O. Henry: Sammy T.

O. Henry: Sammy T.

He arrived exactly on time to drive us from the Causeway Hotel to the ferry at Ballycastle. We were ready for a day-trip to Rathlin Island. Where? Rathlin Island lies about 15 miles across the Sea of Moyle in North Antrim County, Ireland. Population of Rathlin? 1,000 sheep, 500 cows and 110 residents. Why Rathlin? For the birding, of course. One problem: we are late in the season. All of the Rasorbills, Puffins, and Kittiwakes that normally nest and raise hatchlings in this remote place had already left to the summer season, all but a few of the rookeries were abandoned.

It was a tight schedule. We made arrangements with the hotelier to have a taxi meet us at the Causeway Hotel arrival area for a drop off at the Ferry. We wanted a full morning of birding and lighthouse touring, before ending our time in Antrim. The catch was that we had to get back to the ferry and then catch a lift to the Causeway Hotel in time to board a bus to Coleraine. We had tickets aboard a train to Belfast and then a connection to Dublin for the evening. Taxi, ferry, walking, bus, train … a full day of assorted traveling. Sammy T. was our taxi driver for that portion of our outing.

Going right to politics, Tracy asked Sammy what he thought of Trump. “He is a wee bit of a Gobshite,” he said. In Irish terms Gobshite means that Trump is someone who talks nonsense and polical foolishness.

When Sammy said that he was driving a taxi in his retirement, “I failed at retirement the first time, so I decided to buy a cab.” Tracy mentioned that although I was not using the R word (retirement), I was in the same career transition stage. Sammy proclaimed, “Have a plan, develop a hobby and get at it. Do you play golf?” I said, no, but recognized that just a few weeks prior the British Open had been held at the Royal Portrush Golf Club, which is minutes away from our hotel.

I asked Sammy if he had ever been to Rathlin Island, “No,” he said. “I took some school children to the ferry once, so they could go on a field trip to the Island, but I have never made that trip. No real interest.” When I mentioned I was a birdwatcher he said, “Never had the interest for that one either.”

On the return trip, Sammy met us as we exited the ferry. Prompt and courteous, as usual.

We talked about politics, the economy, and children. Sammy mentioned that since COVID, the bars had run into problems: “There used to be five pubs around the Bushmills distillery, but there is now only one. … People are eating and drinking at home, a habit they developed from quaranteens during COVID, and they are not frequenting the bars, which are hurting the pubs and restaurants a lot.” In his thick Irish accent he explained that he thought he would be fine during retirement. He seemed like a realtor, showing us the “holiday homes” in the area. He told us of a couple who traveled by helicopter. He met them at a specific location and drove them to the front steps of the Causeway. A bucket list stop checked off, two minutes later the couple hopped back on the helicopter for another stop.

We talked about his family, his daughter is busy cleaning the series of local AIR BNB’s between customer stays. His son though is “lazy, preferring to stay home.” As to his own hobbies he says, “Look at this beautiful landscape, the hills come right up to you. I drive to enjoy the beauty of Ireland.” In this case he was enjoying it a little too much as our pace was very leisurely. We soon realized that if we didn’t pick up the pace we would miss the bus to Coleraine.

Sammy acknowledged the urgency and drove faster to drop us off at the Causeway Hotel. We had to pick up our bags and get change to pay his fare, because Sammy was CASH ONLY, no credit cards. By then we had to sprint to the bus stop. We soon realized that the bus was not going to be waiting for us. As we rushed to the curb, the bus departed. Fortunately for us Sammy spotted us in the crowd, and he called out orders: “Put your bags in my taxi, I am always chasing busses. We can catch up with the bus in Bushmills.”

We shoved our gear into the back and zoomed ahead. Unfortunately for me, the back latch of the taxi trunk did not catch, and as Sammy hit the gas, my largest black bag fell out of the back. We felt the wind, but did not know what it was until the car horns started honking. I hopped out, ran 100 yards back to pick up the bag and ran with it back to the taxi. Lucky for me, all of the cars waited for me to pick up my luggage, rather than making it roadkill. My Apple watch sent me an urgent message: “Are you in an EMERGENCY? If YES, I will send out a message of DISTRESS!” Luckily for me, it was just the noise and excitement of the 100 yard dash.

Back in the taxi, Sammy noticed that the road to Bushmills was very crowded and the alternate route to Coleraine was blocked due to construction. He said, I have an optional way that can take us directly to Coleraine.” Known only to locals, Sammy was right on it. He said, “Look, I can take you all the way and avoid the bus, plus, I am faster than that bus.” What pluck!

We were ever so grateful to Sammy T. for his extraordinary hospitality and Irish kindness. Having run out of Pounds, I slipped him two $20 bills, which he said he would give to his kids for a future trip to the US … in a post-Trump presidency.