Tyres, tins, fridges, freezers, a couple of seasoned oak planks, even a picnic bench. An accordioned lobster pot, tangled rope, a sports shoe, minus its sole.
Time was when a beach with such weather's treasure would have been fine-combed several hours after a storm. Given how disposable our society has become, it was no surprise to find Dublin's Dollymount Strand still well covered several days after the Christmas tempests. We didn't spot any bottles, with our without messages, my wee eagle-eyed companion and I. However, several months ago in Whitebay, Co Cork, four young adventurers from Poppintree, Dublin, did come across something of that kind.
Their father, Sam Bruce, says they "thought it was a genie!" David (12), Kerrie (11), Sarah (10) and Daniel (9) found a card bearing my work address and phone number, together with the VHF radio call sign of a vessel by the name of Gulliver).
The card would have been dated June 1995, when that 33foot yacht was commandeered to circumnavigate this island for The Irish Times. Two glass bottles containing messages were cast overboard on the final leg from Strangford Lough to Dublin Bay. The first was found only two months later by two 10-year-old cousins, David Brady and Michael Madill, in the dunes at Donabate. Significantly, it had already been retrieved once by an anonymous finder who dated it and threw it back into the sea again. David Brady did likewise and it hasn't turned up since.
Navigation course
It seemed rather more than coincidence that I should have heard about the second message in the same week as I got a phone call from someone who played no small part in that circumnavigation. Chief Petty Officer Paddy O'Byrne might not have approved of all of the calculations used on that trip, but he did pass me in the first coastal navigation course I ever took, many years ago out in Raheny. I still have the little certificate, if a bit crumpled and faded - just to prove that I did have some knowledge of running fixes and dead reckoning and tidal streams and cardinal marks, long before I ever left sight of a harbour in a sailing boat and decided to take a full yachtmaster's course.
The reason for his phone call was to let me know about a very special occasion. In mid-December, Paddy took his last parade in Cathal Brugha Barracks, Dublin, when he retired officially from the Naval Reserve, An Slua Muiri. Chief Petty Officer O'Byrne has served over 40 years in "the Slua". During that time, he never missed a duty, according to the citation given by Lieut Cmmdr Vincent Smallhorn of Number One company, Paddy's commanding officer. He was one of the most dedicated and popular members of the force, Lieut Cmmdr Smallhorn told the guests in the square, huddled against a winter wind. "He put his heart and soul into it," he said.
Paddy, a Dubliner, admits that the military dimension was the initial attraction, though he is very much a man of the sea. After the reserve was formed in 1947, Griffith Barracks on Dublin's South Circular Road was the headquarters for the eastern group, while the sea base was - as it still is today - the Coastguard Station in Dun Laoghaire. He remembers attending various Easter 1916 commemorative events, and "watching in awe at regiments of troops and companies of sailors" as they "marched proudly through the streets of our capital city".
Good soldier
During his recruit training, a constant mantra was that a good sailor must first become a good soldier - a view that not every sailor would hold, but then one does inevitably have to jump to the attention of a roaring skipper at some point. There were long days on rifle ranges at Ticknock and Kilbride before the service ever let its new recruits smell the salt air at all. "It was in Dun Laoghaire that we spent our weekends learning to row the famous 27-foot naval whalers, those wonderful double-ended, clinker-built, gaff-rigged sail boats," Paddy recalls. Fully rigged with fore, main and mizzen sails, the craft tore around Dublin Bay in a good stiff breeze and there were many memorable cruises to Dalkey island, Greystones to the south and Loughshinny to the north.
As the Slua expanded, it acquired the use of the yacht Asgard for sail training - until as it was handed over to a new body, Coiste an Asgard, for civilian use and was then replaced and consigned to Kilmainham for a time.
Latterly, Paddy has been associated with the training craft Creidne and has taken the helm on many occasions, while schooling recruits on points of sailing, navigation and rescue techniques.
One technique, "man overboard", is now "person" overboard, as the Slua has recently begun admitting women - and not before time. Paddy O'Byrne was always an advocate; I remember him encouraging several of us in that coastal navigation class to put our names down anyway, to prove there was a demand.
Our names may still be on some dusty list somewhere, but we are probably past our sell-by date. And we mightn't be too good at taking orders.
Tall Ships
The Slua, like the FCA, realises that it may have a bit of a "Dad's Army" image, but prefers to be taken seriously. An integral part of its training is service on naval patrol ships, and members often provide relief duty during annual leave from their own places of work. During the recent Tall Ships festival in Dublin Port, the Slua provided communications and other logistical support. It believes the Irish name to be a bit of an impediment; the English version, Naval Reserve, has been considered as a replacement.
It won't worry Paddy O'Byrne. The Slua's loss is now the sailing community's gain, as he diverts his energies into sailing instruction on behalf of the Irish Sailing Association (ISA). Satellite electronic systems may have given many people the illusion of greater freedom at sea. In fact, such aids to navigation can become a real bind when their users become so dependent on them that they have nothing on which to fall back.
Paddy O'Byrne hopes to become an ISA examiner. He may be a hard taskmaster, but navigational standards and better seapersonship will be in a safe pair of hands.