The Bull Wall, Bull Island

A dark wintery evening. Seasonal. I like that.

We went for another walk on the beach, this time over on the north side of Dublin (another spur of the moment idea on my part). I hadn't been to Dollymount Strand on Bull Island for years. As we crossed the narrow wooden bridge my anticipation increased; I knew this would be interesting photographically.

The shored-up narrow path that borders the sandy beach runs straight out to sea, becoming The North Bull Wall. At the end is an oddly kirsch structure, a statue of the Virgin propped at the top of three very long girders, like a morsel hoisted on giant chopsticks (just visible to the far left in the pic above, and on the right in the first link below).

Created by the silt generated from the construction of the north and south harbour walls of Dublin Port, Bull Island is only about 200 years old (it settled on its current length of 5km just over a century ago), but it looks like it has always been there. There are actually two Bull Walls, north and south of the Liffey. I did a bit of googling to try to find out how its name originated, but drew a blank. Since there is also a South Bull Wall, perhaps the name arose from the notion of those two, horn-like protruberances. Dollymount Strand runs for about 3 kilometers towards Howth Head. It is backed by dunes of tangled marram grass, mudflats and a salt marsh. There are some houses, a sea-scout HQ and a golf course.
Like a good scout, Bull Island now sports a wealth of badges: It was declared a Bird Sanctuary in the 1930's, a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in 1981, a Nature Reserve in 1988 and a Wetland of International Importance under the Ramsar Convention (whatever that is). It also, apparently, qualifies for designation as a Nature Heritage Area, Special Protection Area and Special area of Conservation, and it was declared a Special Amenity Area in 1994.

Amenity it certainly is; there were plenty of people, perambulating the wall with their dogs and children, walking the beach, headlit cars bouncing over the tyre-tracked sand, parking or departing (there were even a few stroppy-speedy joyriders circling each other, forming a mini-racetrack).

I loved the place immediately. Something about its essential quiddity grabbed my imagination. The wean cantered straight out into the freezing sea, shouting for us to follow, and he got his feet soaked again, despite being better waterproofed this time. All that running couldn't keep up with his nose. I am glad he delights in the sea so much. I remember something my mother told me, about my toddler-determination to keep pushing the envelope. She actually sat watching me once, holding herself back, letting me walk and walk out to sea, waiting to see if I would stop. When I didn't she had tro spring into action and drag me back.

Despite the holiday busyness, there was something wild and forsaken about this place, which is what I loved I think, a rough and readiness. Partly the background; the great goalposts of the Pigeonhouse Chimneys were looming, though these loom even larger on the skyline as seen from south Dublin's Sandymount Strand, where they are in fact physically closer. Then there are benches swamped in grass and the sturdy 1930ish concrete beach huts. Maybe it is mainly because the beach seemed nearer to the city's outer limits, despite the big buffer of Howth Head: the strand is long and unkempt, without the onlooking, sedate Victorian houses. The room and the view are one, and you are in it.

Happy New Year.

And here are some more from the day:
BULL WALL & SHIP
LADIES THING
BEACH HUT
FOOTIE
FOLLOW ME