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On sunday last I walked along the cliffs of Doolin, heading towards the Cliffs of Moher. I want to try and describe the atmosphere of the place, perched on the west coast of Ireland. A restraunt in Doolin is apropriatly named The last restraunt before America. Before the discovery of America this place was the edge of the world.

We walked and came to a large Zawn. Though the sky was overcast the sea remained a dark blue green. So clear you could see the cliffs sliding down, down under the water for many meters. Just before this point we had seen people leaping off the cliff ino the sea, in wet suit, cliff divers, safe. before that again, on the edge of the path (the path never more that 2 meters from the crumbling edge) a small collection of plastic flowers. Clearly a memorial for someone who had died from falling over the edge.

The Zawn cut through our path, opened out to amphitheatre proportions, and on the other side, the rock all folded, like sheets of plasticene pressed together by some enthusiastic child.

Gar told us, "right under you there is a cave, we'll see it as we go round". The wind chanelled through the inlet and for a while all you could see were the sides of the rift and the water below.

As we came round the apex of the Zawn we saw the cave. Inside the floating detritus, kelp and wood and sea foam, all hidden in there from the current. The mouth of the cave was about 15 meters high and 20 meters wide, we were about 70 meters up from the sea. Claire said, "look it's a giant with a beard". Right in the cave the foam had conspired to form the full shape of a man, his head bearded. He looked like the ancient celtic stone carvings of warriors.

He lay in the water, oblivious to us, contemplating his fate as the waves slowly dissolved him.

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