I’m not sure what was so engrossing on that phone but I suspect it was a review of images, especially outside the Bank of England in London and those enormous Portland stone columns. A perfect place for a dramatic photoshoot.
You don’t expect to stand in a field north of Blarney and watch the northern lights, but here we are. Last night the aurora put on a show visible well into southern Ireland. Bands of pink and magenta hung across the sky, bleeding into that unmistakable green glow along the horizon. To the naked eye nothing could be seen, but the camera pulled out colours that made the whole scene look otherworldly.
A passing car lit up the bare trees on the ridge at just the right moment, backlighting them with a warm glow that played off the green aurora behind. It was one of those happy accidents you couldn’t plan if you tried. Even the electricity poles added something, a reminder that this was a country road in Cork, not the Arctic Circle. These events have become more frequent as we near solar maximum, so keep an eye on the Kp index and have a dark-sky spot in mind, because the next one might be even better.
I think this is my first or perhaps second time stopping at Lough Aderry, just outside Castlemartyr in Co. Cork. I’ve passed by there many times but in the evening when the light is good it’s always with the aim of getting home after a possibly long day away.
This evening I did stop as there was a nice sunset. The sun had dipped below a cloudbank just as we arrived but there was still a glow in the air. I was delighted to see swans swimming and feeding in the cool evening air!
On a calm day you can sit on Clogher Beach and see An Fear Marbh lying peacefully on the horizon, its profile supposedly resembling a body laid out in repose. On a day like this, though, you’re lucky to see it at all. The swell was stacking up in layers, each wave tall enough to swallow the base of the island entirely, leaving just the dark ridge floating above a wall of spray and foam.
That golden light breaking through the cloud behind it was almost unfairly cinematic, the kind of scene where you fire off a dozen frames and hope at least one captures what your eyes were actually seeing. The Dingle Peninsula has no shortage of dramatic viewpoints, but Clogher looking west towards the Blaskets in rough weather is hard to beat.
Cobh put on a cracker of a display tonight with fireworks over the harbour. We headed across to the Haulbowline Island Recreational Park to photograph the show and we weren’t disappointed.
However, the barge launching the fireworks drifted further along the water than anyone expected, which meant a scramble to reframe shots and swing tripods mid-display. I’d love to know how it looked from the Cobh side. Usually the barge loops back and forth in a fairly tight arc, but this time it had other ideas and kept wandering off down the harbour!
Dingle Marina sat there looking calm and civilised. Boats were tucked in, masts upright, everything in order while the sky overhead threatened rain and hid any chance of a sunset from my vantage point.
Luckily, it didn’t rain. The sky just got darker and darker as the sun slipped further around the Earth. The low cloud was not illuminated by the magnificent sun as it descended so I made do with what I had.
Nothing sorts the casual photographers from the committed ones quite like an early morning alarm on a Kerry beach in March. This lot from Blarney Photography Club were out on Cappagh Strand before first light, tripods planted in the wet sand, hoods up, waiting for whatever the sky decided to offer.
The long exposure in the first shot turned them into ghosts which felt fitting, given how they were all standing perfectly still and barely speaking, the universal code of photographers who haven’t had coffee yet. By the time the clouds broke and the pink started to creep in, they’d fanned out along the rocks, each one finding their own angle on the same stretch of coastline. It’s a funny thing, watching people who spend their time making images become the image themselves.
I can just imagine the conversation here, “Just one more photo and then we’re done!”
What I like about this moment is that it’s completely unselfconscious. They’re in their own world while the crowd flows around them. There’s a nice irony in being a street photographer photographing someone photographing someone else, a little Russian doll of lenses and intentions.
Low clouds lay over Dingle town on Friday evening but while it wasn’t the most exciting light, it had a lovely even light without deep shadows. It was a quiet evening with only a few people out walking their dogs and even a couple of tourists!
The sun had risen about 40 minutes before and we were about to leave Cappagh Beach on the Dingle Peninsula when I saw a tree silhouetted against the sun.
Sunday’s storm on the Dingle Peninsula was the kind that turns sensible people around at the car park, but photographers are rarely sensible. I was down at Clogher Strand when the rain properly opened up. My friend and I both grabbed umbrellas trying to keep the gear dry while still getting the shot. The blue umbrella was doing most of the heavy lifting, swallowing them whole against that wall of ancient slate. What struck me was the colour contrast: that vivid blue popping against the muted greys and ochres of the cliff face, with the smooth sand beneath acting like a stage. They never knew they’d wandered straight into my frame, which is probably for the best. Sometimes the best subjects are the ones who don’t know they’re performing.
Clogher Strand was used as a filming location for David Lean’s Ryan’s Daughter (1970). The production spent nearly a year on the Dingle Peninsula waiting for suitably dramatic weather. We had that on Sunday!
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