"Coming up to Christmas, the rocky beaches at the point are already piled with kelp: slithery mattresses of Laminaria wrenched from the seabed, sometimes still clutching the stones that gave them anchor. My own Mayo strand is too exposed for any lush growth of weed, but cattle leave long, scuffed trails from the dunes as they wander across the sand to chew on a tangle of stems at the tideline."