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Apr. 3rd, 2009 05:08 pmIt's not the sea, it's water. Water relaxes me and calms me. The changes, the unknown beneath, just staring at moving water is enough to release a lot of tension. I only realised this today when my bus was trundling along the quays in Dublin and the Liffey was beautiful. So calm and clear it was like watching silver flow rather than water. I have more respect for rivers than the sea, for the power they have. Sunday mornings going to Mass on the Far Side, the Boyne River Rescue boats were an unfortunately common sight.
The Boyne is tidal quite far inland, further than most think. There's a beautiful spot, Townley Hall, where the Boyne always looked so peaceful and swimmable. It looks quite shallow and serene, but it's the most dangerous spot I know. The currents there are unpredictable, many have been caught out while swimming at the Curley Hole. I used to be a strong swimmer, but I've known too many who aren't here any more because of that spot. But it makes a good spot for salmon, apparently.
And yet you can walk across it further out towards sea. At least, you could until it was dredged lately to allow bigger boats get to the port. At low tide the river would almost vanish and there were two paths built into the river bed. Watching someone cycle across a river makes for some giggling when you're 10.
Close to my house is a stream that feeds into the Boyne. 50 years ago it had locks on it and the power of this little stream, built up and then released, would power the linen mills beside the river. This place was in the country then, almost. My dad used to swim in the pond that would form when the locks were closed. Now, it's been laid out as a small park, with gravelled up bits and the stream hemmed in by concrete. From above it's meant to look like some sort of paleolithic fish but it's never been the same since it was forced to flow down concrete channels. Aquatic plants (though more likely to be algae) are removed every year in summer, there's no life in it anymore. I remember the glen teeming with frogspawn and pinkeens, pied wagtails and tits and bees. Now the only wildlife I've seen wear hoodies.
I need to see the sea every so often, but rivers I need daily.
The Boyne is tidal quite far inland, further than most think. There's a beautiful spot, Townley Hall, where the Boyne always looked so peaceful and swimmable. It looks quite shallow and serene, but it's the most dangerous spot I know. The currents there are unpredictable, many have been caught out while swimming at the Curley Hole. I used to be a strong swimmer, but I've known too many who aren't here any more because of that spot. But it makes a good spot for salmon, apparently.
And yet you can walk across it further out towards sea. At least, you could until it was dredged lately to allow bigger boats get to the port. At low tide the river would almost vanish and there were two paths built into the river bed. Watching someone cycle across a river makes for some giggling when you're 10.
Close to my house is a stream that feeds into the Boyne. 50 years ago it had locks on it and the power of this little stream, built up and then released, would power the linen mills beside the river. This place was in the country then, almost. My dad used to swim in the pond that would form when the locks were closed. Now, it's been laid out as a small park, with gravelled up bits and the stream hemmed in by concrete. From above it's meant to look like some sort of paleolithic fish but it's never been the same since it was forced to flow down concrete channels. Aquatic plants (though more likely to be algae) are removed every year in summer, there's no life in it anymore. I remember the glen teeming with frogspawn and pinkeens, pied wagtails and tits and bees. Now the only wildlife I've seen wear hoodies.
I need to see the sea every so often, but rivers I need daily.
