Day 52 -- Castletown to Ballasalla, 7 miles

Another rainy day forecast convinced me to spend the day inside. I had missed the nautical museum in Castletown when touring Castle Rushen and the Old House of Keys a few days ago, so I  took a bus to Castletown to fill that omission.

The former home of George Quayle, a merchant, banker, politician and erstwhile smuggler who lived from 1751 to 1835, is now the home of Isle of Man’s nautical museum. When Captain Quayle built his home, he had many secret cabinets and closets installed, and included a boathouse into which he sailed his yacht and unloaded his goods without them seeing the light of day, and without anybody else seeing what he unloaded. Untaxed contraband could then be concealed until ready for market.

Castletown from Quayle home

 On my solo tour I saw an interesting old house with shipping memorabilia. Then, docent Geoff led me through again and showed me the hidden compartments. Some of the compartments were not discovered until 100 years after Captain Quayle died, still containing bottles of liquor that hadn’t been taxed. Even Captain Quayle's family was not aware of the secret hiding places!!

Geoff

 

Emerging from the museum, I noticed a blue sky. The wind was blowing from the southeast, and there wasn’t a cloud in sight that direction. Clouds north and west of me looked black enough to produce rain, but if the wind kept blowing from the southeast, there wouldn’t be any rain where I was. With that revelation I decided to walk to Dreswick Point. I hadn’t intended to walk; I had no poles, no pack, no hat, no GPS, no food, and only a ½ liter of water. I did have my rain jacket, and a small pack in which to carry my camera and sunglasses. I also had a map, but, hey, I’m on an island – how lost can I get? Besides, I could see the lighthouse at Dreswick Point from Castletown. So off I went.

Farmhouse ruins on Langness peninsula

 

Dreswick Point is at the end of the narrow Langness peninsula at the southeastern corner of the island. (You may remember that Port Erin and Port St. Mary are at the southwest corner.) The route to the point follows paved lanes, and is never in doubt, all the way to the lighthouse.

 

Castletown viewed from Langness peninsula

Dreswick Point Lighthouse

Seascape near Dreswick Point

Returning from the lighthouse was merely a matter of retracing my steps along the road, to a junction where one way leads back to Castletown – visible in the distance – and the other way leads to Derbyhaven. Beyond Derbyhaven, the map shows a clear road around the eastern end of Ronaldsway Airport (the main airport on Man), between the runway and the sea. That road leads to a trail, which leads to another road, which leads to Ballasalla. There’s a train station in Ballasalla, and bus stops, so why would I want to return 3 miles to Castletown when Ballasalla is almost as close – just on the other side of the airport? The sun was still shining, so I headed to Ballasalla.

 
My map was printed in May, 2009 – more than 7 years ago. At the end of the runway on my map are four little words set in fine print – too small for my eyes to see when I’ve already made up my mind to walk to Ballasalla. “Runway extension under construction.”

So, when I arrive at the clear road that cuts between the runway and the sea, I discover it is no longer there, replaced by an airport fence posted with RESTRICTED AREA and other threatening notices common at airports. I’ve already walked almost a mile and a half away from Castletown, and I really don’t want to turn around. Besides, the day is getting warm.

There is a trail that hugs the coast – part of the Isle of Man Coastal Trail that encircles the island, but the coastal trail doesn’t go anywhere near Ballasalla or the train station or the bus stops. Still, I’m on an island – how lost can I get? So I follow the coastal trail. The day is still sunny; I’m beginning to wish I had brought my hat. And some food. And some more water. What if the coastal trail gets really bad? I should have brought my poles. I’m only 10 miles from Douglas. Why am I carrying this stupid raincoat on a warm, sunny day? I should have brought my backpack.

Then suddenly there’s a cutoff trail. Maybe that’s the trail I’m looking for – but I don’t know where I am on the map, because the coastal trail isn’t on my map. I should have brought my GPS. I follow the cutoff trail, not knowing where it goes. Hey, I’m on an island, how lost can I get? I reach a road. Do I turn right or left? Left heads towards the airport – there’s a terminal there, with a bus stop, but it’s on the other side of the runways. Right heads off to Douglas – I think – only 10 miles away. It’s sure getting hot in the sun. I wish I had my hat.

I turn left. The road heads down towards the airport. All I can see is an airport fence cutting across the road: “RESTRICTED AREA.” For years I’ve been ignoring “private property” and “no trespassing” signs when hiking in England and Scotland. But somehow, these airport signs seem more imposing. Then, just before the fence, I see that my road turns sharply to the right. I crest a hill. I hear a whistle. Like Shackleton when he heard the 7:00 a.m. whistle from the Stromness whaling station on South Georgia, I rejoice. This time it’s not a whaling station, it’s the call of the Isle of Man Steam Train in Ballasalla. A mile farther along the road and I reach the train station, board the train and am whisked back to Douglas. I knew I couldn’t get lost on an island.

 

Flowers in Douglas

 

Day 51 -- Rain, Wind and Surf

While having breakfast this morning, I counted more than a dozen dog-walkers on the beach, all with hoods pulled over their heads, fending off the wind and rain. A jogger ran along the promenade, the wind whipping his jacket – but he wasn’t moving all that fast. With those observations, I decided to visit a museum today.

The museum I chose is in Ramsey, about a 1¼ hour train ride from Douglas. The Electric Railway runs 2-car trains. One car is enclosed, the other roofed, but open to the sides. When I reached the station, the enclosed car was already full, but having already decided to go to Ramsey, I naturally took a seat in the open car, already filling with passengers. The man seated next to me lost his umbrella when it blew out of the train just as the train started to move. He’ll probably recover it when he returns to the station.

The ride to Ramsey was pleasant enough, despite the occasional blast of wind and rain. A light sprinkle was falling when we arrived in Ramsey. I was not to be deterred by the one-mile walk from the station to the museum. When I was about 1/3 the way to the museum, the downpour started. By 2/3 of the way, my pants and boots were soaked. I reluctantly concluded that my touring a museum dripping wet would be no fun for me, and even less fun for the museum staff. I’ll save the museum for another day.

Walking back to the train station, I passed the bus station, and the idea dawned that I should take a bus tour of the island. I found a bus whose route meandered back to Douglas, crisscrossing the island west and then east to achieve south – a great way for me to see parts of the island I haven’t been to, without walking in the rain. The plan worked well for about 20 minutes, by which time the bus filled with passengers and all the windows fogged.

When I arrived in Douglas, the misty weather seemed relatively clear compared to the foggy bus. So I walked along the promenade marveling at the full-moon-high-tide waves now breaking against the sea wall. Where the strongest breakers hit the sea wall, the police had closed the adjacent roadway to traffic. Upon inquiry, a policeman told me that the road closure was to protect pedestrians: a few years ago, a child escaping a wave breaking over the wall ran onto the roadway and was struck by a vehicle.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 50 -- Peel

Peel is an ancient port and fishing town on Man’s west coast, about 12 miles north of Port Erin. With a heavy rain falling, and forecasts for even worse weather to come, today seemed like the perfect day to visit two of Peel’s national heritage sites, Peel Castle and the House of Manannan. Seemed like.

Unlike the well-preserved Rushen Castle, where even the roofs were intact, Peel Castle is reduced to remains, with nowhere to get cover from the rain. Of course, I’m no stranger to rain, and brought with me adequate gear. The Manx are also accustomed to rain, because the audio devices for the self-guided tour were sheathed with plastic.

Peel was settled by Celts about 500 BC. Originally a place of worship, successive invasions by Vikings, English, monks and tourists turned Peel into a government center worth defending. It wasn’t long before it became a military post, and even the small church was surrounded by fortress walls thick enough to fend off future invaders. Eventually, the government moved to Castletown into a bigger and better fortress, and Peel Castle was left to suffer the fate of most castles whose usefulness expired. Still, it’s a picturesque stop, even in the rain.

 

 

Peel Harbour and Peel, viewed from castle

Adequately soaked, I then moved on to the House of Manannan, a three story building through which an indoor trail threads through the isle’s history. Interactive story boards, dioramas, and videos present Man history from early settlement to modern times, as seen through the eyes of legendary sea god, Manannan.  Although the museum covered far more history than I can absorb, it had a roof and a coffee bar.

 

Depiction of Vikings landing

When I returned to Douglas, high, wind-blown tides were crashing heavily on the shore. At least one store had placed sandbags at its front door. More heavy weather is forecast, but I’ll be inside.

 

 

Day 49 -- Castletown

Many of my American friends have never heard of the Isle of Man, and most of my English friends have only a passing acquaintance with it. To be sure, none of my acquaintances has been able to explain exactly what a “crown dependency” is. To shed some light on the matter, I decided to delve into the history of the Isle of Man today. I started by doing my own research, using my typical reliable sources, to wit: the internet, persons I met on trains and buses, and hotel service staff, most of whom have been on the isle at least three weeks and still speak with eastern European accents. As always, my thorough research means that everything hereafter is mostly true, or at least partly true, except for the stuff I’ve made up.

Geographically, the Isle of Man is part of the British Isles (as is Ireland), and for that reason the Manx consider themselves British (but the Irish don’t, except possibly those in Northern Ireland). Politically, the Isle of Man is not a part of Britain -- it is not a part of the UK. Nor is the Isle of Man a member of the European Union. As a result, the Manx did not get to vote on Brexit.

The odd relationship between the Isle of Man and the UK apparently started in year 1405 when King Henry IV of England gave the Isle to Sir John Stanley, under condition that each successive lord pledge fealty to the English monarch and present each new monarch with two peregrine falcons at coronation. That historically feudal arrangement meant that each successive monarch of England became the Lord of Man (even if the monarch is a female, like Queen Elizabeth II). Although the Isle of Man isn’t owned by the UK, it is subservient to its feudal overlord – the king or queen of England. This may be an oversimplification, but one that explains “crown dependency” rather than UK dependency or UK territory; further, since the UK doesn’t “own” the Isle of Man, the Isle is self-governing with its own parliament.

To make sense of all of this (or at least of some of this), I went to Castletown, the former capital of the Isle of Man to tour Castle Rushen, where all of this started. Castle Rushen bills itself as one of the best preserved medieval castles in Europe (i.e., dating from pre-16^th century). The castle was designed to defend the isle from marauders like the French or Spanish who would have liked nothing better than to wrest the isle away from a supporter of the English king and use it themselves as a base from which to attack England. So the English king helped defend the castle, setting the precedent that the English king will defend the Isle of Man -- and he did, at least until the English civil war, when the parliamentarians under Cromwell seized the castle.

Castletown Harbour

 

Castle Rushen

 

 

Replica of Lord's dinner

 

Historic Lords of Man

 

That brings us to the Isle of Man parliament, called the Tynwald. After touring the castle, I toured the historic House of Keys – the parliamentary building dating from the mid-1800s. The Isle of Man parliament is much older; it is the longest continuously serving parliament in the world, dating back to the Viking era in the 900s. As a parliament, it made the laws, but in the early years the parliamentarians weren’t democratically elected, and disagreements were not infrequently settled with swords and knives. But at least they got things done, unlike some of our more congenial institutions today.

Historic House of Keys

The next few hundred years get fuzzy, but I suppose it would have been hard for Cromwell’s parliamentarians and the Tynwald parliamentarians to disagree publicly, so life went on. In 1932, the Isle of Man parliament adopted as the isle's official coat of arms a depiction of three armored legs flared like a pinwheel. The image has its source in Nordic heraldry centuries old, and was accompanied by a Manx motto, a very loose translation of which is “Whichever way you throw me I will stand.” Nobody in England apparently objected, so there you have it – a self-governing crown dependency.

 

War Memorial in foreground; Castle Rushen in background

 

Isle of Man flag

 

 

Day 48 -- Bradda Head north of Port Erin, 4 miles

I returned to Port Erin today, this time to walk the headland north of the town, called Bradda Head. Bradda Head is only about half the size of the headlands I walked yesterday, so I expected a shorter day. The day became even shorter when strong winds and a narrow footpath literally inches from a precipitous edge convinced me that today was not the day to tackle this route. Instead, I moved inland to a much less dangerous footpath, trading ocean views for comfort and safety.

Premature warning

 

My poles meet the Irish Sea

Safe footpath

 

Cairn atop Bradda Head (Calf of Man in distance)

The inland footpath was much shorter, and brought me back into Port Erin right at lunch time and, as luck would have it, right past a seafood restaurant with an inviting, wind-protected deck overlooking Port Erin Bay. I took that as a good omen, had a pleasant lunch and returned to Douglas on the Steam Train.

Marina at Douglas

 

Day 47 -- Port Erin and Port St. Mary, 8 miles

At the southwest corner of the Isle of Man, a small peninsula extends into the Irish Sea. On the northwest side of the peninsula lies Port Erin. On the southeast side of the peninsula lies Port St. Mary. The two towns are a little more than a mile apart, so narrow is the peninsula. Yet, walking from one town to the other along the coastal path involves a journey of almost eight miles, numerous ascents and descents to gain each successive headland, and a time commitment of nearly 4 hours to talk to people on the trail.

Port Erin Harbour 

Port Erin from footpath

I took the 9:00 am bus from Douglas to Port Erin, arriving around 10:15. After familiarizing myself with the town’s harbor area, I started walking about 10:30. For most of the morning, I saw not another soul and made fairly good time, except for frequent pauses for pictures. The coastal path occasionally ventured only inches from a precipitous drop into the sea, but mostly stayed 10 to 30 feet from the edge. To be honest, I made better time when the path was far from the edge, and resisted the temptation to hurry when near.

Rounding the tip of the peninsula, I caught my first glimpse of Calf of Man, a smaller island just off the coast of the larger island on which I stood. A channel separates the two islands, and an impressive current was running with the changing tides. I’m told that basking sharks and porpoise frequent the area, but I didn’t see any. Hey, at my age, I’m happy just to see the trail.

Calf of Man

At the tip of the peninsula, a substantial road runs from Port St. Mary, and ends at a parking lot with a visitor center. I resisted the temptation to stop for lunch, but not the temptation to speak with the first people I met today: Janet, John, Christine and Stewart. Two are from Yorkshire and two are from Kent. I have a 50/50 chance of remembering which couple is from which location. I also have a 50/50 chance of matching the couples correctly. I’m not a wiz at math, but even I know that means I have a 75% chance of getting it wrong. So rather than insult anyone, I’ll stop here.

 

Continuing on around the headlands, I met Terry, Di and John. Word must have gotten out about an American who has nothing better to do than walk and blog, and Terry and John were falling all over themselves trying to get their picture into today’s posting. Fortunately for all, Di maintained decorum and managed to get Terry and John lined up (queued??) quietly on the trail so I could take a respectable picture.

John, Terry and Di

 

The trail then descended into Port St. Mary. Having successfully turned a one mile walk into an eight mile adventure, I caught the first bus back to Douglas.

 

Port St. Mary

 

Day 46 -- Snaefell and Laxey

I awoke to a blue sky in Douglas, with not even a cloud in sight, and a perfect day to travel to the highest point on the Isle of Man – Snaefell, a “mountain” topping out at 2,036 feet. As I did yesterday, I took the Electric Railway to Laxey, but this time rather than continue on to Ramsey, I changed cars at the Laxey station to the one that goes to Snaefell. On the ride from Douglas to Laxey, I asked the conductor about the train system. According to him, the tracks were laid in 1893, solely for the tourist trade, although now used by locals for short trips. All of the cars presently in use date from 1893 or 1895, except for the newest which went into service in 1918.

Many people had the same idea that I did, to wit: go to Snaefell in good weather. As a result, the one-car tram to Snaefell couldn’t accommodate everyone who arrived from Douglas. I wasn’t in any hurry, so deferred to the next tram. My decision was based in no small part on the conductor’s report that the summit was in cloud, but expected to clear.

That gave me an extra 30 minutes at the Laxey train station which I used to explore another historic site, the Laxey Water Wheels. Laxey is a former mining town, and large water wheels powered by a flowing creek were used to pump water from the mines. The current wheels have been nicely refurbished to demonstrate their historic function.

The ride up to Snaefell was in sunshine, but upon disembarking we were hit by 40 mph cold winds and blowing clouds. There was no view. Most passengers headed immediately for the shelter of the restaurant and ordered warm drinks. I braved the short walk to the summit to get a picture of my hiking poles at the trig point. It was too windy for me to bother removing them from the pack, so I placed my pack at the trig point, with no little trepidation that it might blow off the mountain.

View from summit

An old Spitfire sits near the summit. One could create a romantic story about the pilot heroically landing there during a storm, but in reality it was donated to the people of the area, who brought it up by the railway.

Everybody took the next trolley down, except for those still nursing their coffees. Within twenty minutes we reached the Laxey station where warm, sunny weather induced most passengers to have an ice cream and induced me to walk to through Laxey to the seashore. Except for a short interval on the summit of Snaefell, the day was as lovely as I had anticipated it would be. 

Shoreline at Laxey