Bliain - Part 19
13th September 2021
Part nineteen of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 18 here.
31st August
Three of the finest fish in the sea. The finest to my mind at least. Mackerel are visually stunning and tastier than any other fish I’ve ever tried. I probably would have thrown these small specimens back but they were being offered up (already dead) by a local leisure angler when I returned to the pier after work today. It almost feels a disservice to present them laid out like this, so utterly out of their element and lifeless*. But they fed me and a few birds who took the ends and entrails, and I thank them for that. I’ve been thinking about the place of humans in this circle of life context for the past few months. It’s such a shame how even in death most of us are kept separate from the natural system of nutrient recycling. All of us depend on dead animals and plants to fuel us, yet when we die ourselves we get buried in boxes sealed with toxic varnishes or burned in a funeral pyre, depriving the soil, the sea and most other species of the energy locked in our bodies. It will probably seem odd to most who read this, but I wish that after I die my body (naked, or wrapped in an organic cotton sheet if people are too prudish) will be released to the sea, perhaps weighted with stones to take me to the bottom. There my flesh and bones can feed the myriad sea creatures, and the atoms that make me can be recycled into the marine ecosystem that I’m so fascinated by. Parts of me will live on in plankton and shimmering shoals of sprat, luminescent comb jellies and diving gannets, big-fisted lobsters and migratory whales, and countless other creatures. If people want to remember me they can look out and see these species and know that I’m there. After a lifetime of being sustained by other creatures, the least I could do is to help sustain some of those who will come after me. I don’t hold any religious beliefs; the world as it is is enough for me, and the continued recycling of the elements that make me is as real and beautiful an afterlife as I could want.
* See here for an image of them in lively action beneath the sea.
1st September
Low tide on Smerwick’s shoreline on another cool and overcast autumn evening. The sunset lacked colour but the clouds above the mountains were interesting at least. As I walked away from this scene I noticed how the cloud cover in every other direction was much more uniform. The wind was easterly, and it struck me that maybe all the texture in the sky was a result of the cloud being dragged over the mountain tops. Much the same as a rushing river or a strong tide flowing over shallows, perhaps I was looking at the underside of eddies and swirls and ripples on the vast floating sea above me. Clouds, after all, are made of water, and on overcast days like today they run like horizon-wide rivers overhead.
2nd September
A sailboat catching what it can of a faint air of easterly wind on its way south across Dingle Bay. Eask tower tops the cliffs behind. The tall column of stacked stones was built as a navigational aid to boats looking for Dingle Harbour. The entrance to the sheltered inlet around which the town is based is guarded on both sides by steep cliffs, and is easy to miss. At one point a giant wooden hand with a finger pointing inland was affixed to the tower, but I believe it was struck by lightning and destroyed. Nowadays such structures are somewhat redundant for practical purposes but add to the historical aesthetic of the area, as is the case for the little WW2 watchtower to the tower’s west.
3rd September
At first glance this might seem like a cute picture of a seal but look a bit closer and you’ll see the rope wrapped around its neck and the monofilament that’s tied to it. I’m sure plenty of fishermen would see this slow suffocation as a fitting punishment for seals’ regular interference of fishing gear, but it’s a rough way for any creature to die. It made me think of this beautiful short film about seals and seal killers. With an evening of camping in close proximity to the seals ahead of me I had thought dreams of being taken deep into the sea by a selkie looking for a human to undo this human-made issue. Fanciful nonsense of course, but borne of a wish to do something for this unfortunate creature.
4th September
Close up of a pleasing mosaic on the shoreline. I love the subtle turquoise and purple tones. Such scenes can be found all over the coast, though they require a little more searching than the typical and obvious wide open vistas.
5th September
This bird in a box is one of this year’s Manx shearwater chicks. They are starting to fledge around now, from burrows on offshore islands. Being incredibly awkward on land, and unable to just stand up and fly away like a land bird, they crawl to cliff edges to get airborne, or at least down to the sea, where it is much easier for them to take flight. All of this is done at night so as to avoid gulls, skuas, ravens and other predatory birds. Unfortunately the chicks seem to get confused by light pollution, and end up being drawn towards the mainland, a place as dangerous to them as the sea is to a human. Any birds not picked off by land predators such as cats and foxes almost certainly won’t be able to get back out to sea, and won’t last long. Since I’ve lived here I’ve been helping with a group of other volunteers to gather up stranded shearwaters and get them back on the water, either by launching them from the cliffs at Slea Head at night or releasing them from the boat I work on. So far this year I’ve had a lot of calls, and a lot of birds to collect. It’s great to see people looking out for them and taking the time to catch them and make the call. Most people comment on how beautiful a bird they are, and some even line the boxes with bedding for an extra level of comfort. Requests in the past to have church lights and village streetlights turned off for the month of September have been met with deaf ears, and so it seems we’ll continue to confuse and ultimately end the lives of uncountable numbers of these fascinating and long lived ocean wanderers. And for what? In her fine book Findings Kathleen Jamie writes well about our obsession with artificial light as a way to relieve our fear of the dark - “We couldn’t see the real dark for the metaphorical dark. Because of the metaphorical dark, the death dark, we were constantly concerned to banish the natural dark.” Alas, “We have not banished death, but we have banished the dark... And by the light we have made, we can see that... We are doing damage.”
6th September
Autumn’s decay is well underway for the sycamore leaves on this windy hillside. Such a simple thing as a fallen leaf becomes fascinating when looked at closely and with attention. I love how the pattern of the tree is repeated down to its very leaves, with a central stem giving rise to branches that support the whole structure. At this time of year deciduous trees shed their leaves as a response to the shortening days and to lessen the risk of toppling in the high winds of winter storms. Those nutrients that aren’t drawn in to be stored within the tree before autumn will be decomposed by invertebrates and fungi that feed on the leaf litter below the bare branches, and thus become available again to the tree’s roots in the soil. There’s no such thing as waste in natural systems.
7th September
A magnificent morning in the parish, calm and patchily foggy under an empty, sun-warmed sky. A nice September shortens the long winter. So far in 2021 it’s been doing just that.
8th September
More small wonders from the back garden; this time a lichen map on the slender bole of a Hungarian oak my landlord planted a few years ago. I imagine the native habitat of this tree is pretty far removed from the conditions experienced in West Kerry, but it seems to be doing alright. Its finger-width trunk is already wrapped in an intricate pattern of lichens, and even the small hole formed where an early branch must have broken off is being colonised by a minute specimen of moss. I’ve mentioned it before but it’s worth saying again how worthwhile it is to remove ourselves from human-scale experience and instead to look at the little things.
9th September
Room with a view in Skellig Michael’s lower lighthouse. I got a late call yesterday evening asking if I could fill in as a camera assistant for a day’s filming on this famous rock. Luckily I had a day off work today. It was a rare opportunity to spend time at this incredible place, and some of the parts of it still closed off to tourists. Filming work is almost always full-on, and we scarely stopped throughout the entire time on the island, but I kept a small camera in my pocket and managed a quick snap now and then. Spending time at the two lighthouses gave a great insight into what it might have been like for those who lived here when the lights were manned by people instead of machines. It’s the kind of job I’d be applying for if it still existed in this day and age. The closest equivalent is maybe the work of the tour guides who spend fortnightly stints on the Skellig during the summer season. I know one of them and have asked her to let me know if she ever plans on retiring. To be in such a place at the cusp of the day and through the short summer nights, in all types of weather and surrounded by the sounds of thousands of seabirds and the ever-present and proximate sea, sounds like a bit of a dream to me.
10th September
A new September moon setting behind the carnal curves of Cruach Mhárthain. The evenings are really closing in these days, and though it’s warm when the sun shines it’s cold when it doesn’t.
11th September
Another simple sky scene, this time above the open sea. All through the afternoon it looked like the day would dull to a plain end but this fiery flush of colour shone briefly before the darkness settled in.
12th September
Sticking with the same theme again this evening - a geometric arrangement of power lines and telephone wires while the setting sun cast colour in the northeast sky.
13th September
Today brought the first proper rain for a long time. It’s been about five weeks since it was as wet as it’s been this afternoon so far, so it’s probably no harm. After prolonged showers scuppered my four previous ideas for an image today I decided to cash in one of the rainy day options – yet another derelict stone shed. These kinds of weather conditions suit such a scene I think, and are easily shot from the confines of the car when it’s lashing rain. Some might reckon it a lazy effort (no more so than I do) but I’ll try convince myself it’s good strategy for the tougher days of a year long daily photo diary.
Find Part 20 here
31st August
Three of the finest fish in the sea. The finest to my mind at least. Mackerel are visually stunning and tastier than any other fish I’ve ever tried. I probably would have thrown these small specimens back but they were being offered up (already dead) by a local leisure angler when I returned to the pier after work today. It almost feels a disservice to present them laid out like this, so utterly out of their element and lifeless*. But they fed me and a few birds who took the ends and entrails, and I thank them for that. I’ve been thinking about the place of humans in this circle of life context for the past few months. It’s such a shame how even in death most of us are kept separate from the natural system of nutrient recycling. All of us depend on dead animals and plants to fuel us, yet when we die ourselves we get buried in boxes sealed with toxic varnishes or burned in a funeral pyre, depriving the soil, the sea and most other species of the energy locked in our bodies. It will probably seem odd to most who read this, but I wish that after I die my body (naked, or wrapped in an organic cotton sheet if people are too prudish) will be released to the sea, perhaps weighted with stones to take me to the bottom. There my flesh and bones can feed the myriad sea creatures, and the atoms that make me can be recycled into the marine ecosystem that I’m so fascinated by. Parts of me will live on in plankton and shimmering shoals of sprat, luminescent comb jellies and diving gannets, big-fisted lobsters and migratory whales, and countless other creatures. If people want to remember me they can look out and see these species and know that I’m there. After a lifetime of being sustained by other creatures, the least I could do is to help sustain some of those who will come after me. I don’t hold any religious beliefs; the world as it is is enough for me, and the continued recycling of the elements that make me is as real and beautiful an afterlife as I could want.
* See here for an image of them in lively action beneath the sea.
1st September
Low tide on Smerwick’s shoreline on another cool and overcast autumn evening. The sunset lacked colour but the clouds above the mountains were interesting at least. As I walked away from this scene I noticed how the cloud cover in every other direction was much more uniform. The wind was easterly, and it struck me that maybe all the texture in the sky was a result of the cloud being dragged over the mountain tops. Much the same as a rushing river or a strong tide flowing over shallows, perhaps I was looking at the underside of eddies and swirls and ripples on the vast floating sea above me. Clouds, after all, are made of water, and on overcast days like today they run like horizon-wide rivers overhead.
2nd September
A sailboat catching what it can of a faint air of easterly wind on its way south across Dingle Bay. Eask tower tops the cliffs behind. The tall column of stacked stones was built as a navigational aid to boats looking for Dingle Harbour. The entrance to the sheltered inlet around which the town is based is guarded on both sides by steep cliffs, and is easy to miss. At one point a giant wooden hand with a finger pointing inland was affixed to the tower, but I believe it was struck by lightning and destroyed. Nowadays such structures are somewhat redundant for practical purposes but add to the historical aesthetic of the area, as is the case for the little WW2 watchtower to the tower’s west.
3rd September
At first glance this might seem like a cute picture of a seal but look a bit closer and you’ll see the rope wrapped around its neck and the monofilament that’s tied to it. I’m sure plenty of fishermen would see this slow suffocation as a fitting punishment for seals’ regular interference of fishing gear, but it’s a rough way for any creature to die. It made me think of this beautiful short film about seals and seal killers. With an evening of camping in close proximity to the seals ahead of me I had thought dreams of being taken deep into the sea by a selkie looking for a human to undo this human-made issue. Fanciful nonsense of course, but borne of a wish to do something for this unfortunate creature.
4th September
Close up of a pleasing mosaic on the shoreline. I love the subtle turquoise and purple tones. Such scenes can be found all over the coast, though they require a little more searching than the typical and obvious wide open vistas.
5th September
This bird in a box is one of this year’s Manx shearwater chicks. They are starting to fledge around now, from burrows on offshore islands. Being incredibly awkward on land, and unable to just stand up and fly away like a land bird, they crawl to cliff edges to get airborne, or at least down to the sea, where it is much easier for them to take flight. All of this is done at night so as to avoid gulls, skuas, ravens and other predatory birds. Unfortunately the chicks seem to get confused by light pollution, and end up being drawn towards the mainland, a place as dangerous to them as the sea is to a human. Any birds not picked off by land predators such as cats and foxes almost certainly won’t be able to get back out to sea, and won’t last long. Since I’ve lived here I’ve been helping with a group of other volunteers to gather up stranded shearwaters and get them back on the water, either by launching them from the cliffs at Slea Head at night or releasing them from the boat I work on. So far this year I’ve had a lot of calls, and a lot of birds to collect. It’s great to see people looking out for them and taking the time to catch them and make the call. Most people comment on how beautiful a bird they are, and some even line the boxes with bedding for an extra level of comfort. Requests in the past to have church lights and village streetlights turned off for the month of September have been met with deaf ears, and so it seems we’ll continue to confuse and ultimately end the lives of uncountable numbers of these fascinating and long lived ocean wanderers. And for what? In her fine book Findings Kathleen Jamie writes well about our obsession with artificial light as a way to relieve our fear of the dark - “We couldn’t see the real dark for the metaphorical dark. Because of the metaphorical dark, the death dark, we were constantly concerned to banish the natural dark.” Alas, “We have not banished death, but we have banished the dark... And by the light we have made, we can see that... We are doing damage.”
6th September
Autumn’s decay is well underway for the sycamore leaves on this windy hillside. Such a simple thing as a fallen leaf becomes fascinating when looked at closely and with attention. I love how the pattern of the tree is repeated down to its very leaves, with a central stem giving rise to branches that support the whole structure. At this time of year deciduous trees shed their leaves as a response to the shortening days and to lessen the risk of toppling in the high winds of winter storms. Those nutrients that aren’t drawn in to be stored within the tree before autumn will be decomposed by invertebrates and fungi that feed on the leaf litter below the bare branches, and thus become available again to the tree’s roots in the soil. There’s no such thing as waste in natural systems.
7th September
A magnificent morning in the parish, calm and patchily foggy under an empty, sun-warmed sky. A nice September shortens the long winter. So far in 2021 it’s been doing just that.
8th September
More small wonders from the back garden; this time a lichen map on the slender bole of a Hungarian oak my landlord planted a few years ago. I imagine the native habitat of this tree is pretty far removed from the conditions experienced in West Kerry, but it seems to be doing alright. Its finger-width trunk is already wrapped in an intricate pattern of lichens, and even the small hole formed where an early branch must have broken off is being colonised by a minute specimen of moss. I’ve mentioned it before but it’s worth saying again how worthwhile it is to remove ourselves from human-scale experience and instead to look at the little things.
9th September
Room with a view in Skellig Michael’s lower lighthouse. I got a late call yesterday evening asking if I could fill in as a camera assistant for a day’s filming on this famous rock. Luckily I had a day off work today. It was a rare opportunity to spend time at this incredible place, and some of the parts of it still closed off to tourists. Filming work is almost always full-on, and we scarely stopped throughout the entire time on the island, but I kept a small camera in my pocket and managed a quick snap now and then. Spending time at the two lighthouses gave a great insight into what it might have been like for those who lived here when the lights were manned by people instead of machines. It’s the kind of job I’d be applying for if it still existed in this day and age. The closest equivalent is maybe the work of the tour guides who spend fortnightly stints on the Skellig during the summer season. I know one of them and have asked her to let me know if she ever plans on retiring. To be in such a place at the cusp of the day and through the short summer nights, in all types of weather and surrounded by the sounds of thousands of seabirds and the ever-present and proximate sea, sounds like a bit of a dream to me.
10th September
A new September moon setting behind the carnal curves of Cruach Mhárthain. The evenings are really closing in these days, and though it’s warm when the sun shines it’s cold when it doesn’t.
11th September
Another simple sky scene, this time above the open sea. All through the afternoon it looked like the day would dull to a plain end but this fiery flush of colour shone briefly before the darkness settled in.
12th September
Sticking with the same theme again this evening - a geometric arrangement of power lines and telephone wires while the setting sun cast colour in the northeast sky.
13th September
Today brought the first proper rain for a long time. It’s been about five weeks since it was as wet as it’s been this afternoon so far, so it’s probably no harm. After prolonged showers scuppered my four previous ideas for an image today I decided to cash in one of the rainy day options – yet another derelict stone shed. These kinds of weather conditions suit such a scene I think, and are easily shot from the confines of the car when it’s lashing rain. Some might reckon it a lazy effort (no more so than I do) but I’ll try convince myself it’s good strategy for the tougher days of a year long daily photo diary.
Find Part 20 here