Round the Lighthouse

There is a lighthouse at Point of Ayr all old and battered with a good lean on it. A bit like the Tower of Pisa. Each day the plan is to jog-walk round it. Some days are tougher than others. A howling wind will lift the sand to sting your forehead with it drifting towards you like rippling serpentine tendrils of fog across a broad shallow beach. The return trip feels like a huge hand wraps around my back all comforting as my jacket is pressed securely to push me along. Trouser legs are inflated and billow thickly to aid each step. Going always gets the tears streaming in the cold wind. Some days the tide prohibits getting round the conical concrete base as an angry muddy grey sea envelops it completely.

The beach was deserted but for a young mum, her face flushed blushing pink peaking out from a fur lined hooded quilted jacket. In tow she has her daughter in pink wellies and a tiny brown spaniel. They crouch down behind the dunes sheltering from the icicle cold rain. The spaniel yapped once and let me past, mum smiled happily at me and seemed to be having fun.

When setting out I’m faced with a 500 metre hill and run down the short sharp switchbacked road. Coming back I tackle the steeper sloping tarred staircase all moss covered and slippery. This never fails to ignite a burn in my legs and get me puffing like a steam engine on summiting it’s crest. The path between the fields and houses remains uphill but somehow always feels flat by comparison. There are three stone steps on this path, heavily worn by countless boots by others long dead. I was surprised to see guinea fowl in the field to the left of me. They looked helmeted-like with some, pale grey. Hope they’re not being farmed and selectively bred. Perhaps they’re french.