This

This
article was published in SUITCASE Volume 17

Every Christmas since I can remember I have walked in the
footsteps of giants. They are rough, blackened, hexagonal footsteps
that slot together like honeycomb and lead to a wind-battered
outcrop in the sea.

Getting there can be something of a giant task in itself;
December in Northern Ireland is unpredictable and unforgiving.
Wrapping up in almost anything we can lay our hands on (“or y’ll
catch a dose”), my family and I set out from a pebbledash cottage
in Portballintrae, a seaside village overlooking a sand and shingle
beach. The path rounds the harbour and leads to a crossing at the
mouth of the River Bush, where last year we found a pair of otters
chasing trout. We walk eastwards along kelp-strewn sands towards
Runkerry Point and lean into the hill – sped along by the wind at
our backs – as a narrow grass path rises over the cliffs and past
the abandoned Bushmills railway. Topping the hill, we arrive at the
Giant’s Causeway.

According to legends, an Irish giant named Finn McCool was the
architect of this coastline. Caught in a war of words with a
Scottish giant called Benandonner, Finn built a series of hexagonal
stepping stones across the North Channel for the Scot to come and
face him. On sight of the gargantuan Benandonner, Finn fled home to
his wife Oonagh, who dressed her husband as a baby in a cunning
plan designed to deceive his enemy. When the Scotsman came
knocking, Oonagh pointed to a cot where her “son” lay. Benandonner
took one look at the monstrous infant and struggled to imagine the
sheer size of the father. He turned on his heels and raced back
along the causeway to Scotland, churning the earth of Ireland as he
went.

The mythical tale of the causeway’s creation may capture the
imagination, but science has an equally impressive story to tell.
Some 60 million years ago, the area known today as County Antrim
was the site of intense volcanic activity, which formed the largest
lava field in Europe. The plateau cooled quickly and formed a
network of 40,000 blocks of layered basalt rock. The resulting
hexagonal columns, some of which measure up to 12 metres in height,
lead from the foot of the towering cliffs and form a pavement that
disappears into the sea.

Standing at the edge of the causeway, which looks out accusingly
across the water towards Scotland, I don’t find it a stretch to
believe in both stories. In fact, as the waves roar around me, it
is more of a challenge to imagine the coastline flooded with miles
of lava than it is visualising a giant crashing towards the sea.
The Pipe Organ and Giant’s Boot rock formations bring Finn McCool
to life, but there are elements of human history here too – the
remains of kelp walls, shoreline fields and the isolated ruins of
fishermen’s cottages tucked down sheltered slipways are signs of
the hardships endured by past generations.

Perhaps these echoes of a more difficult and distant reality
give us a greater appreciation of human comforts, and after a
journey along the causeway we seek out the sweet, earthy smoke of
an Irish peat fire. At the Bushmills Inn we peel off our coats,
scarves, jackets, gloves and hats and settle down with a whiskey
from the nearby Old Bushmills, the oldest licensed distillery in
the world. With cheeks flushed by salt spray and ears throbbing
from the wind, I know that the Giant’s Causeway comes to an end in
the sea – but I feel that my road will always end here.