Bliain - Part 11

Part eleven of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 10 here.

11th May



A few days ago I wrote about how I might make a series of sky scenes and cloud landscapes, but I didn’t expect the next one to happen so soon. With lockdowns easing and the summer work season fast approaching it’s been a busy few days getting the boats back on the water. I was glad of the interesting skies this evening to allow me a quick and simple photo before dark settled. Up to now I’ve had more than enough time most days to go out and make a photo, upload and process the file(s), and write a few words about whatever image makes the cut. With the tourist season looming I can imagine it’s going to be more of a struggle to keep this project going. As my job is entirely dependent on sea conditions I could be at work three days in a week or for three weeks on the trot, and it’s hard to be motivated to do much in the mornings or evenings in the case of the latter. Thankfully my work environment is scenic, and though I’m usually only there in the middle part of summer days (when the light is often harsh or flat and generally less than most photographers’ version of ideal), it still presents plenty of photo opportunities. Part of what I like about this project too is allowing for more of a variety of photos. It’s very easy, with landscape photography in particular, to get into a routine of only shooting in the golden hour, and assuming there’s no worth in getting the camera out at other times of the day. That’s definitely not a sustainable practice for a daily photograph project, and even if you’re only working with a camera infrequently it’s very restrictive for any photographer to stick to doing the same thing all the time. Through being ‘forced’ to go out every day I’m learning what options are available for trying to make interesting images outside of the obvious and easy landscape conditions. And more importantly, it’s helping me to try and see the world with fresh eyes each and every day, even if some days it just feels like a chore.

12th May



A cushion of sea pinks on the cliffs at Baile na nGall on a sunny summer’s evening. Another week or two will see the peak of this beautiful flower’s blooming. Standing downwind of a dense cluster of them is an olfactory highlight in the year. Robert MacFarlane wrote a lovely poem about sea pinks, which is in The Lost Spells, a wonderful book he produced with Jackie Morris. I already recommended their other book, The Lost Words, earlier on in the year, and both should be essentials on any nature lovers’ bookshelf.

13th May



Back to the seacliffs for sundown this evening. It looked as though the cloud would block any light before sunset but a thin sliver of clear sky let some lovely red spectrum rays through before the show was over. A nice small swell and a few tufts of sea thrift completed the scene.

14th May



A beautiful morning, with clear skies, a loud dawn chorus and the wash of waves on sand coming up from the bay two kilometers distant. I spent awhile hunched over the sides of the road near to home, looking for some flower to photograph in the rough verges. After awhile I noticed this lovely emerging grass just as the sun came out from behind the hill. I think it’s Yorkshire fog, though I could be wrong. Regardless of what it’s called it was a nice surprise find.

15th May



Yesterday’s pleasant morning gave way to an overcast afternoon and a wet and windy evening. Today I visited a small sea cave close to home, hoping the rain of last night had seeped through to wet the colorful walls, all adorned with mineral staining and encrusting algae. Thankfully it had. Stone almost always looks best when wet, when the colours come alive under the glossy sheen. The dark reds on show here are particularly vital looking, as though the cliff is bleeding a rich, living blood.

16th May



Hawthorn, maybush, whitethorn... It has plenty of names, but those last two are particularly fitting around now, when the creamy blossoms of this hardy tree weigh down its branches in brilliant shows of white on green. I’ve read in so many guidebooks how the flowers are said to smell like rotting meat to attract pollinating flies, but it’s never smelled anything other than incredibly pleasant to me. The scent of a thickly blooming hawthorn on the warm air of a sunny day in May is a lovely thing.

17th May



Ragged robin, a well-named and very beautiful flower of waste ground and wild meadows. The midges were out while I made this image (as they were yesterday morning too.) As sure a sign of the early summer as this conspicuous wildflower is.

18th May



Bluebell in the woods. These iconic flowers of early summer are already showing signs of decline, and I suppose the terrible forecast later in the week will wipe most of them out for the season. It was nice to see some in the woods before that happens, for though I can find them close to home the trees that once towered above them have long since gone up in smoke or rotted in the ground. To find them I had to head to the Iveragh Peninsula, where I spent the past few days visiting a pair of friends (both of who have been vaccinated). It was wonderful stuff, being able to enjoy good company with little fear of spreading disease. We walked beaches, hills and woodlands, swam in the sea each day, played board games and cards by night, laughed out loud, ate good food, listened to good music, had charming canine company, and all of this in beautiful surroundings and glorious weather. I’m a bit of a hermit by nature and I think that makes me sometimes forget how valuable and important these kinds of days really are. For the first time I can remember since living in West Kerry I was very reluctant to go home. I took the scenic road to delay the process, crossing over spectacular mountain passes, motoring along narrow rural roads bordered by blosson-heavy hawthorns and passing through leafy green tunnels created by early summer trees reaching to greet each other across the tarmac.

19th May



Side eye from a bull grey seal. This look sums up the relationship seals have with boats pretty well I think - watchful but wary. On the one hand boats can often provide a source of free food for seals, in the form of nets and lines delivering great amounts of easy prey to opportunistic individuals. On the other hand, seals know well that boats can be a source of danger, or at least the men inside them with guns can be. Seals were hunted for food in the past, at least by the Blasket islanders, who likened it to pork. These days they’re hunted to a lesser extent (and illegally) by fishermen, almost all of who universally despise them for ruining much of their catch before it’s hauled aboard. Calls for a cull have been met with deaf ears for years, and this isn’t likely to change while the grey seal remains a protected species. Equally as unlikely is a return to hunting seals for their meat and fur, which could theoretically be a way to appease the bloodlust of fishermen wanting eradication of the species. It would seem a less wanton kind of destruction if a cull was ever to be granted, but I can’t imagine many takers for the meat, oil or skins. I find it funny how outraged many humans would be at the idea of eating animals deemed cute in the modern age while similar animals such as pigs and cattle are raised in barbaric conditions and eaten by many of those same people. Regardless, there has been an EU ban on seal products since 2010. I’d like to see an EU ban on destructive fishing policies, which would be a lot more beneficial to both ecosystems and fishing communities. There’s no doubt seals are making things difficult for small scale fishers in particular, but blaming them doesn’t really get to the heart of the issue – the fact that almost every fish stock ever fished has been brought to, or very close to collapse. Like with so many human-induced issues, the discussions around the problems and their solutions fail to address the elephant in the room; we can’t keep taking from a finite natural system and expect the perpetual growth modern capitalism is based on.

20th May



The calm seas that afforded yesterday’s image feel like a distant memory today, a day that could be from January. Some fairly violent wind came along during the night, along with buckets of rain, stirring up the sea and filling the streams, and lasting all through the daylight hours. The hawthorn I photographed four days ago has had most of its blossom blown away, and the blissful summer conditions of late seem like something from a different year, never mind the same week. The huge swell was impressive to watch this evening, with wave after huge wave tripping itself up in its wind-driven rush to the shore. But it’s a little unsettling to see seas like this in early summer. “Unseasonal” weather is becoming more regular and normal as the reliability of the seasons as we know them breaks down with increased greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. As somebody who has always felt tuned in to the turning of the year (isn’t that what this whole project is about?) the idea that the seasons might break down at a rate quick enough to observe over my diminutive human lifetime is very perturbing.

21st May



Two male finches, a greenfinch and a chaffinch, waiting for a turn at the bird feeders. The birds are hungry these days. There are plenty of mouths to feed in nests hidden away in the hedges, and it’s a job that lasts the full length of the daylight hours. It’s no wonder these small birds don’t live very long lives. The intensity of the breeding season must be tough going on their little bodies, on top of the usual work of feeding themselves and avoiding predators.

22nd May



First day back at work for another season of boat tours around the Blaskets. It was quietish out in Dingle Bay from a wildlife point of view (or maybe I’m just spoiled, knowing how good it can be), but there were some small groups of common dolphins knocking about. This is a mother and calf pair. The youngster is on the left. If you look closely you can just about make out some pale vertical stripes on its flank. These are latter stage neonatal folds, what’s left of huge wrinkles obtained from being folded up in a ball inside its mother’s womb during gestation. They fade away after about a year, so this animal was probably born last spring or early summer. Young dolphins are very dependent on their mothers and family groups (which are mostly made up of females), for feeding (first milk and later fish), learning how to hunt and how to exist in a pod (dolphins are very social), and for protection against males. This mother has plenty of rake marks on her side, made by the teeth of other dolphins, and while some of this might be boisterous play, some of it could be intentional aggression too. Decades of upbeat but unscientific media has given dolphins a special place in most peoples’ affections, but, like most wild animals, aggression is a real and regular part of their lives. In fact, dolphins are one of the few groups of animals known to kill for reasons other than food and self protection. Not that I’m trying to paint them in a bad light. All creatures have a place in the world and it’s absurd to perceive them through human values and morals and judge their worthiness against our own benchmarks. If anyone was to take this approach and look at the damage humans have done to the planet as a whole we are way ahead of any other species when it comes to unsavoury behaviour.

23rd May



Flag iris in evening light. These tall, showy flowers are found in damp ground and along waterways. They are well known and well loved and it’s easy to see why, not least for being a sign of early summer. It was a strange weather day today, alternating between blustery and calm, warm in the sun and cold under cloud, and dry when it wasn’t ferociously wet in thick, heavy showers. May has been a strange weather month. I heard from a friend near Killarney that the Reeks had a dusting of white on them this morning. Probably more hail than snow, but still odd for this time of year, even on the highest mountains in the country.

24th May



I noticed this donkey in a field of buttercups while out cycling a few evenings ago, and made a mental note to come and photograph him before he might be moved on to a less photogenic location. In my daydreams of living in a small cottage near the sea I have a donkey who helps me carry cartloads of seaweed and driftwood up from the strand, to fertilise the land in spring and keep the stove going in winter. I’m not sure what anybody does with donkeys these days but it’s rare to see any doing work. Hopefully this lad is enjoying a happy retirement.

Find Part 12 here