HOWE LOVELY!

One of the things that I love about living on an island with inclement weather is that that we’ve avoided the concrete jungle and ribbon-development so typical along the coastlines of warmer climes where sky scrapers and apartment blocks jostle shoulder to shoulder along a limited length of coastline, where the entire population of one country of several tens of millions tries to take their annual beach holiday in the same six week period.  On Irish strands, as beaches are known, there are no beach bars selling flamboyant cocktails to the tunes of thumping summer hits, no lines of pay-per-day sunbeds or umbrellas, no queues for car parks charging eye-watering rates just for the pleasure of minding your car while you while away the day in the sand and surf, no disheartening lines of traffic and depressing jams on the way to the beach, that can ruin your day before you’ve even arrived, requiring that you leave home at the proverbial crack of dawn if you are to get to your intended beach before sunset, let alone the terrifying battle to secure that parking space, sunbed or half square foot of sand.

Drive for half an hour in any direction on Ireland’s coast and you’d be almost guaranteed to find a beach to yourself.  Sometimes a bit of scrabbling might be required to get to the said-deserted beach but, oh, what reward when you can sit and look out to sea unobserved by a living soul.

South of Kinsale, halfway between the surfing beach of Garretstown and the wide open expanse of beach and sand-flats of Harbour beach, Howe Strand is sandwiched between the Old Head of Kinsale and the Seven Heads. Although I’m sure there are prettier and more dramatic beaches along our shores, Howe Strand holds a certain wild charm.

The sandy beach looks out onto Courtmacsherry Bay and beyond it the open ocean. Bordered by fields to the sides and pretty long-grassed marshland behind, the strand is named for the Howe family, local landowners from Cromwellian times. Guy’s Postal Directory of 1914 lists Howe owners of Killeens House and Glanavirane House; the latter is still occupied by a Howe family today. A stream crosses the beach, fed by the reed beds behind. The beach is little frequented except in summer.

Walking down the right-hand side of the beach, you look across at the huge, gaunt ruin on the left eastern side. This was the Howe Strand Coastguard and Telegraph Station burnt by the IRA in 1920. According to the witness statement made to the Irish Bureau of Military History by John O’Driscoll, captain of the Timoleague Company Irish Volunteers, the station was first attacked by Timoleague Volunteers in April 1920. The seven coastguards present surrendered and seven rifles were seized. Later that year, 18 volunteers from the Bandon Battalion, supported by 24 men blocking the approach roads, attacked the station again. The 15 coastguards manning the station surrendered after a brief fight. Fifteen rifles and 1,000 rounds of ammunition were captured. The station was burnt and was subsequently abandoned by the Coastguard.

The rocks on the right side of the strand are deeply grooved by the passage of cartwheels. Over decades, possibly over centuries, farmers drove their carts over the bedrock to collect oarweed to fertilise their land. Ian Howe, who lives nearby, reports hearing stories that the weed was so highly prized that pitchfork fights sometimes broke out on the beach. The grooves are a testament to the laborious harvesting of natural assets necessary for survival in bygone days. The building seen at the headland is the ruin of a boat house that served the Coastguard Station.

History runs deep in this part of West Cork. Remnants of an old stone wall nearby are thought that to be the remains of an ancient parish church of Templetrine dating back to the 1600's, where locals claim the Danes are said to have been first defeated by the Irish probably around the end of the first century AD.

A fairly precarious path runs up from the beach behind the old coastguard station and round to the next small bay where the water appears to be very deep right up to the cliff and here I’ve seen thrill-seeking teenagers, who spend the day atop the tussocky cliff barbecuing, smoking & flirting, leap the terrifying 60 feet or so into the green water below.  If you’re not after an adrenaline rush there’s a very pleasant walk if you carry on along the little-worn path which wends its way along the coastline and where Jersey cows graze peacefully, seemingly unaware of their proximity to the perilous drop-off.

To the south of Howe Strand, and further out towards the western headland, there’s what we call our Secret Beach. A tiny little triangle of perfectly crushed-shell sand that reaches out into the water at low tide in a tempting patch of deep turquoise water, surrounded by glassy rock pools, backed by smooth rocks worn flat by incessant tides and, most importantly, in the lee of the wind, this Secret Beach is my favourite way to while away a sunny day. An ancient coast guard's hut, with its roof fallen in and remnants of a slip way, is all the evidence of past human presence.

I’ve heard (but not seen for myself) that if you go further round the headland to the south you might happen upon elderly and naturist sunbathers who, apparently, have been coming here for years to top up their all-over tans.

The walk to our Secret Beach, requiring a little tenacity and a not too heavy picnic, can be treacherous, however, either over the rocks at low tide which is very jagged and uneven and definitely require solid footwear, a firm footing, and good balance. Alternatively take the track right near the entrance to the beach, if you don’t mind the frisky and curious yearlings in the field, some mud, thistles and a jump over a couple of farm gates, and hike across the fields to the Secret Beach. Easier on the legs, but not necessarily on the nerves, as I discovered this summer when a particularly nosey young male bull decided to take a keen interest in my picnic basket and me.

You should be aware that this field & others are private lands and as there's no right to roam in Ireland don't say I haven't warned you if you incur the wrath of local farmers. Always shut the gates, leave no litter and don't let dogs off leads or in any other way frighten farm animals.

Happy beaching!