Bliain - Part 17
16th August 2021
Part seventeen of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 16 here.
3rd August
This morning at work we were treated to unexpectedly clement weather and brilliant views of a young humpback whale lunge-feeding on sprat in Dingle Bay. At times it was hardly twenty metres from the drifting boat, seemingly unperturbed by us. If it could have known the wonder and awe it was giving to the small gathering of humans who watched it I wonder what it would have thought. Certainly I’d be perplexed if I knew a group of other animals was enthralled by the sight of me cooking dinner. Then again that’s not a fair comparison. The whale was hunting for its food, which requires a hell of a lot more skill than me preparing a meal in a kitchen. Great to see that there is food around for the big whales, who have been making regular appearances for the last week or so. Long may it last.
4th August
Peering into the dark, cold, saltgrease damp of a small sea cave. I wonder if this coffin-like slot had a name at some stage. Most features of the landscape were given names back in the days when people were more in touch with the world around them. Humans probably frequented places like this, which seem out-of-the-way and almost untouched nowadays, a lot more regularly in the days of subsistence living. Surviving on what the land and sea can directly provide requires a much more intimate relationship with your surroundings than most of us have in this day and age. Caves like this were probably checked for chance items washed in on the tide, such as driftwood or lost cargo, or maybe sheltered in during a shower while gathering seaweed or shellfish on the shore. Given enough time stories would accumulate around these places, perhaps about the time some fishermen hid a catch in here from a passing bailiff or the morning a crate full of tea or a barrel of brandy was found like a gift from the sea (the only treasure I found in here was a length of rubbing strake and a few mangled pieces of homemade lobster cages.) Naturally, a location would have to be given to put the tale into context, and a name would arise, passed down orally from then til such times as now, when these seemingly unimportant things are forgotten. Or perhaps they’re not, and somebody out there still holds the names in their mind, barely remembered now there’s no need to visit. We all still live off what the land and sea provides, but there are so many degrees of separation between that reality and our interalised, virtualised lives that most of us have as little clue as to the provenance of the things that sustain us as to the names of the places they come from.
5th August
For as long as I can remember August has never been a month for fine weather, and the forecast for the next few days certainly fits in with that theme. Today was windy and fairly wet, and there’s a lot more of that to come. A day for catching up on admin at home. After heading out for a bit of shopping in town this evening I took the scenic route home and spied this overgrown bothán in a state of charming decline. I’ve not added any images to my rustic old shed collection for awhile now. This one will do for that imaginary coffee table book project...
6th August
The unsettled weather continued today, its temper peaking with some persistent heavy rainfall in the hours before dark. I took a spin over the hills to see these cascades pouring from the mountains near Cloghane. Though quite tall (the one on the left is over 200m high) they are usually barely visible. It was quite impressive to see such an amount of falling water where there is typically just a trickle, and all from the comfort of the car. Not only was I able to stay dry, I could also enjoy the scene with a suitably doomy soundtrack. I have been struggling with poor mental health this year and this kind of weather (and the kind of music that goes with it) feels empathetic. As much as I enjoyed some of the fine summer weather a few weeks ago there’s a part of me that prefers this kind of thing these days. It has been a disappointment to me to feel so out of tune with the seasons on the very year I decided to undertake a project about the passing of a year, but so it goes.
7th August
More wet and windy weather today, though more of the latter than the former in fairness. Summer’s grip on the land felt weakened on this windswept, heathery clifftop this evening. Autumn is well and truly establishing itself at this stage.
8th August
Amazing clouds all day today, constantly morphing and mutating, and occasionally lit by stray beams of the oft-hidden sun. Things brightened up a bit by evening time, and these billowing masses of latent rain drew my eye through the kitchen window. Sometimes I think images like this are little more than lazy attempts to tick the box for this project, but then I catch myself and ask what’s wrong with the simple pleasure of cloudspotting? Better this, a quick snap of a scene which genuinely made my head turn, than a forced effort somewhere using the tripod and filters and all the extra effort just to justify having done some “real” landscape photography.
9th August
A nice late summer’s evening at a favourite hangout. The skylarks have stopped calling and the wild grasses are going to seed. Even the evenings are noticeably shorter now, drawing in a little earlier each day.
10th August
Mount Brandon this morning as the rising sun did its best to burn away the cloud cap on the summit. If you’re looking on a decent size screen you should be able to spot the cross that marks the highpoint of this holy mountain. As the tallest hill in the area it has been a site of significance here for thousands of years. Early pagans, Christian devotees, fitness freaks and nature lovers have all been making the pilgrimage to this mountaintop throughout the millennia. While all these reasons for climbing may seem quite different I think most are rooted in the same thing – a fascination with the humbling experience of being immersed in something bigger than oneself.
11th August
Close up view of the soon-to-emerge flowers of some upright hedge parsley. Wikipedia tells me that the flowers of this humble little wayside wildflower contain torilin, a substance known to disrupt the growth of tumors. Despite the apparent gulf between the natural world and the clinical environs of hospitals and research labs it’s worth remembering that almost all of our medicines come from plants, fungi and other natural substances. Though many of the most effective treatments couldn’t be possible without the wonders of modern human intervention, if we had no raw materials to work with in the first place we wouldn’t get very far at all. Of course medicines aren’t the only thing we get from the planet’s biosphere - absolutely everything we need to survive comes from the wild world around us, yet still we trash the place, living recklessly close to imminent annihilation. The recent IPCC report has weighed heavy on my mind this week...
12th August
Crookhaven lighthouse at blue hour. This navigational aid has been lighting the entrance to the nearby harbour for about 177 years. I was glad to see it still flashes. Many of the smaller lighthouses in Ireland are turned off now, considered redundant since satellite technology became a standard feature on boats. Though they might be unnecessary in this day and age there is still something comforting about their slow blink of light in the dark of night. A friend’s parents own one of the old cottages built to house the lightkeeper’s families. Luckily for me, the sea conditions in West Kerry were too poor to bring tourists out today, and they’ll remain unsettled for a few days. I’ve swapped West Kerry for West Cork to meet some old friends I’ve not seen in far too long, and what a spot to catch up.
13th August
In keeping with yesterday’s theme today’s image is of Fastnet Rock and lighthouse in the hour before a dark dawn. This lonely rock (the literal translation of its Irish name, An Carraig Aonar) is the most southerly point of land in Irish territory. The construction of the current lighthouse is still one of the most remarkable feats of engineering ever undertaken in Ireland. Its 54m tower is made up of 2,074 interlocking blocks of Cornish granite, all between one and three tons in weight. It took five years to build, being completed in 1904. It’s hard to fathom how such a structure could be built on level ground on the mainland in those days, never mind on a small, remote North Atlantic rock that’s almost always surrounded by swell. I’ve heard that the lightkeepers reckoned it sways slightly in wild weather, same as a tall tree in high winds. I would so very much love to be out there for a winter storm. In these days of health and safety and fear of litigation I reckon I’ve probably got a better chance of winning the lotto.
14th August
Took the scenic route home from Mizen this evening, through deepest dampest West Cork. I passed this small waterfall on my way up a high mountain pass and couldn’t resist stopping to photograph the simple scene. If the mountain ash has berries out the summer must surely be drawing to a close. The transition to autumn has been well underway during the past fortnight.
15th August
Surfer tucking into a shapely wave at Coumeenole. After a fairly bouncy morning at sea a forecasted increase in the wind meant I had the afternoon off. There was a nice little swell rolling in from the southwest, and a northeast wind to give shape to the waves breaking on the beach. I’m rubbish at it myself but I certainly enjoy watching skilled surfers on well-formed waves. Surfing shares a similarity with rock climbing for me in that sometimes it feels like a beautiful wave or a soaring line up a mountain or cliff almost seems to have been made solely for the satisfaction of a surfer or climber. Which is nonsense of course, but the existence of these perfect arenas in the natural world is part of what sets such endeavors apart from field and track sports for me. For most practitioners these kinds of ‘adventure sports’ are as much if not more about interacting with the natural world as they are about the athleticism of the activity itself. Yes you can go surf in a wave pool or climb plastic holds at an indoor wall but, for me at least, that misses so much of the point. That said, I’d be pretty delighted to live near a wave pool and climbing gym. But I think I’ll always choose to be nearer to the sea or the mountains themselves.
16th August
Top down views of two flowering “weeds” in my garden. Above is a nettle, with its alternating leaves and limbs full of flowers creating a pleasing spiral pattern. Below is ragwort, its close clustered flowerheads looking like the cogs in the workings of some fantastical machine. Nettles aren’t most peoples’ idea of a beautiful plant but I’m quite happy to have them in the garden. Their young leaves make a delicious soup in the spring, and the plants themselves are important habitat and food for invertebrates. Ragwort is even less popular, to the point of being listed under the Noxious Weeds Act 1936. It is poisonous to both cattle and horses. On the plus side it’s considered a great source of nectar for pollinators, and is important for the caterpillars of the cinnabar moth. I’m quite happy to leave it be for now.
Find Part 18 here
3rd August
This morning at work we were treated to unexpectedly clement weather and brilliant views of a young humpback whale lunge-feeding on sprat in Dingle Bay. At times it was hardly twenty metres from the drifting boat, seemingly unperturbed by us. If it could have known the wonder and awe it was giving to the small gathering of humans who watched it I wonder what it would have thought. Certainly I’d be perplexed if I knew a group of other animals was enthralled by the sight of me cooking dinner. Then again that’s not a fair comparison. The whale was hunting for its food, which requires a hell of a lot more skill than me preparing a meal in a kitchen. Great to see that there is food around for the big whales, who have been making regular appearances for the last week or so. Long may it last.
4th August
Peering into the dark, cold, saltgrease damp of a small sea cave. I wonder if this coffin-like slot had a name at some stage. Most features of the landscape were given names back in the days when people were more in touch with the world around them. Humans probably frequented places like this, which seem out-of-the-way and almost untouched nowadays, a lot more regularly in the days of subsistence living. Surviving on what the land and sea can directly provide requires a much more intimate relationship with your surroundings than most of us have in this day and age. Caves like this were probably checked for chance items washed in on the tide, such as driftwood or lost cargo, or maybe sheltered in during a shower while gathering seaweed or shellfish on the shore. Given enough time stories would accumulate around these places, perhaps about the time some fishermen hid a catch in here from a passing bailiff or the morning a crate full of tea or a barrel of brandy was found like a gift from the sea (the only treasure I found in here was a length of rubbing strake and a few mangled pieces of homemade lobster cages.) Naturally, a location would have to be given to put the tale into context, and a name would arise, passed down orally from then til such times as now, when these seemingly unimportant things are forgotten. Or perhaps they’re not, and somebody out there still holds the names in their mind, barely remembered now there’s no need to visit. We all still live off what the land and sea provides, but there are so many degrees of separation between that reality and our interalised, virtualised lives that most of us have as little clue as to the provenance of the things that sustain us as to the names of the places they come from.
5th August
For as long as I can remember August has never been a month for fine weather, and the forecast for the next few days certainly fits in with that theme. Today was windy and fairly wet, and there’s a lot more of that to come. A day for catching up on admin at home. After heading out for a bit of shopping in town this evening I took the scenic route home and spied this overgrown bothán in a state of charming decline. I’ve not added any images to my rustic old shed collection for awhile now. This one will do for that imaginary coffee table book project...
6th August
The unsettled weather continued today, its temper peaking with some persistent heavy rainfall in the hours before dark. I took a spin over the hills to see these cascades pouring from the mountains near Cloghane. Though quite tall (the one on the left is over 200m high) they are usually barely visible. It was quite impressive to see such an amount of falling water where there is typically just a trickle, and all from the comfort of the car. Not only was I able to stay dry, I could also enjoy the scene with a suitably doomy soundtrack. I have been struggling with poor mental health this year and this kind of weather (and the kind of music that goes with it) feels empathetic. As much as I enjoyed some of the fine summer weather a few weeks ago there’s a part of me that prefers this kind of thing these days. It has been a disappointment to me to feel so out of tune with the seasons on the very year I decided to undertake a project about the passing of a year, but so it goes.
7th August
More wet and windy weather today, though more of the latter than the former in fairness. Summer’s grip on the land felt weakened on this windswept, heathery clifftop this evening. Autumn is well and truly establishing itself at this stage.
8th August
Amazing clouds all day today, constantly morphing and mutating, and occasionally lit by stray beams of the oft-hidden sun. Things brightened up a bit by evening time, and these billowing masses of latent rain drew my eye through the kitchen window. Sometimes I think images like this are little more than lazy attempts to tick the box for this project, but then I catch myself and ask what’s wrong with the simple pleasure of cloudspotting? Better this, a quick snap of a scene which genuinely made my head turn, than a forced effort somewhere using the tripod and filters and all the extra effort just to justify having done some “real” landscape photography.
9th August
A nice late summer’s evening at a favourite hangout. The skylarks have stopped calling and the wild grasses are going to seed. Even the evenings are noticeably shorter now, drawing in a little earlier each day.
10th August
Mount Brandon this morning as the rising sun did its best to burn away the cloud cap on the summit. If you’re looking on a decent size screen you should be able to spot the cross that marks the highpoint of this holy mountain. As the tallest hill in the area it has been a site of significance here for thousands of years. Early pagans, Christian devotees, fitness freaks and nature lovers have all been making the pilgrimage to this mountaintop throughout the millennia. While all these reasons for climbing may seem quite different I think most are rooted in the same thing – a fascination with the humbling experience of being immersed in something bigger than oneself.
11th August
Close up view of the soon-to-emerge flowers of some upright hedge parsley. Wikipedia tells me that the flowers of this humble little wayside wildflower contain torilin, a substance known to disrupt the growth of tumors. Despite the apparent gulf between the natural world and the clinical environs of hospitals and research labs it’s worth remembering that almost all of our medicines come from plants, fungi and other natural substances. Though many of the most effective treatments couldn’t be possible without the wonders of modern human intervention, if we had no raw materials to work with in the first place we wouldn’t get very far at all. Of course medicines aren’t the only thing we get from the planet’s biosphere - absolutely everything we need to survive comes from the wild world around us, yet still we trash the place, living recklessly close to imminent annihilation. The recent IPCC report has weighed heavy on my mind this week...
12th August
Crookhaven lighthouse at blue hour. This navigational aid has been lighting the entrance to the nearby harbour for about 177 years. I was glad to see it still flashes. Many of the smaller lighthouses in Ireland are turned off now, considered redundant since satellite technology became a standard feature on boats. Though they might be unnecessary in this day and age there is still something comforting about their slow blink of light in the dark of night. A friend’s parents own one of the old cottages built to house the lightkeeper’s families. Luckily for me, the sea conditions in West Kerry were too poor to bring tourists out today, and they’ll remain unsettled for a few days. I’ve swapped West Kerry for West Cork to meet some old friends I’ve not seen in far too long, and what a spot to catch up.
13th August
In keeping with yesterday’s theme today’s image is of Fastnet Rock and lighthouse in the hour before a dark dawn. This lonely rock (the literal translation of its Irish name, An Carraig Aonar) is the most southerly point of land in Irish territory. The construction of the current lighthouse is still one of the most remarkable feats of engineering ever undertaken in Ireland. Its 54m tower is made up of 2,074 interlocking blocks of Cornish granite, all between one and three tons in weight. It took five years to build, being completed in 1904. It’s hard to fathom how such a structure could be built on level ground on the mainland in those days, never mind on a small, remote North Atlantic rock that’s almost always surrounded by swell. I’ve heard that the lightkeepers reckoned it sways slightly in wild weather, same as a tall tree in high winds. I would so very much love to be out there for a winter storm. In these days of health and safety and fear of litigation I reckon I’ve probably got a better chance of winning the lotto.
14th August
Took the scenic route home from Mizen this evening, through deepest dampest West Cork. I passed this small waterfall on my way up a high mountain pass and couldn’t resist stopping to photograph the simple scene. If the mountain ash has berries out the summer must surely be drawing to a close. The transition to autumn has been well underway during the past fortnight.
15th August
Surfer tucking into a shapely wave at Coumeenole. After a fairly bouncy morning at sea a forecasted increase in the wind meant I had the afternoon off. There was a nice little swell rolling in from the southwest, and a northeast wind to give shape to the waves breaking on the beach. I’m rubbish at it myself but I certainly enjoy watching skilled surfers on well-formed waves. Surfing shares a similarity with rock climbing for me in that sometimes it feels like a beautiful wave or a soaring line up a mountain or cliff almost seems to have been made solely for the satisfaction of a surfer or climber. Which is nonsense of course, but the existence of these perfect arenas in the natural world is part of what sets such endeavors apart from field and track sports for me. For most practitioners these kinds of ‘adventure sports’ are as much if not more about interacting with the natural world as they are about the athleticism of the activity itself. Yes you can go surf in a wave pool or climb plastic holds at an indoor wall but, for me at least, that misses so much of the point. That said, I’d be pretty delighted to live near a wave pool and climbing gym. But I think I’ll always choose to be nearer to the sea or the mountains themselves.
16th August
Top down views of two flowering “weeds” in my garden. Above is a nettle, with its alternating leaves and limbs full of flowers creating a pleasing spiral pattern. Below is ragwort, its close clustered flowerheads looking like the cogs in the workings of some fantastical machine. Nettles aren’t most peoples’ idea of a beautiful plant but I’m quite happy to have them in the garden. Their young leaves make a delicious soup in the spring, and the plants themselves are important habitat and food for invertebrates. Ragwort is even less popular, to the point of being listed under the Noxious Weeds Act 1936. It is poisonous to both cattle and horses. On the plus side it’s considered a great source of nectar for pollinators, and is important for the caterpillars of the cinnabar moth. I’m quite happy to leave it be for now.
Find Part 18 here
Comments
By Jasmine: Lovely pics Rich!
Must have been great to see the humpbacks ☺️
I love the little waterfall with the Rowan tree, they’re beautiful at the moment!