet feet and jagged rocks, and saying, “no” to my usual amount of comfort and casual safety. The island we made our way towards is legitimate in definition, yet when the tide sinks to a low enough level it extends approximately one hour’s time freedom to approach by foot rather than swim. Overlooking reservations, I accepted the rugged man’s hand and traced his steps carefully to begin our journey over a seemingly endless field of slick stones covered in sea kelp and premature mussels. He paused often to point out a living sea anemone and some sort of barnacle-looking creature, but in the presence of his knowledge and handsome confidence, I found myself completely outside of my element.

The distinct fish scent and sea salt air begins to wrap itself around my faded t-shirt and aggressively breeze through my hair. I take note of my rather old runners, knowing they will soon be even dirtier, and I am finding the discomfort to be rather taxing. It will all be worth it once we get there. The landscape we cross is an underwater world exposed for a brief period of time to the cool Irish atmosphere. I try hard not to think about the hundreds of mini mussels I have crushed beneath my shoes in our short trip to the other side, and my guide reminds me to focus on the island as our destination. He is also sure to caution me about taking abrupt, confident steps. I must remember that seaweed is slippery, although falling seems inevitable.

I haven’t been the “out-of-doors-type” girl for quite some time now. As a kid, I would run wildly through cornfields and build forts from any raw material at hand. My childhood consisted largely of pretend Native American names and mud pies, a head full of neglected hair and feet calloused enough to race across gravel roads. But then I discovered books, found I had a studious calling within, and forgot to spend all of my time outside. Skills that could have been acquired over all those lost years may have come in handy today, for I was struggling to keep up. An inexperienced and bashful girl, I did not want my expert guide to watch as I struggled to maintain solid footing. I am almost out of breath, but I recognize we are quite close to our green-colored oasis. Just don’t think about the fact that we have to make our way back still…

We manage to make it, though not at all easily.

I’m not quite sure I understood what “trudging” truly meant until I found myself wading awkwardly through thick, springy grass. The grass acted as a sponge to each weighted step, swallowing our jeans to the knees and slowing our reflexes. But this part of the journey should be taken at a lesser pace anyway. I turn to see the coastline, count the colorful houses that dot the shore, and acknowledge what we accomplished. The rock bridge we crossed appears as a solid dark mass, and from our new height, it is impossible to distinguish the individual toilsome stones and sand formations we scaled on our way here. Seagulls swoop a little too close for comfort and a friendly fishing boat passes before us. A part of me wants to lie down in the tall grass and disappear entirely from the tour guide’s sight—I could rest here for hours just smelling the waves and listening to the grey colored clouds pass over my head.

But the tide is rising and we must race against the water to make it to shore. The steps backwards are more difficult and I am forced to plunge my foot into swirling puddles that are filling much to quickly. I can feel the froth in between my toes and I worry that living things might have taken residence against my feet. Another thirty minutes and we may have been stranded for a long while. My guide assures me that I did well, though every time he does, my self-esteem shrinks a tiny bit more. He also continues to tell me that he finds it strange I have only been to the ocean on three other occasions prior to this. It’s extremely difficult for me to help him understand that I am from Iowa; our state’s name and location apparently means very little to this particular Irishman.

I couldn’t tell you the name of the island or the name of the coastal town we visited earlier. I can show you little artifacts I collected along the way—a couple of stones and numerous seashells. My shoes are filled with sand and smell like water, but I figure this only adds to their story. I am unable to recall most of the places we saw today and I doubt I could recite all of the history, but I can tell you what I discovered. Today I learned how to be quiet in a small harbor town that is still mourning the sinking of the Titanic. I learned that holding back in the face of opportunity is rarely worth it at all, and taking a chance is a reward in and of itself. With soaked socks and sore legs, I walk away with the solid accomplishment of making it across, and of course, a series of snapshots for memory’s sake.