The Rock in the Road

I was 19 years old when I set out for Ireland by myself.

Before cellphones, with no credit card, and very little idea of what lay ahead, I boarded an Air Canada flight to Dublin. I arrived with a backpack of Clif bars to keep me alive for a month, clothes for a week, a sleep-sack and a Frommer's Guidebook, 1995 edition. The only plan I had made was meeting my Grandmother's best friend's sister at the airport, and using her Dublin home as a home-base.

After spending a few days in Dublin, I set out for the countryside. The buses were fantastic and allowed me to easily fly by the seat of my pants. I met a group of other young travelers a hostel in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Frank, from Holland, Naget, from the US, Florence, from France, and Sigma, from Germany. They had been traveling together for a few days and had set out a plan for the coming week. Why not?

Together we visited Bushmills, the Giant's Causeway, the Cliffs of Moher. Then came Carrick-a-Rede, a rope bridge. I lazily followed them onto a bus and read the Thorn Birds as we rode through the winding roads to the Info Centre. We all visited the loo and headed over to the bridge gate. I opened my pamphlet and thumbed through as we walked.

The bridge was built in 1755 to connect salmon fishermen to the rocky island of Carrick-a-Rede, Scottish-Gaelic for 'The Rock in the Road'. The road they reference was the migrating path of Atlantic salmon. This bridge removed the need to access the island by boat and allowed fishermen to catch up to 300 fish per day, right up until the 1960s. Interesting! The photos were very scenic, but... wait, did that say suspended above a 30 metre deep and 20 metre wide chasm? I looked up from the pamphlet as we approached the bridge. I ate my heart.

"I can't." I said to Frank, who was ahead of me at the back of the line. The other three clambered ahead, excitedly going one by one over the swaying rope bridge as the water below crashed against the island. I was as still as the giant rock that lay ahead.

"You can. I'll be right in front of you."

I felt like I'd fallen on my stomach at the playground. I couldn't catch my breath. I had never felt fear in that way before. I looked at my travel companions, halfway across the bridge, waving and calling to me. Island on the other side was the most majestic thing I'd ever seen. Crossing the bridge would be the hardest thing I'd ever done.

My head buzzed as thoughts galloped through, pulling me in each direction. I thought of my mother. If I died on the bridge, she wouldn't even know where I was. I hadn't talked to her in two nights. I thought of my dogs and how sweet their greeting would be when I arrived home. I thought of the many tourists who had made it across. Smiling and climbing the giant rock.

Frank's face became clear, trying to coax me onto the bridge. He was kind and patient, and yet I'd just met him. Could I trust him? He told me he was heading over the bridge. Was I going too? I would put all my trust in this one man to support me while I overcame the greatest fear I'd ever faced head on.

The first steps were slow and difficult. I could hear the waves crashing, Frank's calm voice coaching me forward, the cheers from the island from Florence, Sigma and Naget. As we moved across the 20 metres, I felt more confident. I listened closer to Frank's voice.

With each step, I felt my confidence surge. I was half way there. I suddenly knew that I could do this. Frank's voice faded and suddenly I realized that the voice that I was hearing was my own. You can do this, you can face this, you can cross the bridge.

We joined the others, and sat for a long time on the island, watching the wild sea crash. At first we talked, but slowly the talking became sighs and we each retreated to a contented quiet. I was thinking of the 400 years this island was used by people before us. It held many stories. It felt as though if we listened close enough, the grass would whisper their secrets, breathing their life back to us. Making us feel alite with new energy, as we each stood on the precipice of our own lives, about to unfold.

When we walked back over the bridge, I didn't feel the surge of fear. I took solace in the sound of the waves, no longer angrily crashing. Sigma called to me and Frank and took a photo as we crossed. He sent it to me a month later, with a note that said, “So you never forget how courageous you are.”

Carrick-a-Rede was closed during the Covid19 pandemic, and the National Trust of Ireland chose to do much needed restoration. We plan to take the kids to Ireland, part of their heritage, in a few years.

Though bridge they cross will not be exactly the same bridge I crossed, the island will have seen 30 more years, I hope they too will cross the bridge and hear the whispers as they go forth into their own lives.