Third day in and the weather had closed round. Grey clouds barrelling up the bay followed by hard rain that came down in horizontal sweeps obliterating the hills across the water until the views was just a suffused hard grey.
The only option was a walk and so we took fifteen minutes drive up towards the head of the peninsula. The car was parked and we walked a few hundred yards along the road past a Holy Well and then took a track down towards the water. The weather was still grey but the rain had tempered off to a low cloud. It still came skittering along with the wind but there was more of a softness to it now.
Any softening in the weather was gone by the time we got to the water. There was a small strand of broken rocks hemmed in by land and all opened up to the full force of the Atlantic coming in. Blocks of concrete had been laid to make up a small pier and slipway but they were both smeared with the detritus that had been heaved in by the sea.
Turning left we put our backs to sea walking across fields and through an old path laid out with stones. At one point the path was blocked by a field full of cows and we had to scrabble through hedges and stones to get around them. Back on the road we walked past a field to our right studded with low stones. Looking at we realised we were stood next to an old burial ground and the stones were markers for graves. It was a bleak cold place in the wind and rain coming in off the sea. A lonely but beautiful place to be laid down.
That evening we ate Boston Baked Beans. A large hunk of bacon picked up from the fridge in the shop in Durrus, cut inti one inch chunks, then fried in olive oil with onions and garlic and half a bottle of cider with beans and tomatoes. It went down well with hunks of bread.