Day 120: Ballyseedy Wood - Clogher

We started the day with another walk in the forest. I was happy, sniffing every corner, until we saw that the path led to Ballyseedy Castle. It's a 17th-century castle, converted into an elegant hotel, with manicured gardens and a fairytale atmosphere. But sometimes fairytales have closed doors: dogs are not welcome on that path. So we turned back, and I was left wanting to mark my territory on ancient walls.

A little before noon we set off by car. Quick shopping in Tralee and then we headed west.

We passed through Blennerville. There stands a white mill with large blades, the Blennerville Windmill. It dates from the 19th century and was restored as a symbol of the town. In its time it ground corn and wheat, now it remains as a perfect postcard on the edge of the water. We parked, took a walk through the town —which doesn't have much more than the mill— and saw it up close. I looked at it thinking: "if those blades were giant bones, I'd already have my amusement park".

After half an hour by car we arrived at Inch Beach. And what a beach. Wide, very long, with the sand so compact that you can drive on it. And yes, we did too. We reached the end of the permitted area… and, well, we went a few hundred meters further, just to try. We parked there to eat and rest. But the beach had a surprise in store for us: a small dolphin, beached and dead on the shore. Every person who passed stopped to look at it with respect, as if the sea had left a sad note there. I smelled it from afar, without getting too close.

Then we continued along the south coast towards the west of the Dingle Peninsula. That peninsula is a spectacle: cliffs that fall into the sea as if they were stone knives, mountains that overlook the Atlantic and roads that seem to want to throw themselves into the void. We made several stops for photos and, of course, for me to smell the salty air.

We stopped near Minard Castle. Now it is a solitary ruin, with only one tower standing next to the beach. The castle was built in the 16th century and, like many in Ireland, suffered the onslaught of wars and cannons. Today it rests peacefully, surrounded by large stones on the shore, as if still watching over the bay.

We passed through the town of Dingle, but we didn't stop: too much hustle and bustle, too many people. And we were looking for air and space. So we continued to the west coast and walked down to Dunquin Pier. It is a pier famous for its zigzag ramp that goes down to the sea, surrounded by green cliffs. From there the ferries leave for the Blasket Islands, but for me it was like a giant stone slide, worthy of a postcard that looks more painted than real.

It was already time to find a place to sleep. We first tried in Slea Head, almost on the beach of Coumeenoole. The place was beautiful, but very inclined. Park4Night said that some solved it with stones… I don't know what stones they use, but with our wedges there was no way. Then we looked at another car park on a cliff, but the wind was so strong that it seemed to want to tear the doors off us.

Finally we arrived at Clogher Strand. And there yes. Car park with spectacular views of the sea, a more bearable wind, and three or four more motorhomes spread around the place. Before settling down, we went down to the beach. Swimming is not allowed —the currents are dangerous— and the water was so cold that even I wouldn't have dared to put my paws in.

We returned to the car park when the afternoon was already falling. The sea roars in the distance, the other campers are preparing for the night, and we are also settling in. Here we stay to sleep with the Atlantic as a lullaby.