Initially I wasn't too happy about Dusty having moved to Inis Oírr, but the trips to and fro on the ferries have proven to be most enjoyable. The waterwing and the monofin serve as excellent tickets to conversation and when I'm not chatting away with my fellow travelers, the restless ocean is providing the feeling of freedom and adventure I so love from the meadow. And then there's always the fluke to see dolphins…
But the true welcome to Inis Oírr is the sudden appearance of Dusty, or 'Sandy', as she is called on the Island. An honorary nickname, exclusively reserved for the authentic islanders and telling for how they have locked her into their hearts. She often races alongside the boat towards an elegant repose in the harbour, mesmerising visitors all around.
The last few days of May the water was purely Caribbean, lighting up in turqoise at the beach, due to the restless sunlight dancing brightly with the waves on the shallows. The water is crystal clear, with a viz up to 10 meters. When Dusty's just below the surface her body is tossed with an ever-changing dazzling diamond throw, highlighting her serene simplicity.
To establish your HQ there's a choice between the fine sandy beach that you can model to bed your body or the rugged rocks that provide nooks and crannies to lodge your gear. I'm a rock guy, don't want a sandy lining in my wetsuit. My stony throne is smooth with a puddle too close, which I fill up with a few rocks. A splendid way to keep it to myself, taking them out again when I leave. There is sea-easy access from the very shallow slipway and along the entire sloping beach.
At first the sandy bottom seemed monotonous to me but then I began to enjoy the gripping sun-cast patterns that ran with the waves. On closer inspection I discovered the small, hidden life on the bottom, clearing my path. Then there are the carved rocks on the underwater coast line, smoothed by the tides and sands into elegant design, arrayed like Japanese rock gardens, graced by vibrant swaying weeds. Deeper, half-way the harbour stretch the weedgardens where massive swarms of sand eels wag their pursuit of anywhere. And all along the rocky coast line at the far end of the beach at the fringe of the weed zone an overwhelming galore of little fishes, hovering in a natural aquarium.
When I go in I slam the monofin on the water three times. Not to summon Dusty, just to let her know I'm there. Over the years I have made up a repertoire of sounds to recognise me by, but she will also find me when I keep quiet. There is, however, a dialogue dimension to the weird sounds I spit into my snorkel. My latest move being the rasping against each others threads of two large bolts to imitate a dolphin's train of clicks.
I set out swimming to the big yellow buoy, where I can lodge the waterwing securely in the loop of a rope to prevent Dusty from taking off with it. Then I have my hands free for a rub.
When I go distance, she likes to swim left. a little behind and underneath me, as long as 'I have not noticed her'. I still have to figure out a way to video her trailing me this way. I have tied an elastic cord to my mini-camera that I double up for stability and loop around my wrist.
I'd like to extend my gratitude to all the ferry people, who grant me and my heavy gear priority boarding and thoughtful assistance.