Several weeks, wrong turns, stretches of glorious beach and a frustrating lack of paths later, Barbara McCarthy emerged happy … but with notes

Wexford town shimmered in the distance like a mirage. Standing beyond Raven Point, at the southernmost tip of Curracloe beach, it didn’t feel like Ireland. Corsican pine trees, sand dunes, blue skies and water abounded.

But Google Maps was sending me back to Curracloe along the main road into Wexford. That would take another four hours. As the crow flies, it looked like a fraction of that. After walking all the way from Howth, I couldn’t face another detour — I had a train to catch. But I wasn’t sure about the tides or land here either. What could I do?

I thought walking from Howth to Wexford was going to be an endurance test, not a riddle, where a wrong decision could cost me hours.

Why was I doing this? After a trip to Rosslare by train last summer, I just decided to walk along the coast. It looked straightforward on the map — around 200km-ish and mostly along beaches and tops of cliffs. My reason? I’ll echo the words of George Mallory, who attempted to summit Everest in the 1920s: “Because it’s there.” 

I didn’t have any fancy trail maps, just my phone (I’m a 1970s child, so I’m more Stephen King’s Stand by Me than AllTrails or other hiking apps). And my idea was to do it in stages, returning to pick up where I left off, rather than all in one go.

It started easily. I live in Dublin, so got a Dart to Howth and walked to Seapoint, south of the city. Along the way, I stopped at the swimming pool in Clontarf, crossed the toll bridge, had a toasted sandwich and a cup of tea at Poolbeg Yacht Club and walked to Blackrock on the beach. Easy.

A view of the Poolbeg chimneys along Barbara’s walk

The next part of my trip — around 10 days later, from Seapoint to Bray, Co Wicklow — took in familiar spots like Dalkey and Killiney Beach. It was winter, so got dark early, and I stuck to the road from Shankill to Bray before getting the Dart back home. 

My third outing was meant to bring me from Bray to Wicklow town. I lamented the closure of a section of the 6km cliff walk from Bray to Greystones, and diverted along some paths and the road. From Greystones, it’s possible to walk south along a thin, coastal path parallel to the train tracks. I made it as far as Newcastle on the slabs and gravelly beaches. But I had to turn back there. Wicklow was another 10km and daylight was again running out. Thankfully, I met a lady who drove me back to Greystones. 

Around a week later, I returned to Newcastle to continue my journey. I tried to plan my walks for when the weather was nice, and avoided foggy, misty and rainy days. For this one, I got a bus from Dublin to Bray and caught the L2 bus onwards from Bray’s Main Street. It got there in no time and I walked around 2km to the beach and the short 10km to Wicklow in the sunshine. There was even time for a bowl of mussels at the Bridge Inn before catching the train home. My coastal walk felt too easy.

Or so I thought. Next time around, it was more John Cleese’s 1986 comedy of errors Clockwise, than clockwork. My train was cancelled due to an incident on the tracks. I met some lovely passengers and got a lift to Bray. From there, another train would take us towards Rosslare — but it waited for ages, and I missed almost three hours. 

I ran from Wicklow train station to the Glen Beach Cliff Walk, which brought me to the stunning octagonal Wicklow Head Lighthouse, standing tall since 1781. I could see Silver Strand caravan park, but was advised by locals not to go further along the coast and go by road instead. Urgh. There was no path and Arklow was still a good walk away. I’m not a fan of walking along country roads, but I needed to here.

At some point, I realised this wasn’t going to work and I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no transport. In John Cleese’s words: “We can’t go forward, so we’ll go backwards instead,” so I walked back to Wicklow. 

A few days later, I was back, driving to Brittas Bay to spend the day like a yo-yo going back and forth. I walked a stretch on the beach and back, then drove to Ardenary, walked back to where I’d left off, and so on — eventually walking across the dunes to Sallymount beach (a nudist beach).

I loved walking along beaches that felt hidden and coves where I would clamber up to make progress, onwards towards Arklow. But I also couldn’t get my head around the fact that I simply couldn’t just walk along the coast. Dead ends, cul-de-sacs, brushes with barbed wire, thorns, long grass and sandbanks… I felt at once a joy of forging my own path, and a deep frustration, like someone really didn’t want me here.

I wore good hiking boots and a rainproof jacket. I also brought water, snacks, a power bank and my professional camera (as a photographer, I wanted to add to my collection of coastal images). But this coastal walk was becoming a beast.

A week later, Arklow to Courtown was on the menu. I walked past a quarry and ended up at Hanging Rock beach, which reminded me of an Irish Phuket. It was stunning. Sadly, the tide was in so I couldn’t get any further. I backtracked, heading inland and uphill and on a road. I climbed 63 floors that day — according to my phone.

Worse still, I was again running out of time. Not only did I need to get to Courtown, I needed to be in Gorey to catch the train back. I’m a fast walker, but Google Maps said I’d miss it. This was not an option.  I had no choice but to do the unthinkable — get a cab. 

Coastal Walk between Wicklow and Arklow.jpg

The next part of the trip was going to be intense. I arranged to stay at the new and fabulous Ravenport Resort in Curracloe, as there was no possible way to get home from there. I took a train to Gorey, then waited for an hour for the bus to Courtown, before deciding to walk the 6km. The last thing I needed was more walking.

I made up for the part I missed the last time (I think I must have walked to Wexford twice with all the to-ing and fro-ing). Then I ran to Cahore pier along the road. At Cahore, I got onto a beautiful cliff walk, and then I saw Old Bawn beach for the first time. 

Wow. Why had I never heard of this place? It’s unbelievable. It’s the beginning of 22km of continuous beach, which includes Curracloe — one of longest in Europe.

The next day — my last day of hiking — I headed off, fuelled by a full Irish breakfast, a steam room and a swim. I brought supplies, as there’s no shops anywhere near the beach. The weather was sunny and crisp. I walked along the stunning 11km Curracloe beach, where Saving Private Ryan was filmed, and headed for Raven Point.

That was where I saw Wexford, sitting like a mirage across the water. I was there — nearly.

I decided to skip over a wall, and was immediately met by a lovely park ranger who informed me that humans were not allowed onto the Wexford Wildfowl Reserve. The North Slob is home to over 250 bird species and an important Brent goose population. I never knew it existed. I ended up getting a lift to the other side, through the woodlands and back around to the visitors’ centre. I walked carefully back along the rocks at low tide (beach walking is allowed here). Then I walked to Wexford town. 

My path had been forged… ish. As I sat on the train home, I reflected on a journey of discovery through these coastal counties. It was incredible, though Iwished I could access all the coves and beaches and connect them somehow. I felt a little robbed. In my ‘youthful’ exuberance, I thought this journey would be shorter and easier. I assume laws around liability play a part. Some landowners must really not want people on their land. 

But wouldn’t it be great if this coastal walk was a thing? I dreamt of ‘Ireland’s Ancient East CoastalWalk’ — the ‘Wild Atlantic Walkway’ of the east. Currently, there is no continuous path, while public transport and lack of facilities along the way make it impossible.

One day, it might change. I live in hope. 

See more of Barbara’s photos at barbaramccarthyphotos.com.

Wexford Town, Coastal Walk, Barbara McCarthy

Take five: East coast walks

Howth to Dun Laoghaire: Why not take Dublin Bay Cruises from Dun Laoghaire to Howth during the summer months and walk back? There are lots of places to stop along the way. It’s around 26km in total, but you can walk as much as little as you want. dublinbaycruises.com; tickets around €28.

Greystones to Wicklow: Starting from the beaches at Greystones, it’s possible to walk parallel to the tracks (separated by fences) along the coast to Wicklow town. It’s very Famous Five, passing Birdwatch Ireland’s East Coast nature reserve, and you can take the train back. Allow about three hours for the 10km, linear walk.

Cahore Point Coastal Walk, Co Wexford: The hidden gem of a cliff walk caters for all abilities and begins at the pier in Cahore. The loop is around 5km long, and afterwards, you can grab a bite or a drink at The Strand Cahore. thestrandcahore.ie

BrittasBay, Co Wicklow. Arguably the most popular beach in Co Wicklow, Brittas Bay is wonderful... if you visit off-peak. Head down on a quiet day and walk or go horse riding along the 5km stretch of sandy beach. visitwicklow.ie

Raven Wood Loop, Co Wexford: You can walk shorter or longer versions of the loop through these coastal woodlands, with the longest trail measuring around 10km. It has access points at Ballinesker, White Gap and Culleton’s Gap. wexfordwalkingtrail.ie

Your walking checklist

Safety comes first on a walk, no matter how easy. Check the weather, leave word of where you’re going and when you’ll be back, and pack smart. And remember, never leave valuables visible inside parked cars.
A fully charged phone, water and snacks, layers of appropriate clothing and sturdy footwear are essential. Bring a bag for rubbish, and clean shoes and socks in the boot for afterwards.

Leave plenty of time for the train or public transport.

If parking, avoid peak times at busy spots (going early, late or midweek), and park considerately — don’t park in front of gates and leave room for farmers, locals and emergency services to pass. Have a Plan B in case your car park is full.

If hiking alone, don’t give exact locations to strangers

Responsible walkers always respect private property.

‘I walked my own coastal camino from Dublin to Wexford – why? Because it’s there’

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