OPINION (AN COLÚN): Feeling grateful and at peace on a Sligo shore

THE sea calls us, beckoning us with a mystic voice and as we walk by its beauty we feel the dirt of the world falling away, while our spirits are revived, our souls are infused with insight and wisdom.
I can think of nothing better for my soul than a walk by the sea. This sense of regeneration in the companionship of the ocean's spirituality is a feeling which is present to all of us.
Last week Rosalind and myself spent a few days in the presence of the Atlantic, immersed in the beauty of the hills and the sea. One morning, while Rosalind was engaged in a Yoga session, I found myself in the village of Strandhill. Kitted out in my walking gear I followed the purple markers for several kilometres. The wind was strong and the ocean was agitated. Several surfers stood by their boards staring out at the grey expanse. I admired their courage in being willing to take to the waters on a bitter, winter's day. I had no desire to emulate them. I read with interest recently that Ireland is much lauded by the surfing community for the quality and suitability of its waves. It also sometimes generates waves so monstrous in size that only a tiny elite of the most skilled surfers are able to take them on. I tried surfing once, many years ago on a West African beach. The pastime was definitely not my cup of tea.
The trail took me through an extensive sand dune system. This part of Strandhill is an SAC. It is home to moths, butterflies and bumblebees; meadow pipits, stonechats and skylarks. In the late evening you may hear the call of the long-eared owl or the undergrowth rustling of a badger. On Dorrins Strand, Light Bellied Brent Geese overwinter. They fly from the Canadian Arctic each year to feed on the fertile shoreline of Sligo Bay. As I walked along Dorrins, as the waves gently flowed into this sheltered spot, I scanned the area for the geese but sadly there was no sign. In March and April these birds fly back to the Arctic, an arduous, dangerous journey which takes them across Iceland (where they rest for a while), across the treacherous Greenland ice cap (which rises to an incredible 2,700 metres) and finally to their summer feeding grounds in northern Canada.
My brochure also told me that in the summer the dunes and grassland are populated with beautiful orchids; including quite rare species such as the Pyramidal Orchid, the Broad Leaved Marsh Orchid and the Marsh Helleborine.
One of the reasons I was doing this Strandhill walk was my love of the sea. Another was because I wanted to see the picturesquely located Killaspugbrone Church. Positioned on a low-lying promontory only a stone's throw from the waters of Sligo Bay, this church is about 800 years old. The first religious building erected in this spot dates to the 5th century. There used to be a village beside the church until the early 19th Century when the inhabitants wanted to live in an easier, more forgiving spot in terms of forging a living from the land, and decided to move. The graveyard surrounding the church is multi-denominational and was used until the 1960s. There are 700 graves here. According to legend, Saint Patrick passed this way in the 6th century where he tripped on rough ground and lost a tooth. As a mark of friendship to the local bishop, Bronus, who built the church, he presented him with the tooth. The relic was treated with great reverence for many centuries and was eventually enshrined in a golden casket by Thomas De Birmingham, Lord of Athenry in the 14th Century. This shrine is now housed in the National Museum in Dublin.
I spent some considerable time at Killaspugbrone, completely alone, feeling God's presence, His peace in this liminal spot, this place where one feels closer to the Creator Himself. Beauty was in all directions. As well as the ocean there was the tall, cliff-lined form of Knocknarea Mountain, one of Ireland's iconic mountains. Knocknarea rises to 320 metres and was formed from limestone over 300 million years ago. The summit is crowned by the great cairn of Queen Maeve and has been a ritual focal point since Neolithic times (the Neolithic period in Ireland lasted from about 4000 to 2500 BC). Maeve's tomb is enormous, being 35 foot in height and 200 foot in diameter. It has never been excavated. According to legend, Queen Maeve, the War Goddess of Celtic myth, is buried within. Maeve also initiated the mass bloodshed of the Táin Bó Cuailnge because she wanted to possess the brown bull of Cooley, thus becoming a symbol of every bloodstained, greed-driven and cruel tyrant that has populated the pages of history. There are many neolithic tombs in this part of Ireland, and the people buried in them were probably the local dignitaries of the farming communities who once lived here all those years ago.
As I walked away from the church there were thousands of seashells at my feet on the beach. Sligo comes from the Irish "Sligeach" meaning "abounding in shells". There are a number of prehistoric middens along the Sligo coast, which were dumping grounds for the shells that the locals discarded.
Leaving the sea behind me I walked inland and came to Sligo Airport, a grandiose name for a few hangars and a couple of planes. Also present was one of the Irish Coast Guard Sikorsky helicopters. Its crew were busy and it was about to take off. Every time I see one of these helicopters I think of the time 15 years ago when I fell down a cliff in the Galty Mountains and broke my leg. Perched on the ledge of a cliff high in the hills there is no way I would have made it out alive without the assistance of my rescuers. It was a very difficult and harsh moment in my life when the next world loomed very close. But it wasn't my time. Ever since, I have never doubted that life is a precious and beautiful thing, that it is something to be cherished, lived to the full, and never to be stupidly taken for granted or be ungrateful for.

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