Leg 32, from Cam forest to Castlerock, a long 35k leg with the extra distance over the planned 30k coming from adding the Binevneagh cliffs loop to today’s route rather than tomorrows. Rain was our constant companion all day and the rising damp from my boots met the seeping damp from my hood in the region of my groin at about 10:30. Also, we really ought to have better anticipated the buffeting we received; with place names like Windyhill Road, a standing army of turbines, and queues of trees wind-stooped and bent like arthritic pensioners the area makes no secret of its relationship to the Atlantic winds.
The first 20k of the route is through various forest plantations. I don’t know what to make of the stern Grange Park forest entrance sign clarifying that dumping is prohibited, aimed I suppose at all those people who though that dumping was welcomed and who will presumably now take their old mattresses to some other nearby forest.
I’m rather glad we took in Binevenagh as it offered some relief from the many many tedious miles of cultivated forest trees. Even though the detour required a climb and the cataract veil of rain denied me the full panorama of a view over Lough Foyle it was still an impressive spectacle. The Ulster Way route takes you only as far as the upper of the two car parks that sit beside Binevenagh lake but stopping here is a mistake as you will see only a rather cheerless wind-licked lake. Only a few hundred meters beyond the lake edge, and then for a kilometre on either side, stretch giddy cliff edge walks that even in bad weather can’t help but lift your heart. That said, the good temper of even the most joyous heart will be tested by the challenge of negotiating the descent track which mountain bikes have churned and polished to a lubricated mud flume. Long heel skid tracks of previous walkers’ slips abound and while the grip provided by walking boots is sometimes insufficient it is invariably better than that provided by the arse of a pair of walking trousers – and I can confirm that the clenchedness of ones arse at these moments makes no discernible difference to the velocity with which one is propelled forward. I can admire the skill of those who ride these perilous tracks but for about 15 minutes this afternoon I cursed every one of them to be tied naked to a barrel and rolled down a gorse bank.
Once down off Binevenagh the 10k of featureless road to Castlerock stretched out like a prison sentence into the mist ahead, suddenly the idea of trees and forest track seemed a bit less tedious than I had previously thought. The final approach to Castlerock is along a paved road but this is arrived at via a detour through the pretty Downhill forest trail. We three wet walkers took advantage of the village having a coffee shop, they served us tea and didn’t complain that we dripped onto their floor.
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