Surfing > Articles > Surfing in South West Ireland

You’ll definitely remember the first time you hear about surf in Ireland. It’s not as if there’ll be a long list of named spots that are talked and dreamed about; surfers who have made the trip will simply tell you they had scored, and amongst the mass of sessions, there will definitely be quite a few which will have been epic. Apart from a handful of spots that have achieved international fame, the majority are known only by locals and, given a long distance groundswell, choosing which spot not to surf will be the hardest decision you’ll have to make. So, if after reading this, you could do with a trip over there, then don’t worry too much about exact destinations: with the risk of sounding clichéd, just head out West.

The whole West Coast is wide open to swell from any direction the Atlantic sees fit to chuck its way; put simply, it’s a swell magnet. As well as this, which would not necessarily place it above any other North Atlantic destination, Ireland’s best secret is the North Coast. The whole West Coast may well be laden with reefs that crank for most of the year, but the real gem is the North Coast which will often pump when Mundaka, La Greviere and Hossegor can only offer but a few feet. The North Atlantic summer highs don’t kill off those systems we scan the charts for. They still swing off the Newfoundland coast, but are simply sent up further North, and by the time these northern summer swells reach the rest of Europe, it may as well be game over. The Northern Coast reefs, however, just sit there and start firing. So if you find yourself looking out over a flat summer’s day without even a whiff of a system, then this is the place to make for.

If you are on the boat, the weather will probably be grey and drizzly, with the swell a couple of foot wind chop. From the plane, you’ll get a great view of the top of the clouds until about five minutes from landing. Planes fly frequently from Heathrow and most other European airports. If you are heading to the Southwest, you’ll be landing in Cork, and if you feel like trying the more Northerly breaks then Belfast will be your destination. If you are ferrying it, you’ll be heading from Swansea or Fishguard (Wales) to Cork, or from Liverpool (UK) or Stranraer (Scotland) to Belfast. One thing, unless you already have transport arranged, flying doesn’t work out to be that much more expensive than the ferry and saves a lot of time.

I’ve done it many times before. You set off on a trip. You’ve had it planned for ages. Constant weather updates and buoy checks. Even when they are looking disastrous, you still hold the faintest hope they’ll be wrong. As you get near the water, you are checking every single signal, the wind direction, the state of the nearest estuary; ‘No way, it’s five cm, must be at least five foot around the corner!’ This is what it’ll be like arriving in Ireland. Arriving in Cork, unless you have lucked into a Bay of Biscay southerly swell, the sea will be 2ft max, but unlike those other trips, this is no indication of what could lie ahead. If the weather is as grey as it can be, then you’ll also wonder why the hell you are here. So be prepared for this type of situation to greet you. Have faith and fear not, chances are this’ll be a trip like none other.

Flying into Cork, you’d be forgiven for wondering whether there is actually an International airport. Descending through the clouds, once you have got over the absence of a clean six-foot groundswell, you won’t be able to spot the runway until your are literally upon it. A tiny strip of uphill tarmac in a green grass field with a barn-like terminal marked ‘Cork International Airport’ is all you’ll see. The highest from of security are the electric fences preventing the masses of sheep from straying onto the runway. They’re everywhere, and you’ll meet them again in Ireland.

Stepping off the plane into the open air is a momentous part of any journey; the feeling of arrival is one that is hard to beat. However long the journey, the first breath and anticipation of what is to come is unsurpassable. You know it well: stepping into the tropical heat-wall that envelops you, or the scorching sun which fries your skin the instant you step out of the plane. In Ireland, as you take stock of the place, it’ll be the sweet smell of manure brought in on a fresh south westerly. You’ll be through and out the other side before you know it, and off out West. Best to hire a van or car, fill it with the essentials and away you go.

We made for the Dingle Peninsula, a spectacular spot in Ireland’s southwest, about four hours west of Cork. The scenery changes continually, all of it breathtaking, but the mountain passes about three hours down the road really are spectacular.

As you get nearer and nearer the surf, the adrenaline starts flowing, sleep becomes impossible, and the time checks become more and more frequent. ‘What is it going to be like?’ In Ireland, the roads will get narrower and narrower and the feeling of isolation and being in the middle of nowhere will grow by the minute. The way to do it over here is to camp. Far from the neatly manicured campsites of France, with the ever-present grumpy security guards, this is how camping should be.

Arriving in the Dingle Peninsula, head straight for the most exposed beach to get an idea of the swell direction and your first glimpse of the sea for some while. There won’t be signposts to the beaches or breaks, you’ll have to use your initiative and get orientated. Without disrespecting the locals, you can camp all over the place. The Irish guys we were with suddenly pulled off the road, and we were all amongst it in the sand dunes, dodging both cows and potholes. Don’t hold your breath for the surf, it could well be onshore and mushy, or it could be cranking; whatever, the scenery is unreal. Tear your gaze away from the sea and look half round in any one direction, and you’ll see the mountains rising up out from behind to form an awesome natural arena. It looks even better from out the back.

As we climbed up the biggest dune after a long trip, visions of a colder version of the famous scene in 'Endless Summer' were all about us. Four foot right handers, offshore and no one out. Considering the chances of the exact opposite of such a set-up greeting us, things were not looking bad. Three foot and glassy, tide a bit high, but not a soul in sight. Choose your bank and surf till you drop. If you are over in summer, you can be in the water until 10:45pm, having watched a stunning sunset. Likened to the kind of beaches you might find in Victoria or New Zealand, the sand and pebbles stretch for as far as you can see.

Having had your fill, it’ll be time to get the camping organised. This will involve clearing the odd cow pat and looking for firewood. Essential parts of any serious camping trip, fires are either prohibited, or you can’t find any wood. Its collection has probably caused more strife and bizarre combustion experiments than you’d care to believe. Things are different here. After half an hour of searching the high-tide mark, you’ll have a mass of driftwood that’ll roar all night and still be smouldering the next morning. The supermarkets sell peat bricks that are great to get it going again the next night.

Waking up, you’ll get an idea of the swell and wind direction before you open your eyes. You’ll either hear the splitting crack of the first set wave in the fresh five-foot swell. Alternatively, you’ll hear the constant roar of surf from a howling onshore. Take the first situation, you’ll be stoked; the second, then you should still be stoked, all it means is that you’ll just have to search for that reef break around the corner which will have just started working. Most of the spots on the Dingle Peninsula are within half an hour’s drive, and the best way to find them is to talk to the first surfer you see. Make sure you do, as you won’t see too many. Another excellent source is the Stormrider’s Guide to Europe.

Each new swell will bring each break into its own, and the joy about the Dingle Peninsula, and indeed the rest of Ireland, is that you should always be able to find some break where the wind will be offshore. The length of fetch stretching away into the North Atlantic has the potential to offer the cleanest and most well-ranked of swells, and whatever kind of size you may be faced with, there is always an order of spots to suit the different swell sizes. Move up to the big wave spots as the swell builds, and then work back down to the most exposed beaches as it drops again. Reefs and beach breaks are the order of the day, but don’t underestimate their power, especially the reefs. Some on Dingle can deliver a board-snapping sledgehammer lip that would not be out of place on an outer Indonesian reef. Unfortunately, however, unlike that outer tropical reef, the water is cold and you’ll be wearing a 2/3mm full suit at least (July to September), and the thicker numbers in the winter. The ideal time to go is at the end of the summer as the water will be at its warmest and it’s when the really roaring North Atlantic systems start rolling in. You’ll have your choice of spots, believe me, from mellow river-mouths to back-dooring hollow peaks with only a handful in the water, if you’re unlucky.

Surfing in Ireland is definitely how the surfing scene the world over must have been twenty to thirty years back. The waves are unreal and uncrowded, and what you’ll primarily be there for, but the whole experience will set you alight. From that epic session where you don’t have a chance to talk to those in the water as each takes a set wave, to just sitting round a massive driftwood fire looking up at the night-sky, the place goes off. The only drawback is the cold, which although not a real hindrance, it’ll mean you’ll always be wearing a wetsuit.

You’ll also love the pubs. Get in amongst them, sit near the fire and treat yourselves to the only real place to have a Guinness. People will talk to you the moment you are seated, and before you know it, it’ll be the early hours. It’s the best end to any day in the water, and the sort that’ll you’ll only find in Ireland; so pack your full-suit and go for your life.

Articles

• More from Tom Kay
• More on the same theme