Overnight in a Watch Bunker — Sunset and Sunrise over Inishowen Head

When I first got to Ireland, I had no plans — just a rented vehicle, and a backpack.

I firmly believe that following your interests as they arise (sometimes, just on a faint whim) will make for a much better experience than micromanaging your time down to the last second, trying to stick to a list of someone else's must-dos. That way lies only a feeling that you never quite did or saw enough; that you probably could have done it better, or experienced more, or that you missed just that one perfect instagrammable moment.
Listen, don't do that shit to yourself.

Given this habit of jumping face-first into 'adventure,' I found myself in need of a place to stay the first night. Where I ended up, truthfully, was so much more spectacular than I could have hoped. I mean... if you're willing to bestow the term spectacular onto living out of a backpack and sleeping in the back of a car because the spot you chose smells quite a bit of pee and also being woken up by noisy-as-fuck, inconsiderate sheep who are really not pleased that you decided to break camp directly in their midst.

Welcome to the Irish Defence Force's Coast Watching Service Look Out Post 82.

Ireland had this great plan during the run up to World War II, in that they figured they would just stay neutral. To keep watch for belligerent activity that could potentially muck up this goal, they built eighty-three watch posts along the coastline, on average between five to fifteen miles apart. Coastwatchers manned them solidly for the better part of three years, filling out detailed logbooks (which you can read online, if you're into dry military notation! Just click a point on the map.) of all nautical and aerial activity, and when the war ended, many of them fell into a state of disrepair, and were removed. Some, given that they were essentially out in the middle of nowhere, were just left to their own devices. (In this case, homing transient types overnight, being marched around by livestock, and the aforementioned smelling of pee.)

Here it is, alone on a promontory, being very watch-y. And here's the map link.

After a cursory look around, I decided there would be no sleeping in the bunker itself — both to stay warm, and protect my olfactory senses... but every part of this trip was made more life-changing by the blazing sunsets and sunrises I was so fortunate enough to experience.

Nature seriously knows what's up.

Here are a few last glimpses of closing your eyes on jewel tones, and opening them to delicate pastels.

While being awoken by lambs greeting the new day sounds awfully rural and romantic, let me assure you, after about the third bleat, it. is. not. There were definitely a few thoughts of a mutton breakfast as I sat on the edge of the cliffs and overlooked the ocean.

All of these photos are my own, taken on my travels all over this pretty blue marble of ours. I hope you like them.