“It’s as easy as falling off a rock,” said Martin. “But you have to know how deep the water is first.” The atmosphere was relaxed but safety was high on the agenda during our briefing at the Bluelough Adventure Centre. “Coasteering is about exploring the coastline here in Northern Ireland, up very close; but it’s not about taking risks,” Martin continued. “Now can everybody swim?”

Northern Ireland is a hidden gem. The dark years of the troubles are well in the past, but aside from tourists from over the border in the Republic few have yet to discover its untouched scenery. The coast in County Down around Newcastle, about an hour south of Belfast, is full of stories of smuggling. And those same caves and coves where booty was stored before being hiked across the border, make great coasteering terrain. I’d assumed it was a modern adventure activity, but Martin explained that it has its roots in the Victorian craze for collecting eggs from seabirds’ nests high up on the cliffs. “The idea then was to avoid getting wet. These days that's the whole point!” he laughed as we bounced down to the sea in his Land Rover, wet suits round our waists, helmets at the ready.

Once we’d got all the kit on – including gloves, trainers and buoyancy vests - we started on relatively flat terrain. Martin showed us how different coloured rock varied immensely in slipperiness, demonstrating how to test each foot and hand-hold before putting too much weight on it. “Right, let’s go and jump!” he said. “The tide is high, so there’s lots of clearance.” As I hit the surf, the surge of cold water up my wetsuit made me catch my breath. Feeling cumbersome in my buoyancy vest I bounced and sploshed after him round a rock to the entrance of a large cave. The current almost pushed me inside and for a moment it was really dark. Then I realised there was another exit – a craggy window of daylight just to the left. I paddled along this tiny passageway, bumping against the walls and plopped back out into the sunshine. This was fun. “We’ve mapped the whole of the coast here, we know every nook and cranny,” puffed Martin as we clambered on to a tiny outcrop, the sea tugging at our heels.

Several more inlets of scrambling and plunging brought us to another deep cave. This time we weren’t just going inside. We climbed up and round to the huge flat stone on its roof. The drop into the surging sea hadn’t looked that far from below. Up there it looked a long way. “It’s no more than five metres,” said Martin. “Who’s going first?” I volunteered to take pictures and stepped up last after everyone else had taken the plunge. There was a stomach-turning adrenaline surge as I fell and then I hit the water hard with a crash. I bounced back up to the surface like a cork out of a bottle. Pure exhilaration.

It wasn’t till we stumbled back to the Land Rover that I realised how cold I was. But the perfect antidote was lined up; another dip in seawater, naked. And this time the temperature was significantly higher. Seaweed bathing is a centuries-old tradition here. The natural nutrients in the weed make great skin replenishers. Claire Dickinson and Dermot Devine opened Soak seaweed baths in Newcastle several years ago and the concept has really taken off. As my bath filled, we chatted about the complexities of getting a licence to gather seaweed (it has to be done sustainably and they get through 300 kilos a week) and pumping seawater from the sea into a huge holding tank behind the treatment rooms. “The best species are the wracks,” explained Claire. “Bladderwrack is great because you can sit in the bath and pop the blisters on the weed!” Once I’d selected some music from the CD collection I sat in a steam cubicle to get my pores open. Then it was time for the bath. It didn’t look particularly inviting. The water was rather brown and the seaweed straggly against my feet. As I lowered myself in I realised the water was seriously slimy – almost syrup-like. The seaweed’s gloopy resin left a smooth sheen on my skin. I whacked a handful on my hair. It felt like a bucket of warm hair gel. I emerged red-faced 40 minutes later, skin glowing, feeling seriously clean.

Next day, I drove to the far end of the beach to the Murlough National Trust nature reserve. This 6000-year-old series of sand dunes was designated Ireland’s first nature reserve in 1967, a unique habitat of birds and butterflies. But I was hoping to see larger specimens; in summer and early autumn it’s a fantastic spot for seal watching. The light was fading fast as I hurriedly squelched across wet sand looking up at the greying sky. Was that crowd of humps further up the shoreline seals or rocks? The flat light made them look closer than they were, but finally I reached them, around 60 grey and common seals eyeing me from across a small stream. By now my feet were soaked, but I didn’t care. Suddenly a lone jogger appeared around the headland. The seals took fright. A stampede of humping and splashing erupted; small ones, big ones, greys and browns, they floundered across the sand and crashed into the sea. Several swam right past, sticking their heads curiously out of the water to look me up and down. There was something seriously cute about their whiskered noses and big watery eyes; a truly magical moment. Then, far more agile in the water, they turned and dipped their noses under the surface, swimming on, out to sea.

CRUCIAL INFO
Getting there: Flybe (www.flybe.com) flies twice daily from Cardiff International Airport to Belfast City Airport from as little as £50 return.

What to do: Coasteering with the Bluelough adventure centre (www.mountainandwater.com; 028 4377 0714) costs £59 for a half day with guides and equipment. Soak Seaweed Baths (028 4372 6002; www.soakseaweedbaths.co.uk) cost from £20.

Further info: Newcastle tourist information centre: (028 4372 2222;
www.discovernorthernireland.com)

SEAL OF APPROVAL

<<<BACK

Jeremy Head seeks out the wet and wildlife on a weekend break in Northern Ireland.