Bliain - Part 13
22nd June 2021
Part thirteen of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 12 here.
8th June
Summer meadow at Doneraile Park. I came to Cork yesterday to see some of my family for the first time since Christmas and today I took the scenic route home through the north of the county to do a little research for an upcoming book. It was a pleasure to travel through a countryside so rich in thick hedgerows and pockets of woodland. The hawthorn seems to be blossoming in great profusion this year, and North Cork has plenty of pink flowering specimens. Doneraile Park impressed me, with much of its 400 hectares left in a reasonably wild state. The woods and river look to be good habitat for a wide diversity of life, and this particular meadow was really lovely. It’s great to see large tracts of land left to flower like this, as well as many of our roadside verges and roundabouts. The Irish Pollinator Plan, now updated with more recommendations since its first iteration, has been adopted by plenty of local community groups and county councils and will benefit the bees and other insects that are so threatened in Ireland. We need many of these invertebrates to pollinate our crops and keep insect pests in control, but more than that, I think we need to leave them room to live out their lives because they have a right to do so. I baulk at the idea of defining the “ecosystem services” provided to humans by other species and natural processes in economic jargon. I have read that such an ideology is comparable to only valuing your mother by her ability to wash your clothes and cook your meals, and not by her intrinsic worth as a living being who you couldn’t have come into being without. Sadly, there are many who view mothers, and women in general, in this way, and no doubt those lousy bastards view anything other than human with even less regard. Putting a fiscal value on the services the natural world provides us might help preserve certain creatures and habitats under current economic models, but until we can learn to love and respect our fellow species (and fellow humans) for who they are and not what they can do for us, it’s hard to see the systemic change needed to create a better world.
9th June
The weather in West Kerry recently has been really disheartening. I was hardly back on the peninsula five minutes yesterday evening before the cloud base lowered, and by the time I was home my immediate surroundings were under a thick, drizzling grey mist, smothered in the suffocating fog that seems inevitable here when the wind goes southerly in summer time. Today was much the same, with the cloud base hovering somewhere between thirty and three hundred feet for most of the day. News reports about the fine summer weather and hottest recorded temperatures so far this year sound like dispatches from another country when you can’t see more than a half a mile for the mist and the wind rarely stops blowing. It’s no wonder I’ve been itching to get away from here. Photography motivation was lower than the mist today, though it was still nice to get out regardless of the gloom, to hear the skylark and the plovers, and feel and breath the breeze off the sea. Here’s a colour palette from the beach this evening, during a brief lifting of the clag – sand, stones, sand, sea, land and the cloud-clad sky.
10th June
The world outside was still reduced to a few hundred metres of misty, drizzling visibility this morning, and for much of the rest of the day. I’m beginning to wonder if I prefer the winter to the summer here. At least at that time of year bad weather feels fitting, not disappointing. Sense and logic remind me that complaining about the weather is a waste of energy. After all, you can’t change it, but you can change your attitude to it. I think we have a culture in Ireland that enjoys giving out about the weather though. I called over to a friend’s place to help him move some stuff into a shed and we had a good moan about how shit it’s been recently. I spied this old outhouse on my way over and knew right away I had my picture for the day. The damp, dank conditions might not be to my liking but the mosses, ferns and wild grasses thriving on the shaded side of this shed very much love this kind of weather. The southwest of Ireland is so wet and humid that the few remaining pockets of native wood we have are scientifically classed as a type of rainforest. I feel like the weather we’ve been getting recently would be a lot easier to enjoy in a green, mossy wood. All the more reason to bring trees back to this emptied landscape.
11th June
The sun finally broke through today, and the seas were calm enough to go to work again. I always make the point at the start of each boat tour that the animals people might hope to see on their trip are wild and can’t be called on command. If we see them great, but if we don’t then there’s generally not a whole lot we can do about it. And that’s the way it should be. Our presence on the water is often one of disturbance to wild animals, and it’s important to try and minimize that impact as much as possible. Common dolphins however are generally an exception to that idea. More often than not they actively approach passing boats, using them as a prop around which to interact with one another. Such social creatures depend on teamwork to function well as a group and all the playful behaviour exhibited so often around boats helps them figure out who’s good at what. When it comes down to the serious business of feeding, raising young or protecting one another from other dolphins each individual can assume their role in the pod based on what they’ve learned about each another during their teambuilding sessions. All this social behaviour is very enjoyable to watch. They seem to possess endless energy and a fluidity of movement that’s mesmerising. And while it’s impossible to know for sure it does seem that rather than being a bother to the common dolphins there’s a sense of mutual appreciation going on – they enjoy the boat and the people on the boat (which we can’t assume the dolphins have any concept of) enjoy the dolphins.
12th June
Today I went to work and then straight after work I went to Dún Síon to meet a friend for some rock climbing. I made no attempts to take the camera out during either of these events, but thankfully as I pulled away from the car park in the last of the daylight I noticed this shed. These scenes have a certain appeal to me, and I’m sure this image, as unspectacular as it is, is better than the potentially boring photo I would have made on the nearby beach as dusk fell on another misty evening. I half-joked with my friend how I’d hoped this year-long project would make me a better photographer, but I think the opposite might be the case. Recently at least I’ve been trying to get away with the bare minimum rather than delving into the creative process. But I don’t mind. It’s all part of the project, and anyway, sometimes taking sixty seconds from your day to snap a quick image of a rustic shed is more worthwhile than a few hours trying to force every trick and technique onto a scene that isn’t worth all the hassle.
13th June
While the heatwave enjoyed by much of the country didn’t make its way to West Kerry this weekend the humpback whales did. A tip-off from a fisherman led to some great sightings at work this afternoon, with four of these big blubbery animals seen among great flocks of mixed seabirds and hundreds of common dolphins. These big whales were part of the reason I wanted to come and live in Corca Dhuibhne, and having not seen any since last September it was a pleasant surprise to be in the company of a few of them today. I doubt they enjoyed the company of the boat in the same way but by keeping a distance it feels like we at least didn’t disturb them much. Many of the humpback whales seen in Ireland are repeat visitors, identifiable by the unique markings on the underside of their tails and along the tops of their backs. This animal is number 57 on the Irish catalogue of humpbacks, and I’m told it hadn’t been seen here since 2015. It’s amazing to think of where it’s got to in all that time in between...
14th June
Sea radish at Feothanach this evening. The ground behind the beach here is well stocked with wild and unruly patches of this bright coastal wildflower, along with plenty of clover and vetches. Compared to most of the beaches in the area this one seems rather lacking at first, but I like the lonely atmosphere here just as much as the postcard picture vibes found in the more popular places.
15th June
Back to mist and rain all day. I hear it was warm and sunny in Tralee, all of thirty miles away. This place really is a magnet for shite weather. Earlier in the week I brought up all the various images of ramshackle sheds I’ve made during the first half of this project and it struck me that it’s a theme worth pursuing. I’m sure the right person could even market a coffee table book titled “Old Sheds of West Kerry” and sell it in tacky tourist shops and Irish airports. Or maybe it’s just me. Anyway, the theme was an easy one to chase on a day like today when photos were easier made from the shelter of the car. I’d been saving this one for summer time, when the foxgloves and wild grasses add a lot to the scene. With its half door and lucky horseshoe I think it makes a particularly charming picture.
16th June
Today was one of the rarer types of summer day that’s too windy for boat tours but still pleasant enough to go out and enjoy the outdoors without getting soaked to the bone or blown into the next county. There was even a bit of sunshine now and then. I met a friend for a paddling trip on Killarney’s lakes - here’s Werner passing Eagle’s Nest on the stretch of river east of the Upper Lake. Being so used to having to plan for trips at sea it felt so simple to be paddling on lakes and slow moving rivers, free from the dangers and logistical hurdles of tides and swell and the corrosiveness of salt on gear. It was also brilliant to be paddling so close under mountains and alongside woods. We visited the abbey at Inisfallen and walked a lap of the lovely woodland there, marveling at some of the specimen trees. Later we explored the water-carved limestone caves on the north shore of Muckross Lake, which are really interesting and feel quite unexpected in an Irish landscape. I also had my first ever view of a pine marten, which was incredibly exciting. Werner was supposed to move to Canada last year but the pandemic disrupted all those plans. I’m selfishly glad he’s still here. We’ve had some great paddling trips and other adventures together, and the older I get the more I realise how much more important these partnerships are than the activities themselves.
17th June
Thirteen red deer on Inis Mhic Aoibhleáin, though only one of them is in any way obvious. The deer were introduced to this enchanted island in the 1980s in order to prevent interbreeding with fallow and sika deer. At the time it was believed that red deer were native to Ireland, having made their own way here after the last ice age. The other Irish deer species are much more recent introductions, and because they can all interbreed the genetic line of the red deer has been somewhat broken in many parts of Ireland. Having red deer from Killarney National Park (believed to be the oldest herd in the country) out on an island ensures the genetic heritage of the species. Or such was the idea anyway. It has since been discovered that early human settlers almost certainly brought red deer into Ireland with them, so they’re not exactly native, but how long does a species have to be in a place to be considered indigenous? Either way, it’s great to be able to see red deer while out on a boat trip, even if today it was only a distant glimpse as we steamed away from The Inis.
18th June
Soft evening light on Mount Brandon, reflected in the Feothanach river at the end of a mellow summer day. A little before this image was made I went to my first live gig since January 2020. Cormac Begley played in a field just a short distance from here, and I think I smiled non-stop for over 90 minutes straight. I adore music, and not being able to see live gigs has been one of the bigger disappointments of the pandemic for me. What an absolute treat to hear one of West Kerry’s most talented musicians play brilliant renditions of tunes in a landscape that feels so fitting for them. The sense of community found at gigs can be a powerful force for bringing people together, and after the last fifteen months it felt especially potent this evening.
19th June
A wild strawberry in a hedgerow near home. Despite the generally crap weather in West Kerry so far this summer the little clusters of strawberry plants on my local walk are fruiting well and looking good. Far better in fact than the sad specimens growing in buckets in my garden...
20th June
Back out at sea today and there was plenty of life to be seen. There are great numbers of common dolphins off the Dingle Peninsula these days, and no shortage of bigger blubber too. Still and all, I think I’m as happy to watch the shearwaters’ flight over the sea as much as anything. Below is a quote from one of my favourite books, The Seabird’s Cry, which I recommended a few months back. If you’re interested in the natural world and enjoy reading then these beautiful lines should be convincing enough to get yourself a copy. “Shearwaters and the other ocean navigators do not use a magnetic map: they smell their way around the ocean. But more than that they can smell how the sea works, where the fish are, the life of the sea. They can smell their way down the links and layers of the food web, into the presence or absence of the plankton on which they and all other sea life depend. They are not only barometers of the sea but its investigators and navigators. What may be featureless to us, a waste of undifferentiated ocean, is for them rich with distinction and variety, a fissured and wrinkled landscape, dense in patches, thin in others, a rolling olfactory prairie of the desired and the desirable, mottled and unreliable, speckled with life, streaky with pleasures and dangers, marbled and flecked, its riches often hidden and always mobile, but filled with places that are pregnant with life and possibility.”
21st June
Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It marks the widest span of the sun across the sky, from its rise in the northeast to its set in the northwest. On clear nights at this time of year there is no real darkness on the northern horizon for the sun is never very far below it. This is the halfway point of the ‘true’ year, that being a full revolution of the sun and not the arbitrarily defined human calendar year. And so it’s also the halfway point in my attempt to make a photo every day for a true year, and after a very breezy but bright day I decided to mark the occasion in similar style to how I started this project – a swim with a camera in hand. Truth be told I wasn’t all that excited about the prospect, but I hopped on the bike and rolled down to the sea all the same. The wind was still blowing strong and steady from the north and as I undressed and walked the cold sand to the low tide sea I dreaded the bite of the cold water. To my surprise it felt warmer than the air. It probably wasn’t too far off. Wind-driven waves were pushed relentlessly ashore and were more powerful than I expected, almost knocking me over at times and nearly taking the togs off me til I tied up the string at my waist. The usual tentative decision on when to dive under didn’t have to be made – I was well soaked by the rushing waves long before I had reached that point. The lethargy I felt during the day was quickly washed from my tired body and all of a sudden I felt very alive, energised by all the energy passing over, under and through me. I leapt over tumbling walls of whitewater, dived into the clean faces of unbroken surf, tried to catch rides on the breaking rollers, and turned circles to take in the whole of the sky around me (sunwise circles of course, a direction I always try to take unless it’s impractical to do so). When the camera told me my memory card was full (of crap photos no doubt) I went to leave it on the beach, and ran straight back into the sea til the sun dipped behind The Three Sisters. Back on the shore I shivered my way into my clothes and cycled home. A fox leapt out in front of me on the way, and for awhile we briefly shared the road til it darted into the opposite ditch. I was glad I went down to the beach.
Find Part 14 here
8th June
Summer meadow at Doneraile Park. I came to Cork yesterday to see some of my family for the first time since Christmas and today I took the scenic route home through the north of the county to do a little research for an upcoming book. It was a pleasure to travel through a countryside so rich in thick hedgerows and pockets of woodland. The hawthorn seems to be blossoming in great profusion this year, and North Cork has plenty of pink flowering specimens. Doneraile Park impressed me, with much of its 400 hectares left in a reasonably wild state. The woods and river look to be good habitat for a wide diversity of life, and this particular meadow was really lovely. It’s great to see large tracts of land left to flower like this, as well as many of our roadside verges and roundabouts. The Irish Pollinator Plan, now updated with more recommendations since its first iteration, has been adopted by plenty of local community groups and county councils and will benefit the bees and other insects that are so threatened in Ireland. We need many of these invertebrates to pollinate our crops and keep insect pests in control, but more than that, I think we need to leave them room to live out their lives because they have a right to do so. I baulk at the idea of defining the “ecosystem services” provided to humans by other species and natural processes in economic jargon. I have read that such an ideology is comparable to only valuing your mother by her ability to wash your clothes and cook your meals, and not by her intrinsic worth as a living being who you couldn’t have come into being without. Sadly, there are many who view mothers, and women in general, in this way, and no doubt those lousy bastards view anything other than human with even less regard. Putting a fiscal value on the services the natural world provides us might help preserve certain creatures and habitats under current economic models, but until we can learn to love and respect our fellow species (and fellow humans) for who they are and not what they can do for us, it’s hard to see the systemic change needed to create a better world.
9th June
The weather in West Kerry recently has been really disheartening. I was hardly back on the peninsula five minutes yesterday evening before the cloud base lowered, and by the time I was home my immediate surroundings were under a thick, drizzling grey mist, smothered in the suffocating fog that seems inevitable here when the wind goes southerly in summer time. Today was much the same, with the cloud base hovering somewhere between thirty and three hundred feet for most of the day. News reports about the fine summer weather and hottest recorded temperatures so far this year sound like dispatches from another country when you can’t see more than a half a mile for the mist and the wind rarely stops blowing. It’s no wonder I’ve been itching to get away from here. Photography motivation was lower than the mist today, though it was still nice to get out regardless of the gloom, to hear the skylark and the plovers, and feel and breath the breeze off the sea. Here’s a colour palette from the beach this evening, during a brief lifting of the clag – sand, stones, sand, sea, land and the cloud-clad sky.
10th June
The world outside was still reduced to a few hundred metres of misty, drizzling visibility this morning, and for much of the rest of the day. I’m beginning to wonder if I prefer the winter to the summer here. At least at that time of year bad weather feels fitting, not disappointing. Sense and logic remind me that complaining about the weather is a waste of energy. After all, you can’t change it, but you can change your attitude to it. I think we have a culture in Ireland that enjoys giving out about the weather though. I called over to a friend’s place to help him move some stuff into a shed and we had a good moan about how shit it’s been recently. I spied this old outhouse on my way over and knew right away I had my picture for the day. The damp, dank conditions might not be to my liking but the mosses, ferns and wild grasses thriving on the shaded side of this shed very much love this kind of weather. The southwest of Ireland is so wet and humid that the few remaining pockets of native wood we have are scientifically classed as a type of rainforest. I feel like the weather we’ve been getting recently would be a lot easier to enjoy in a green, mossy wood. All the more reason to bring trees back to this emptied landscape.
11th June
The sun finally broke through today, and the seas were calm enough to go to work again. I always make the point at the start of each boat tour that the animals people might hope to see on their trip are wild and can’t be called on command. If we see them great, but if we don’t then there’s generally not a whole lot we can do about it. And that’s the way it should be. Our presence on the water is often one of disturbance to wild animals, and it’s important to try and minimize that impact as much as possible. Common dolphins however are generally an exception to that idea. More often than not they actively approach passing boats, using them as a prop around which to interact with one another. Such social creatures depend on teamwork to function well as a group and all the playful behaviour exhibited so often around boats helps them figure out who’s good at what. When it comes down to the serious business of feeding, raising young or protecting one another from other dolphins each individual can assume their role in the pod based on what they’ve learned about each another during their teambuilding sessions. All this social behaviour is very enjoyable to watch. They seem to possess endless energy and a fluidity of movement that’s mesmerising. And while it’s impossible to know for sure it does seem that rather than being a bother to the common dolphins there’s a sense of mutual appreciation going on – they enjoy the boat and the people on the boat (which we can’t assume the dolphins have any concept of) enjoy the dolphins.
12th June
Today I went to work and then straight after work I went to Dún Síon to meet a friend for some rock climbing. I made no attempts to take the camera out during either of these events, but thankfully as I pulled away from the car park in the last of the daylight I noticed this shed. These scenes have a certain appeal to me, and I’m sure this image, as unspectacular as it is, is better than the potentially boring photo I would have made on the nearby beach as dusk fell on another misty evening. I half-joked with my friend how I’d hoped this year-long project would make me a better photographer, but I think the opposite might be the case. Recently at least I’ve been trying to get away with the bare minimum rather than delving into the creative process. But I don’t mind. It’s all part of the project, and anyway, sometimes taking sixty seconds from your day to snap a quick image of a rustic shed is more worthwhile than a few hours trying to force every trick and technique onto a scene that isn’t worth all the hassle.
13th June
While the heatwave enjoyed by much of the country didn’t make its way to West Kerry this weekend the humpback whales did. A tip-off from a fisherman led to some great sightings at work this afternoon, with four of these big blubbery animals seen among great flocks of mixed seabirds and hundreds of common dolphins. These big whales were part of the reason I wanted to come and live in Corca Dhuibhne, and having not seen any since last September it was a pleasant surprise to be in the company of a few of them today. I doubt they enjoyed the company of the boat in the same way but by keeping a distance it feels like we at least didn’t disturb them much. Many of the humpback whales seen in Ireland are repeat visitors, identifiable by the unique markings on the underside of their tails and along the tops of their backs. This animal is number 57 on the Irish catalogue of humpbacks, and I’m told it hadn’t been seen here since 2015. It’s amazing to think of where it’s got to in all that time in between...
14th June
Sea radish at Feothanach this evening. The ground behind the beach here is well stocked with wild and unruly patches of this bright coastal wildflower, along with plenty of clover and vetches. Compared to most of the beaches in the area this one seems rather lacking at first, but I like the lonely atmosphere here just as much as the postcard picture vibes found in the more popular places.
15th June
Back to mist and rain all day. I hear it was warm and sunny in Tralee, all of thirty miles away. This place really is a magnet for shite weather. Earlier in the week I brought up all the various images of ramshackle sheds I’ve made during the first half of this project and it struck me that it’s a theme worth pursuing. I’m sure the right person could even market a coffee table book titled “Old Sheds of West Kerry” and sell it in tacky tourist shops and Irish airports. Or maybe it’s just me. Anyway, the theme was an easy one to chase on a day like today when photos were easier made from the shelter of the car. I’d been saving this one for summer time, when the foxgloves and wild grasses add a lot to the scene. With its half door and lucky horseshoe I think it makes a particularly charming picture.
16th June
Today was one of the rarer types of summer day that’s too windy for boat tours but still pleasant enough to go out and enjoy the outdoors without getting soaked to the bone or blown into the next county. There was even a bit of sunshine now and then. I met a friend for a paddling trip on Killarney’s lakes - here’s Werner passing Eagle’s Nest on the stretch of river east of the Upper Lake. Being so used to having to plan for trips at sea it felt so simple to be paddling on lakes and slow moving rivers, free from the dangers and logistical hurdles of tides and swell and the corrosiveness of salt on gear. It was also brilliant to be paddling so close under mountains and alongside woods. We visited the abbey at Inisfallen and walked a lap of the lovely woodland there, marveling at some of the specimen trees. Later we explored the water-carved limestone caves on the north shore of Muckross Lake, which are really interesting and feel quite unexpected in an Irish landscape. I also had my first ever view of a pine marten, which was incredibly exciting. Werner was supposed to move to Canada last year but the pandemic disrupted all those plans. I’m selfishly glad he’s still here. We’ve had some great paddling trips and other adventures together, and the older I get the more I realise how much more important these partnerships are than the activities themselves.
17th June
Thirteen red deer on Inis Mhic Aoibhleáin, though only one of them is in any way obvious. The deer were introduced to this enchanted island in the 1980s in order to prevent interbreeding with fallow and sika deer. At the time it was believed that red deer were native to Ireland, having made their own way here after the last ice age. The other Irish deer species are much more recent introductions, and because they can all interbreed the genetic line of the red deer has been somewhat broken in many parts of Ireland. Having red deer from Killarney National Park (believed to be the oldest herd in the country) out on an island ensures the genetic heritage of the species. Or such was the idea anyway. It has since been discovered that early human settlers almost certainly brought red deer into Ireland with them, so they’re not exactly native, but how long does a species have to be in a place to be considered indigenous? Either way, it’s great to be able to see red deer while out on a boat trip, even if today it was only a distant glimpse as we steamed away from The Inis.
18th June
Soft evening light on Mount Brandon, reflected in the Feothanach river at the end of a mellow summer day. A little before this image was made I went to my first live gig since January 2020. Cormac Begley played in a field just a short distance from here, and I think I smiled non-stop for over 90 minutes straight. I adore music, and not being able to see live gigs has been one of the bigger disappointments of the pandemic for me. What an absolute treat to hear one of West Kerry’s most talented musicians play brilliant renditions of tunes in a landscape that feels so fitting for them. The sense of community found at gigs can be a powerful force for bringing people together, and after the last fifteen months it felt especially potent this evening.
19th June
A wild strawberry in a hedgerow near home. Despite the generally crap weather in West Kerry so far this summer the little clusters of strawberry plants on my local walk are fruiting well and looking good. Far better in fact than the sad specimens growing in buckets in my garden...
20th June
Back out at sea today and there was plenty of life to be seen. There are great numbers of common dolphins off the Dingle Peninsula these days, and no shortage of bigger blubber too. Still and all, I think I’m as happy to watch the shearwaters’ flight over the sea as much as anything. Below is a quote from one of my favourite books, The Seabird’s Cry, which I recommended a few months back. If you’re interested in the natural world and enjoy reading then these beautiful lines should be convincing enough to get yourself a copy. “Shearwaters and the other ocean navigators do not use a magnetic map: they smell their way around the ocean. But more than that they can smell how the sea works, where the fish are, the life of the sea. They can smell their way down the links and layers of the food web, into the presence or absence of the plankton on which they and all other sea life depend. They are not only barometers of the sea but its investigators and navigators. What may be featureless to us, a waste of undifferentiated ocean, is for them rich with distinction and variety, a fissured and wrinkled landscape, dense in patches, thin in others, a rolling olfactory prairie of the desired and the desirable, mottled and unreliable, speckled with life, streaky with pleasures and dangers, marbled and flecked, its riches often hidden and always mobile, but filled with places that are pregnant with life and possibility.”
21st June
Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. It marks the widest span of the sun across the sky, from its rise in the northeast to its set in the northwest. On clear nights at this time of year there is no real darkness on the northern horizon for the sun is never very far below it. This is the halfway point of the ‘true’ year, that being a full revolution of the sun and not the arbitrarily defined human calendar year. And so it’s also the halfway point in my attempt to make a photo every day for a true year, and after a very breezy but bright day I decided to mark the occasion in similar style to how I started this project – a swim with a camera in hand. Truth be told I wasn’t all that excited about the prospect, but I hopped on the bike and rolled down to the sea all the same. The wind was still blowing strong and steady from the north and as I undressed and walked the cold sand to the low tide sea I dreaded the bite of the cold water. To my surprise it felt warmer than the air. It probably wasn’t too far off. Wind-driven waves were pushed relentlessly ashore and were more powerful than I expected, almost knocking me over at times and nearly taking the togs off me til I tied up the string at my waist. The usual tentative decision on when to dive under didn’t have to be made – I was well soaked by the rushing waves long before I had reached that point. The lethargy I felt during the day was quickly washed from my tired body and all of a sudden I felt very alive, energised by all the energy passing over, under and through me. I leapt over tumbling walls of whitewater, dived into the clean faces of unbroken surf, tried to catch rides on the breaking rollers, and turned circles to take in the whole of the sky around me (sunwise circles of course, a direction I always try to take unless it’s impractical to do so). When the camera told me my memory card was full (of crap photos no doubt) I went to leave it on the beach, and ran straight back into the sea til the sun dipped behind The Three Sisters. Back on the shore I shivered my way into my clothes and cycled home. A fox leapt out in front of me on the way, and for awhile we briefly shared the road til it darted into the opposite ditch. I was glad I went down to the beach.
Find Part 14 here
Comments
By Mary: Richard, love loads of these photos but maybe especially the wild strawberry as they also grow near where I live. By Heather: Richard, love the photos and words.