The Isle of Man

The Isle of Man. Famous for the TT race which happens once a year, and otherwise quite unknown to me. I’ve realised that this was the case with so many places in and around Britain. Unfortunately I’m a little short on time and resources to be able to visit them all!

So, already being on my radar since discovering the TT race a few years ago, the Isle of Man was calling out to be explored. With my dad and his girlfriend Mel at my side, I answered.

We left England on Sunday afternoon, taking the ferry across from the port town of Heysham. The journey across the water took around three hours, giving time to say goodbye to the English shores, to take in the army of offshore wind turbines standing regimented in lines, to bid farewell to the sun as it drifted below the horizon, and to enjoy the cheapest bowl of chips you’d find in a fair few miles.

We arrived at our destination in the black of night, having driven through still towns and villages, navigating narrow roads bordered by stone walls along much of the way. Our holiday cottage was a little out of the town of Laxey, up a winding country road, and with a view so spectacular we were amazed even under the dim lighting of the cloudy moon.

It is a perfectly sized island, large enough to explore, not too big to ever be fully lost and always in the knowledge the water was never far from view. I awoke the next morning and headed straight out with my camera to take pictures of the rising sun. From our raised vantage point, I admired the orange sky reflected in the sea below. The coastal line running away to my right, slightly jagged and outwardly curving, displayed the nearby town of Laxey on the opposing grass green hill.

Keen to explore, we jumped straight into it that first day with a nine mile walk from Laxey to Douglas (the capital of the island), along the coastal walking path heading south. With a disappearing map, and a kamikaze spider saved from a toilet, excitement began before we were a mile into our journey!

The walk took us along the road for longer than expected, the promise of a coastal walk not living up to its full potential. We drifted in and out of immediate contact with the shore, but never seemed to stay right alongside.

Our half time stop in a small town did not quite turn out as planned. Having over-estimated the size of the town (the over-estimation: assuming that it was a real town), we were greeted with a holiday settlement which, in the first week of November, was unsurprisingly not a hub of activity. In fact there was no activity whatsoever, save the odd dog walker. A little unfortunate as we realised our rations of one banana, one protein ball and a bag of nuts was perhaps not quite adequate for three people on a nine mile walk…

Over halfway and Douglas was in our sights. We were back on the road but were looking down on the coastline below, rather than meandering through the green of the farmers’ fields as we had for much of the earlier walk. Suddenly a signpost told us our path headed to the left down a grassy embankment, which from our viewpoint dropped straight into the water below. After a brief discussion it was decided we should place faith in this rickety wooden sign and began to make our way down.

We later felt that this moment was the test. If you decided to keep to the road you would reach Douglas soon enough and enjoy views of the sea below and the distant horizon, giving opportunity to admire the buildings spread among the nearing hills. If however, you did not give up on the coastal path, you would be rewarded with a narrow walk along the cliff edge. Hidden from the road, winding around the bottom of gardens belonging to wealthy looking houses, we were able to admire the rock formations below. Displaying a wonderful contrast between chunks of jagged purple grey, against rock highlighted in parts by the bright yellow of lichen and the greens of moss and grass.

Elated, and at this point a little worn and rather hungry, we reached Douglas. Initially hoping to get the bus along the promenade, it looked as though there would be no transport for the next half hour or so, convincing us to continue on foot. We were passed shortly afterward by said bus.

Our nine mile walk eventually became a ten and half mile walk. A mental battle ensuing as we made our way to the far end of town, toward a vegetarian cafe my dad and Mel had discovered on their previous visit to the island. No longer speaking, conserving energy purely to put my feet one in front of the other, it was with utmost relief we finally found our destination.

Safe to say I feel a lesson well and truly learnt. Whether aiming to stop in a town for lunch or not, take at least one banana each on a nine mile walk!

On day two we decided to do a little less distance, driving to nearby Dhoon Glen, home of the largest waterfall on the island.

Hoping to stop at the Dhoon Glen cafe first for a coffee, I went over to order whilst dad and Mel changed into their boots. I feel that by now we really ought to have known better… The cafe, situated next to a tiny wooden train station, turned out to be a genial old man on the other side of a window hatch. He served from his one room kitchen come shop, dishing out tea and instant coffee using a portable hot water tank, offering one flavour of crisps and some Bakewell Tarts looking up from their glass lidded cake tray. Far from what we’d imagined, it couldn’t have been more perfect for the surroundings and we loved it!

The two mile walk took a good part of the morning as we continually stopped to take in the smallest details of beauty. We made our way through a carpet of crunching golden yellow, down 190 steps (so a magazine article told me), following the twisting route of the water and admiring its curving route carved into the rock.

As we stood next to the small pool underneath the most distinct section of the waterfall, there was a wonderfully magic feeling. The water glistened in the natural light as deep chocolate brown branches forked through the droplets, all displayed before the most brilliant mossy green backdrop.

This was my highlight, the part I had most looked forward to and now I loitered along the continuing track, ready to begin making our way back to the car.

Or so I’d thought.

What I hadn’t realised was that the track was to take us all the way to a small, secluded pebble beach. To our right, a dusty brown cliff wall that we were soon to be walking along. To our left, layer after layer of grey rock compressed together at an odd angle, lines reaching diagonally upward.

After taking a little time to appreciate our open landscape and a foiled attempt to skim stones due to the mossy rocks lying in defence of the water’s edge (though my dad made a fine attempt facing inland and skimming stone on stone instead), we began to make our way up the steep grassy path to the cliff trail above.

There is something quite beautiful about walking along with a distant view of nothing but clear blue, whilst looking down on seagulls flying below. I could easily have sat and lost myself in those simple mesmerising wonders.

As it was, our walk continued back into woodland and our day’s journey continued northward. Firstly, to the island’s second biggest town of Ramsey, a quiet and modest seaside port, it felt like a huge contrast to the more worldly environs of Douglas. Then, after lunch and a coffee, we continued north once more, this time to the most northern point of the island, Point of Ayre.

It was a superbly picturesque finale for the day. The sun set in a brilliant orange glow, beyond the sparsely populated land of green as we reached the tip of the island, and the lighthouse that marked the spot.