Bliain - Part 24

Part twenty-four of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 23 here.

9th November



The tail end of a luscious, and totally unexpected sunset at Coumeenole. Two other photographer friends and I were down on the beach while this was kicking off, oblivious to the passionate show of colour blooming in the western sky. It was only while coming out of the shadow of the cliffs on our way back to the cars that we copped what was happening, and I quickly scrambled to make something of the scene on my camera.

10th November



Early light on the east side of the Brandon Range, seen from the estuary behind Fermolye Strand. A decent swell out in Brandon Bay sent enough ripples around the point to prevent the perfect reflections I was hoping for on a windless morning, but no worries. It was a wonderful time to be up and out in a beautiful part of the world.

11th November



It was a wet, windy and dark kind of day today. One that could give you the winter blues. Photography motivation was low enough that this simple break in the sky felt sufficient to relieve me of the need to bother trying any harder. I like the basic symmetry in it; the image could be folded over on itself from top to bottom and diagonally left to right and the opposite sides would roughly match up. It’s also kind of calming, in a nondescript enough way to be a desktop background perhaps. All of these justifications are of course only efforts to stop myself from feeling too bad about such a boring image, but for day 325 it’s enough for me.

12th November



Another fairly uninspiring weather day. It’s little wonder alcoholism and depression are rife in the west of Ireland given the winters we have to live through. It’d be alright if it was clear and cold, but this damp and grey thing gets into your head after awhile... I carried the camera for a walk on the beach with a friend this evening and this is the best of what I found; rain-damp sand on a seashore boulder.

13th November



Couldn’t see beyond the end of the garden all day long. I didn’t get any further from the house than the bird feeders – heading out into the wet mist only to make a miserable photo in the rain somewhere just didn’t seem worthwhile, so today I’m using up an easy image idea planned for just such a day. These feathers are from an unfortunate bird that met its end in my back garden last year. While sat in the living room a friend drew my attention to a greenfinch on the feeders. Just as I turned and registered the stout little olive-green bird it suddenly smashed into the window and was quickly snatched away by a sparrowhawk. It was a shockingly quick and totally unexpected event. It’s the only time I’ve seen a sparrowhawk here, and while I feel bad for the finch, we all have to eat. Afterwards I went out to gather up these two bright little primary feathers, to add to a collection of nature things gathering dust on windowsills all over the house. Primary feathers are those on the leading edge of the wing and are crucial in a bird’s ability to fly. I attended a really interesting virtual lecture on bird feathers during last winter’s lockdown, and while I’ve forgotten most of what I learned already I’ll hazard a guess that these are from the right wing.

14th November



Another dreadfully gloomy winter day, at least in this part of Kerry. I headed out for a walk to shake off the deadening feeling of such claustrophobic weather and managed to find a dry time between rain to photograph this pleasingly patterned boulder. The map-like lichen responsible for this lovely decoration is Fuscidea cyathoides.

15th November



The mist and misery finally cleared today. A few different photography plans were interrupted by life admin and I ended up falling back on trying a drone image that’s worked out for me before. The scene wasn’t quite so pleasing this afternoon, what with the lack of texture in the sub-sea stream and those tobacco coloured stains leaking out of the bog after recent winter rain.

16th November



Three tree trunks from a walk in Killarney today. Left to right are silver birch, sycamore and ash. All three were about the same girth, but are clearly very different in appearance. I have no idea why. I was in bad humour while making these images – I didn’t want to be there and couldn’t seem to find anything worth pointing a camera at. But now that the three seemingly boring pictures are presented together like this I like the collection of textures and earthy colours. As I stubbornly trundle towards the end of this daft project it’s nice to know that even on days when it all feels contrived and utterly fucking pointless at least maybe the effort is still worth something.

17th November



Back to more conventional image making today, from a fairly well-trodden scene at Coumeenole. It’s strange how I can’t seem to isolate an image from its associations and just appreciate it for what it is. Well-worn scenes like this one, or Dunquin pier or Derryclare Lough are hard to look at on their own merit because at this stage it feels like we’ve seen it all before. It’s very difficult to do anything original with certain locations (though I do have a photograph from here that I like quite a bit – some popular locations offer more options than others.) That shouldn’t preclude an image of a popular composition being good in its own right but it’s certainly enough to usually strip away my own interest in recreating those kinds of photographs. And while that probably makes me sound like a snob I should add that I have no issue at all with other people photographing the regular scenes, it’s just something that doesn’t generally drive my own motivation. I’d probably enjoy my own photography a lot more if it did...

18th November



November’s mists and drizzles persisted for much of the day. While returning from a less than successful photo mission a break in the low cloud revealed the lightshow going on in the upper reaches of the sky. I pulled in to make another quick and easy sky photo, pleased that the journey wasn’t totally in vain.

19th November



The Great Blasket, and a few of its smaller outliers, on a mostly grey but pleasant winter’s day. If you’ve not visited the Great Blasket you should put it on your travel list, and you should read one of the island books beforehand. Peig, The Islander and Twenty Years a Growing are all classic works of Irish language literature at this stage, all translated into multiple other languages by now. The Loneliest Boy in the World was written more recently and is maybe a bit of an easier read, being closer to the more modern styles of writing. Written by the last child brought up on the island, Gearóid Cheaist Ó Catháin, it tells the story of his childhood on the island, and his circumstances becoming a well-known story around the world after a visit from a journalist in 1948. For some time after well-meaning people sent gifts from around the world, all to ease his loneliness, but as he says in the book, he didn’t know any different and had quite a happy childhood. I suppose we can’t miss what we’ve never known.

20th November



Dunmore Head on a cool and dark afternoon. Earlier today a friend texted to ask where we were going for sunset. He was predicting a good one. He predicted wrong... Not by much though. Had sunset been an hour later I’m sure we’d have been treated to a lovely show of colour. The overcast skies were well cleared of this scene by the time we were back at the cars, heralding a settled spell of weather. Nice light or not it was good to get out and catch up in the fresh air, and I’ve already been gifted so much from this place that I won’t feel cheated if I never get treated to a nice photo opportunity here again. The first time I came to this location with a camera I got very lucky with the conditions and made an image that soon afterwards ended up on the cover of a book that has since sold well enough to be a significant enough source of income that I almost feel ok with describing myself as a professional photographer. The pandemic has delayed the next two book projects by quite some time, but hopefully they’ll be out before too long. Perhaps one day I might even be able to earn enough through images and words on the natural world to sustain myself. Though that seems a little far fetched...

21st November



Today was a pet day, warm in the sun and bright for most of the daylight hours. I met a few friends for a bit of climbing at Dún Síon, and it was very welcome. Such days are few and far between at this time of the year, and they shorten the winter. Here’s Sinéad finding her feet while pulling through the crux of Thievery, dressed in colours that very much complement the rock.

22nd November



First light on the little stream at Ventry. It was a stunning morning; the air dry and cold, the light bright and clear and the sky empty of cloud. I missed a great S-bend in this stream earlier in the autumn, which was since washed away, but this loop is just as good. It’s like something out of a Junior Cert geography textbook.

Find Part 25 here