Many Mini Adventures and A Place Called ‘The Chasms’

We were in the Isle of Man for only four full days, but it feels as though we packed an unending stream of adventure into this time. Our daylight hours spent out in the wonderfully fresh air and evenings spent at the cottage enjoying simple, homely pleasures. Home cooked meals; good books; a musical evening of songs, a ukulele and a harmonica; and even a little hula hoop practice.

Leaving Mel at home to work on Wednesday morning, my dad and I headed to the Laxey Wheel. Constructed in 1854 and still running today as a tourist attraction, this is an impressive and valued part of the island’s history. Part of a pump system designed to remove water from the mines (as the island does not have its own coal supply to have enabled a steam-powered pump), the wheel played a crucial role in the success of the Isle of Man mining industry. The mostly wooden structure spans just over 22m in diametre and is a formidable sight to behold.

Climbing up the thin winding staircase to the top you have to be careful not to collide with traffic from the other direction, any meeting resulting in one party having to reverse to the beginning. Once at the top a long wooden platform takes you to the edge of the wheel, a constantly rotating blur of red and black at your feet, whilst the village of Laxey spreads in the distance ahead. We were then able to walk around the rest of the heritage sight, in a state of awe at the intense working conditions the miners coped with day after day.

After a post-sightseeing coffee break, we headed back to the cottage to pick Mel up with the intention of an afternoon excursion to Snaefell, the tallest mountain on the Isle of Man. On a good weather day it is possible to see seven kingdoms from the summit. On this day it was possible to see only one kingdom, the one on which we stood.

Having driven to the highest point possible via car we had headed out on foot into a vaguely foggy sky and limited time as sunset drew near. Halfway to the top, the footpath became less of a path and more an indistinct clearing of grass, and we were now quite surely stood within the misting cloud. After a brief conference we concurred that any attempt to go further would have been foolish and so having to be satisfied with the fresh air and a brisk little climb we headed back toward the car.

The journey was by no means a waste, the sun sinking below distant hills in an orange haze as we stood amid a green undulating carpet, which spread endlessly through every surrounding landscape.

We ended our day back in the town of Douglas. Walking by the harbour as the sun began to set, birds passing through the sky with intent, the water glistening an orange and purple design.

Thursday was our final full day on the island, one which we most definitely used to the fullest. This time taking our exploration south, we had an early start to ensure we travelled in style. By 9am we were sitting aboard the steam train that would take us the 15 miles to Port Erin, in around an hours time. Not a mode of transport to be taken if you were in a hurry, but if you happen to be in the area with free time on your hands, and with a want of rustic enjoyment and beautiful views, then this is the choice for you.

We all took the chance to stick our heads out the window and risk getting soot in our eyes (I had a rather close encounter with an oncoming hedge), and discovered as we did so that half the train was doing the same!

The journey to Port Erin was just the beginning of the day’s excitement. Our plan was to walk a section of the coastal route, cutting from the west to east coast via the small village and tourist spot of Cregneash, then following the coast until we returned to Port Erin.

As it turned out, our last couple of miles was completed on a bus as we decided against cliff tops in the dusk, but as this was at the expense of a small village bursting with character, chasms within the earth and a good couple of hours of cliff top coastal walking already behind us, we far from minded.

On our way out of Port Erin it seemed only minutes until our increasing altitude provided spectacular sights both inland and out to sea. Permenantly enclosed within quiet countryside, we made our way to Cregneash. Here we found what was still a living village, but which also cherished and shared its history. We had unfortunately missed a recent village festival and our chance to carve a turnip, but we were in luck visiting the tea room on its last couple of days before closing for winter. Drawn into the warm and cosy building, with wooden beams running across the low ceiling, we settled on a small table next to a log burner for pre-lunch tea.

As we walked along the narrow road up and out of town, we passed ancient, rusty farm machinery and rams with horns so large and twirling as to resemble something from a faerie tale.

Barely twenty minutes down the road and we had reached the chasms. Now, we had expected to reach the edge of land and look out onto some (hopefully) impressive rock formation. What actually happened was that we reach a dry stone wall, a rickety wooden fence and a sign warning of danger on the other side. Almost as soon as stepping foot on the other side of said danger sign, did we see chasms in the ground, inches from where we stood.

I’m not sure how long we spent there, curiosity taking us to every place we dared to stand. The sandstone cliffs displayed a phenomena like none of us had seen before. Due to the erosive power of the sea, huge fissures have gradually appeared, with large sections of land slowly descending, eventually to crash into the water below.

Almost mesmerising in its peculiarity, we had to drag ourselves away as we once more became aware of time and the miles we had yet to walk.

Back on the track we made our way through narrow, hardened, mud valleys, barely one human foot in width, surrounded by all manner of vegetation. I felt very much as though we were making our way along the precipice, feeling none too confident about looking down whilst trying to make my feet continue in a forward manner. I faced the continual battle I always find on a walk, between stopping to appreciate one scenic wonder and wanting to roam for your eyes to find the next.

The path gradually turned to grass, taking us up and out. This provided an angle which allowed us to look back at the chasms from a higher vantage point, and to look ahead to the small island of Calf of Man and the lighthouse which stood to its side.

We passed sheep, avoided innumerable rabbit holes, spotted caerns and artistic caerns, and mounds of rock shards developing as the cliff wall erodes. Shortly after this we reached our second cafe break, decided to return by road and then ran after an unexpected bus.

In Port Erin we were rewarded with one more breathtaking sunset. Admiring the enclosed beach and harbour below, we watched as the sky drifted through to darkness.