Inishowen Peninsula

Taking the bend, I pause every time at Kinnagoe Bay, because the landscape is truly spectacular. Driving around the twisty turn, daydreaming about what mood the sea will greet me with today. Unfortunately, I have not been able to float at Kinnagoe Bay (yet) because the waves are extremely intimidating. A few days ago, swimsuit and all on, I walked (with determination) towards the waves. The sand beneath my feet was pulling me out, feeling the strength of the waves I receded to the shore. Standing back and feeling very very small, I thought about the ocean as a touching body. Feeling the spray of the waves smash against my own skin I reflected on an essay I read this week: ‘A wet world: Rethinking Place, Territory, and Time by Kimberley Peters and Philip Steinberg. The essay basically asks us to think not from the sea but with the sea and how can we do this. Standing on the beach, shivering in my dry swimsuit I thought about one question asked within this essay,

“How one can write about so ‘slippery’ a subject. How can one describe the ocean as an object without obliterating the reformative dynamism that makes it such a powerful trope? And how can one write about the ocean as something to think not only with but from without reducing it to a metaphor?’

Driving past Lough Foyle regularly, I positioned this text thinking about the politics around this body of water. Lough Foyle lies between Derry and Donegal. I started thinking about lines, paths, and how water is in constant flux. How would you write about slippery things, can textual investigations hold onto something, are we all not just leaky bodies in constant flux?

Remembering I found a trace of a path the day before, I got dressed and started to walk. Most of these paths are only accessible at low tide (or if you are ok to climb over some rocks). A desire path is an unplanned normally small trial created due to mechanical erosion caused by humans or our non-human friends. I started paying attention to these desire paths because of Olive (my golden retriever). I guess it could be the smell of other animals, but she would trace these little routes and most times I just slowly followed behind her. Wondering if I would run into another four-legged friend I rested on a rock. Lying flat, attempting to reference the floating routine I followed the clouds and listened to the waves smash against the rocks. In this moment I briefly thought about walking back to the car to get my sound recorder to document or hold onto this sound. But I stopped myself and just listened. Reflecting on ephemeral acts I continued to trace the Inishowen Peninsula.

~ mentioned reads ~

* https://www.societyandspace.org/articles/a-wet-world-rethinking-place-territory-and-time