Day 65

December 7, 2021:

The first part of the storm arrived early. Wind buffetted the windows, rain and hail thrashed the building. The power went out. I wondered how that would affect breakfast and my plan to learn how to make soda bread with Mary. When I did get up, the rain had calmed, and as the morning progressed, the sky cleared up a bit. I had breakfast - traditional Irish again - and wondered if I should leave. I considered whether yesterday I could have instead made my way a bit further up the coast, and if now that the storm had passed, I could get away with more cycling up towards Galway. There was a moment when I was considering going out when it suddenly started pounding hail, and the precip was 1.5 cm in diameter: big stones that would have sorely hurt had I been out. I decided to hang around.

My figuring is that, from pilot training, it's better to be on the safe side. The forecast included strengthening winds into the afternoon, and even though there were a few hours of lull, didn't mean the forecast was entirely wrong. And even if it was, it wouldn't serve to play the "I can do it" Machoman or try learning a lesson not to be cautious next time. There's no lesson to be learned here. I was safe, so I had made prudent decision making. Sure, I might be wasting some amount of time in an expensive B&B, but it was a nice place, and I had made my decision.

And BOY am I glad I did. Because at around half noon (12:30), it started hailing again. The wind shook the building and thrashed the trees. Had I been out cycling, I'd probably have had to lie down somewhere to prevent myself getting thrown off the road and then waited for the storm to pass. It would have taken a long time. After a bit more than an hour, I readied myself. I had spoken of going out into the storm in the morning, and Mary warned me against it. She said the winds would be strong enough to lift large stones off the beach, scattering them onto the roads. She said in past storms, rocks had piled up in gigantic mounds on the coastal road near the beach, blocking traffic. She said sometimes the storms would fling rocks over the height of the house. I'm unsure if she meant that they go that high, or if that's actually happened. I doubt the latter, since the farmhouse is about a third of mile from the shore.

I decided I would go out anyway. I felt the draw of the storm. I wondered how big the waves were. I wanted to feel the wind beat my face, pull the clothing from my limbs. It's like weather tourism of the sort Palmer sometimes does storm chasing. Except instead of driving anywhere, I was already right in the path of the storm. I wore my rain pants and long johns, warm socks and hiking boots, long underlayer, fleece, and rain jacket, the buff, ski goggles, and bike helmet. I'd need those for eye and head protection. I wouldn't be cycling out in the storm, but I wanted to have as much as I could protecting my face and head.

Mary saw me walk out. I gave her a thumbs up, and came back to let her know where I was going. I clanged the bell at the door between the main house and the B&B, but no answer came. I suspect she was entertaining her parents, who had come over for lunch and had planned to stay through the storm. I decided not to bother them further, and set off. I wouldn't want anyone coming out to find me anyway. Better that they stay safe. I knew the risk I was taking. This was within the risk/reward calculation. I'm on solid land, and the wind would only blow me inland.

I think the riskiest part of the walk was on the road leading from the B&B to the coastal road. There were telephone poles with electrical cables hung between them along this section. The cables were flung out sideways in the heavy wind, and power had already gone out twice today. That probably meant a pole somewhere nearby had failed. I walked briskly, wondering if it would be better to walk directly under the cables or on the far, downwind side of the road. I’m still not sure.

When I reached the coastal road, I pushed west, into the onslaught of the storm. Making headway was difficult, and it was slow going. Winds were gusting at 80 mph? Crazy. Small pools of water that had collected from rainwater in the adjoining pasture and bog formed foot-tall waves even though they weren't very big. The wind pushed the water up over their embankments, spraying onto the street. The wind actually came across the peninsula, either from due west or slightly northwest. That meant the spot where I was was slightly protected by Loop Head, and as such the waves in the harbor were actually very small.

The shoreline was tattered with seaweed and strewn rocks though, as Mary had predicted. I wasn't hit with anything except the wind, rain, and hail though. The hail felt like shards of glass, maybe razors, cutting into my skin through the clothing I wore. I checked later, and wasn't actually cut, but the experience was very similar to being caught out in a sandstorm. Every exposed bit of skin - mostly under my bike helmet and forehead, stung with the bits of water flung by the tempest before me. I walked with my back into the wind. I took some video of the experience. After reaching the beach and standing atop the rock embankment, looking out at the waves, I turned to return to the B&B. The electrical wiring hadn't failed yet. I suppose it gets hit with storms like this a few times a season, though perhaps not nearly as bad as this one. Upon my return, I stripped off nearly all of my clothing. The rain had seeped through all of my supposedly water-proof clothing, pushing the wetness all the way against my skin. I changed, then rested.

Later in the afternoon, when the power was once again restored, Mary came up, asking if I'd be interested in making soda bread. I was down in just a minute. When I entered the kitchen, she had all the ingredients spread out and ready. It's a simple recipe, and the benefit of making soda bread is you end up with a decent quality bread without all the hassle of managing the temperature and rise of yeast. That shortens the bread-making process from a few hours to just a few minutes. There's no need to get up at 4 am like I did at the farm in Germany in 2016. You can prepare your ingredients before you take a shower, and have warm bread come out of the oven when you're done washing.

To make her recipe, you take: 1 lb of white, self-rising flour, 1 oversized handful of bran, 1 teaspoon (actual Irish teaspoon) of baking soda, and 1 (big) pinch of salt, and mix those together, ensuring there aren't any clumps. Then beat 1 egg (which makes the bread stay fresh longer), and mix with 1 cup (a large mug) of buttermilk. Pour the egg-buttermilk mixture into the flour, and using a hand with fingers spread like a claw to form the dough. You're just looking to wet all of the flour, trying for an even consistency, but without actually kneading the dough. You're basically just shaping it into a ball. Then she put a little more white flour on the table, setting the dough down and flipping it over once. She cut a cross in the top. She had the oven set to 180C. Inside, a tray laden with parchment paper was already hot. She took the tray out and placed the dough on top and back into the oven. It takes a half hour to bake, forty minutes if you want it really crispy. That's it.

I went back upstairs, watching a few more videos. I was sure half an hour had passed, so I came back down to the kitchen, opening the oven to look in. I hadn't timed it exactly, but figured Mary would know best. I couldn't find her. I hoped she hadn't gotten distracted. Since I knew there was a little wiggle in how long the bread can stay in, I retreated back upstairs, taking a scone with me. I came back downstairs a bit later, and found the bread was out of the oven, cooling off on a rack. Mary came in, and asked if I wanted to try it. Of course I did! Her bread knives were in the dish washer I think, so she used this gigantic chef knife to cut the bread. She brought out butter and one of her home-made preserves. It was delicious. Warm bread always makes me feel at home. Using bran instead of whole wheat flour creates a softer bread, and honestly, it's great. Maybe even better than the coarser stuff I've bought in foodstores across Ireland. This is a recipe to remember.

In that moment, I was glad I'd stayed the extra two nights. It would have been unpleasant to camp anyway, and doing this had led me to stay safe and warm. And in addition, I'd learned a classic Irish bread recipe. Yes, I've looked up similar recipes on YouTube, but there's a difference between watching a tutorial and doing it yourself, or at least watching someone do it yourself. I do king of wish Mary had let me be more hands-on. But that's alright. The recipe is astoundingly simple. And using bran instead of whole-wheat flower means I'll likely be able to repeat this method back in the US without much trouble.

Dinner was again served later that evening. Mary brought out burgers with chips. Mary was in a rush, I think - though I forget why - so we ate quickly. It was actually kind of relieving to get quickly past attempts to eat politely or formally, and we got straight to it. This was a farming family anyway, and I don't think they would have cared much for such mannerisms anyway. Luke and I spent a while talking after dinner. More about navigation, more about aerospace and life support systems. It was deeper than surface-level. I did feel I got to know him a bit. I also got his take on fly fishing. He has no interest in it. It's more about form than the style of fishing he's interested in. Though he didn't seem entirely fond of trawling either. Somewhere in between, I suppose. Later on, he stood. He needed to take care of his animals, so he went out into the night. One of the animals had gotten sick - pneumonia, I think.

That reminds me (though this is definitely a tangent) - Mary had mentioned two days ago when talking about covid restrictions in Ireland that the Garda are relatively strict about traveling with company. If there are two people together in a car, they'll ask: "why aren't you travelling separately?" In one example she gave, she said they had taken a horse to be 'serviced' (a euphamism for having been impregnated at a breeder), and that they needed one person to hold the horse, and another to hold the baby. In another example, she said her mom had recently had a stroke and was in hospital in Cork. She needed her sister? there with her for emotional support. She said the horse thing is true, and that the Garda's demeanor changed when she had explained the health situation, and had seen her on the way back from Cork too. They gave her a thumbs up/down to ask if they were alright. They were. Her mother had made it through it. She also told me about how her and a friend were worried about the impact covid restrictions would have on their ebike excursions. She had leaned on the support of that friend through the trying times with her mother, and riding around the countryside together on e-bikes had given her a lot of the peace she needed.