Bliain - Part 5
01st March 2021
Part five of my project to make a photograph every day for a full year, or bliain in Irish. Find Part 4 here.
16th February
Scarlet cup mushrooms. I recently ‘discovered’ a small bit of woodland near to home and have been enjoying the change of scenery from beaches and windy hillsides. It has been a wonder to smell the damp, earthy scents beneath a canopy of trees and spend time in such a gloriously cluttered world of living lifeforms. Trees are criminally lacking in Ireland, something that foreign tourists often wonder about when I meet them here in the summer. We used to have woods stretching across the entire country, but we cleared them for farming. Many people seem to think that trees won’t grow in the west of Ireland because of wind and salt spray and poor soils. All of those factors certainly make it more difficult for trees to grow compared to more sheltered areas with rich soils, but the only reason woodlands are lacking in Ireland is human interference. The vast majority of the countryside is totally unnatural grassland for cattle and sheep, and that which isn’t is generally open mountainside so heavily grazed by sheep and deer that no ordinary regeneration of woodlands can ever even get started. We pride ourselves in Ireland on our beautiful scenery but most of what you see in the countryside is an ecological desert, utterly in tatters compared to a natural ecosystem. Don’t get me started about the zealous use of the word unspoiled in the tourism industry... Anyway, I’m off on another rant and this isn’t the place for it. If you’re interested in this topic have a read of Pádraic Fogarty’s book Whittled Away. Rather than get deep in enraged rants this well-researched and sensible book plainly spells out our environmental failings here in Ireland (something our governments have always excelled in) and provides hopeful ideas for a better future, not just for other species but for humans too.
17th February
Every now and then you get really lucky with a wildlife sighting and today was one of those days for me. While out looking for birds to photograph something caught my eye and a wave of delight washed over me when I realised it was an otter. Almost all of my sightings of these elusive water dogs (literally, madra uisce in Irish) have been very brief and tended to involve me accidentally disturbing an individual into escaping my presence. But for twenty enthralling minutes today I watched an otter hunting and munching on at least five different prey items (including this wrasse), and most importantly I managed to keep it from noticing me and taking flight. None of the pictures are much good but it was my first opportunity to photograph this species, and though I really wish this animal had been facing left and more towards me rather than right and away, it’s a nice memento from what will surely be a lasting memory. Otters have a very particular way of moving which is wonderful to watch but hard to describe, but it’s as though they’re made of the same stuff they spend so much time in – water. I remember being out kayaking west of Dingle one evening last summer and noticing an otter up ahead of me. There was a small swell running, nothing much most humans would take note of but surely significant for an animal the size of an otter. The rhythmic swell was engulfing a barnacled ledge that the animal had climbed up on, and pouring thickly off of it when the surge passed on. And when the otter had decided it was time to get back into the sea it seemed to pour itself down the miniature cliff face in exactly the same manner as the receding water. It flowed back into the sea. Talk about being in your element.
18th February
Still buoyed up by my sighting from yesterday I went back to the same spot today in the most camouflaged clothing I could get together, confident of another encounter. I reckoned I had sussed out the how and why of the otter being where it was when it was, and waited patiently til an errand pulled me away without even a hint of what I’d wanted to see. Clearly my theory was more fallible than I had hoped, and a friend who’s spent countless hours in the same area over many years later told me she’d only ever glimpsed an otter there once. All the same, I’ll run the experiment into the future and hope that I can make some luck through effort. Today’s image instead is of some fresh snowdrop flowers, one of the first signs that spring’s grip on the year is finally stronger than that of the winter. It seems remiss to caption a picture of a snowdrop with only one line about it after all that otter talk but I don’t know what else to say about them, so there you go.
19th February
“Is he not done yet?!” A pair of great tits waiting their turn at the feeders. Now’s a good time to put food out for the birds in your garden if you don’t already do so, even if your garden is a concrete slab to park the car on or an apartment window to look out from. There are lots of feeders available that stick to windows with suction cups, as well as the more typical things like hanging tubes and birdtables. It really is such a simple and easy pleasure to watch the birds coming and going, and given that Ireland is going to stay in lockdown for a long while yet there’s never been a better time to make home as interesting a place as possible. And the birds will do that for you.
20th February
Rahinnane Castle on a bright springtime afternoon. This view staring into the sun doesn’t really show it off very well but the tower house, which was built in the 15th century, is sited inside a much older ringfort that has a double earthen bank. This would have provided a greater level of protection than most tower houses had, but it didn’t stop it being destroyed when Cromwellian forces came to town in the mid 17th century. I’ve passed this view countless times and have yet to call in for a closer visit, and despite a nice idea for a similar photograph at the other end of the day this was the first time I’ve pointed a camera at the castle. I’ll have to come back for a better one.
21st February
Despite being out with the camera every day now for the past two months it feels like an age since I made a landscape image I’m happy with. The weather has been poor for almost all of February, with little in the way of nice light. So it felt particularly enjoyable to be out on the shores of Smerwick Harbour this evening with a brilliant sunset reflecting on the wet sand. I was spoiled for choice when trying to pick one from today, in contrast to most days this month, which have left me struggling to choose a half decent photograph from a poor crop. Though in fairness, my motivation (or lack thereof) is probably more to blame for February’s poor haul. In the words of photographer David Clapp, “there are no bad conditions, only bad decisions.” But oh how much easier it feels when the sky presents you with conditions like this...
22nd February
A little egret sidelit through trees in Burnham lagoon. This species is one of the few that is benefitting from climate change in Ireland. They only started breeding here in 1997 and are now spread through much of the country where suitable habitat exists (estuaries and rivers with trees for breeding in). The milder winters of the last few decades have allowed this expansion of their range from more southern parts of Europe. I recently read about a pair of swallows that have been seen through the winter on the river Corrib. There is something disconcerting about the idea of seeing swallows in Ireland in winter. Their arrival in spring is one of the biggest milestones of the year for me, as is their departure in autumn. Such a disruption of the ‘normal’ order of things seems unsettling. Of course, change is the only constant in the world, but it’s the rate at which the climate is changing (as well as the way in which humans use land) that is causing so much trouble. On the whole, an unnaturally rapid shift in climate is going to be bad news for most species, which simply won’t be able to adapt fast enough to maintain their populations (humans included). But it will benefit others such as the little egret, at least until some other tipping point is reached.
23rd February
Close up of a pearl in an unfurling primrose flower. This is in fact the stigma, a part of the 'female' reproductive organ of a plant. This is a very very close up view, taken through a macro lens, which is a lens designed to allow closer than normal focusing. The widest part of the closed petals here was little more than 15mm across. As the spring starts to move along and more flowers emerge I’m looking forward to more and more botanizing and macro photography. It’s not my go-to for photography but it’s always enjoyable and engaging, not least because it gets one out of the human-scale world we’re used to and down into a different level of existence where the exquisite details and patterns of plant life are revealed in their incredible colours and diversity. And as a bonus for the outdoor photographer, these scenes are generally less dependent on dramatic light for impact, so the macro lens is always a good option on dull or rainy days.
24th February
For all my giving out about the wind recently (it felt like there was a poltergeist in the house a few nights back) it has done interesting things to the beaches. Today on Ventry strand there were lots of stones on little sandy pedestals left behind after a few days of gales had blown all the looser stuff around them away into the dunes. It was a strange and eerie-looking landscape. Later on, on my arrival onto this stretch of the beach near Baile an Rannaigh I was immediately drawn like a magnet to this gorgeous wind-blown drift, thankfully untarnished by footprints. A beautiful foreground for this hazy sunset, with the graceful profile of Cruach Mhárthain to complete the scene. After what feels like a long time there’s finally a decent, settled weather forecast. Spring has well and truly sprung.
25th February
This handsome duck is a male red-breasted merganser. There’s a pair of them hanging around the back of Dingle Harbour these days; hopefully they will breed and fledge chicks this summer. They’re not particularly common so it would be great to see another generation get going locally. I learned a wonderful fact from this duck. In the next few photos of the sequence the punk rocker feathers on his head were slicked back like a greasy seventies hairdo. This was done without contact from any of his limbs. All of a sudden the feathers were just down. Do birds have that kind of control over their feathers?! It makes sense for any feathers to be tight against the body for insulation, as air trapped between them is what keeps birds warm, and waterproof when submerged. I texted a very knowledgeable birder I know to ask if any of this idea made sense, and yes: some birds can lower and raise their feathers like that. Pretty cool I thought. Reminds me of people who can wiggle their ears, but cooler.
26th February
Sign of the times – a quiet Friday night in Dingle and the latest form of litter on the otherwise empty streets. I spent most of the daylight hours occupied, and as evening came on I was too engrossed in putting together a planter for some summer veg to bother heading out with the camera. There was five minutes of molten gold light in the garden before sunset, but I enjoyed it with my eyes rather than rushing for a photograph. Later on, with the moon and the stars hidden behind cloud, I headed into Dingle to see if I could find a composition in the brightly lit town. Nothing was jumping out at me til I saw this discarded mask, one of many that now litter our streets and pollute our seas. COVID-19 has been in Ireland about a year at this stage, and we’ve spent most of the past eleven months in some sort of a lockdown. It’s been striking me recently how strange it is that we need government lockdowns to keep from spreading a virus everybody is well aware of by now. I’m not suggesting we carry on ‘as normal’ or that the lockdowns are a bad idea, but I do find it peculiar that as adults we can’t seem to make the right decisions about how to act appropriately, and in a way that could allow us to live with less restrictions on our movements. The Irish government’s approach to dealing with the pandemic has very much been to act as a parent to its untrustworthy children. And though I don’t like the make up of the current government I can’t lay all the blame at its feet. We’re grounded because we can’t be trusted to be let out, as we have proven, twice now. At this stage we all know (surely?) what is and isn’t appropriate behaviour when it comes to the spread of this disease. It shouldn’t be up to the government to tell us what is and isn’t sensible, how many people or households we can visit, how far from home we can travel. Each situation needs to be handled based on its own variables, and surely responsible adults can make these decisions themselves?! But perhaps that’s too utopian an idea. After all, we wouldn’t need any laws at all if everybody acted fairly and honestly and with others in mind, and I doubt the quality of life in most places would increase if the rulebooks were thrown out. At the beginning of this pandemic we were all terrified, and that brought people together. The bullshit and bravado was stripped away; we were all vulnerable, and it’s easy to bond and feel compassionately for others when it feels like everybody is in the same boat. Strangely, I found it quite a hopeful time, and for a while believed this could be the very thing needed to bring about good and lasting change in the world. That was of course very naïve of me, and unfortunately a lot of that good feeling seems to have dissolved now. Though in fairness, that's understandable too. Even if you’re one of those who’s been least affected by the arrival of COVID-19 times are tough, our resilience is being tested, and the future is very uncertain. But what can be done only to carry on, and enjoy what we can. Life was never meant to be easy, but that doesn’t mean there can’t still be joy even in the harder times. And these harder times will pass too.
27th February
After six or so days of hoping a heron would land in this tree while I was watching with a camera I got lucky today. There are a few pairs breeding in this small wood, and after noticing the shapely branch on this conifer I’ve been keeping an eye out for a scene like this whenever I’m in the area. Herons have always seemed to me to be too big to be in trees (there’s a sentence!) Their huge wingspan just seems too liable to catch on every branch and their tall stature makes them look vulnerable to being blown out of these high places in windy weather. But herons pick their trees well, and breed in them they do. In fact, herons are one of the earliest to lay eggs, with most pairs already incubating a clutch at this stage of the year.
28th February
Today marks the start of a very settled spell of weather. Clear skies, light winds and even a bit of warmth are on the cards for the coming week, and it’s all very welcome after a tough February. I headed out for the evening, cooking dinner on a small fire near a quiet sea cove that was being washed by a winter swell. The wonderful sound of stones dragged over one another by the receding waves was a lovely soundtrack, and the smell of campfire, the taste of good food, the sight of the setting sun and the cold shock of saltwater on skin during a dusk-time swim all served to engage each of the senses and make for a good day.
1st March
Time is racing ahead. Already we’re in the third month of a new year. I feel mentally like I’m still in wintertime, not quite sure what to make of this fine weather. But here it is, the season of spring dressed in its best clothes. For now at least. March generally holds days of winter, sometimes few but more often many. This photo certainly has more of a wintry look about it. Most of the day was of hazy sunshine, and I pottered around in the garden and spent some time at the beach, but my motivation for the camera has been low so I kind of let the day slip by without making any images. As the sun sank towards the hills I made a quick picture from the garden, but after coming in and editing it I realised it was just too rubbish. I could surely make a better effort. And so I made the quick trip down to the pier at Wine Strand and made this, similarly rubbish photo. But I can put up with the lack of quality since I got to at least enjoy ten minutes standing before the loud washing of waves on the shore, letting the energy soak into me as day gave way to night.
Find Part 6 here
16th February
Scarlet cup mushrooms. I recently ‘discovered’ a small bit of woodland near to home and have been enjoying the change of scenery from beaches and windy hillsides. It has been a wonder to smell the damp, earthy scents beneath a canopy of trees and spend time in such a gloriously cluttered world of living lifeforms. Trees are criminally lacking in Ireland, something that foreign tourists often wonder about when I meet them here in the summer. We used to have woods stretching across the entire country, but we cleared them for farming. Many people seem to think that trees won’t grow in the west of Ireland because of wind and salt spray and poor soils. All of those factors certainly make it more difficult for trees to grow compared to more sheltered areas with rich soils, but the only reason woodlands are lacking in Ireland is human interference. The vast majority of the countryside is totally unnatural grassland for cattle and sheep, and that which isn’t is generally open mountainside so heavily grazed by sheep and deer that no ordinary regeneration of woodlands can ever even get started. We pride ourselves in Ireland on our beautiful scenery but most of what you see in the countryside is an ecological desert, utterly in tatters compared to a natural ecosystem. Don’t get me started about the zealous use of the word unspoiled in the tourism industry... Anyway, I’m off on another rant and this isn’t the place for it. If you’re interested in this topic have a read of Pádraic Fogarty’s book Whittled Away. Rather than get deep in enraged rants this well-researched and sensible book plainly spells out our environmental failings here in Ireland (something our governments have always excelled in) and provides hopeful ideas for a better future, not just for other species but for humans too.
17th February
Every now and then you get really lucky with a wildlife sighting and today was one of those days for me. While out looking for birds to photograph something caught my eye and a wave of delight washed over me when I realised it was an otter. Almost all of my sightings of these elusive water dogs (literally, madra uisce in Irish) have been very brief and tended to involve me accidentally disturbing an individual into escaping my presence. But for twenty enthralling minutes today I watched an otter hunting and munching on at least five different prey items (including this wrasse), and most importantly I managed to keep it from noticing me and taking flight. None of the pictures are much good but it was my first opportunity to photograph this species, and though I really wish this animal had been facing left and more towards me rather than right and away, it’s a nice memento from what will surely be a lasting memory. Otters have a very particular way of moving which is wonderful to watch but hard to describe, but it’s as though they’re made of the same stuff they spend so much time in – water. I remember being out kayaking west of Dingle one evening last summer and noticing an otter up ahead of me. There was a small swell running, nothing much most humans would take note of but surely significant for an animal the size of an otter. The rhythmic swell was engulfing a barnacled ledge that the animal had climbed up on, and pouring thickly off of it when the surge passed on. And when the otter had decided it was time to get back into the sea it seemed to pour itself down the miniature cliff face in exactly the same manner as the receding water. It flowed back into the sea. Talk about being in your element.
18th February
Still buoyed up by my sighting from yesterday I went back to the same spot today in the most camouflaged clothing I could get together, confident of another encounter. I reckoned I had sussed out the how and why of the otter being where it was when it was, and waited patiently til an errand pulled me away without even a hint of what I’d wanted to see. Clearly my theory was more fallible than I had hoped, and a friend who’s spent countless hours in the same area over many years later told me she’d only ever glimpsed an otter there once. All the same, I’ll run the experiment into the future and hope that I can make some luck through effort. Today’s image instead is of some fresh snowdrop flowers, one of the first signs that spring’s grip on the year is finally stronger than that of the winter. It seems remiss to caption a picture of a snowdrop with only one line about it after all that otter talk but I don’t know what else to say about them, so there you go.
19th February
“Is he not done yet?!” A pair of great tits waiting their turn at the feeders. Now’s a good time to put food out for the birds in your garden if you don’t already do so, even if your garden is a concrete slab to park the car on or an apartment window to look out from. There are lots of feeders available that stick to windows with suction cups, as well as the more typical things like hanging tubes and birdtables. It really is such a simple and easy pleasure to watch the birds coming and going, and given that Ireland is going to stay in lockdown for a long while yet there’s never been a better time to make home as interesting a place as possible. And the birds will do that for you.
20th February
Rahinnane Castle on a bright springtime afternoon. This view staring into the sun doesn’t really show it off very well but the tower house, which was built in the 15th century, is sited inside a much older ringfort that has a double earthen bank. This would have provided a greater level of protection than most tower houses had, but it didn’t stop it being destroyed when Cromwellian forces came to town in the mid 17th century. I’ve passed this view countless times and have yet to call in for a closer visit, and despite a nice idea for a similar photograph at the other end of the day this was the first time I’ve pointed a camera at the castle. I’ll have to come back for a better one.
21st February
Despite being out with the camera every day now for the past two months it feels like an age since I made a landscape image I’m happy with. The weather has been poor for almost all of February, with little in the way of nice light. So it felt particularly enjoyable to be out on the shores of Smerwick Harbour this evening with a brilliant sunset reflecting on the wet sand. I was spoiled for choice when trying to pick one from today, in contrast to most days this month, which have left me struggling to choose a half decent photograph from a poor crop. Though in fairness, my motivation (or lack thereof) is probably more to blame for February’s poor haul. In the words of photographer David Clapp, “there are no bad conditions, only bad decisions.” But oh how much easier it feels when the sky presents you with conditions like this...
22nd February
A little egret sidelit through trees in Burnham lagoon. This species is one of the few that is benefitting from climate change in Ireland. They only started breeding here in 1997 and are now spread through much of the country where suitable habitat exists (estuaries and rivers with trees for breeding in). The milder winters of the last few decades have allowed this expansion of their range from more southern parts of Europe. I recently read about a pair of swallows that have been seen through the winter on the river Corrib. There is something disconcerting about the idea of seeing swallows in Ireland in winter. Their arrival in spring is one of the biggest milestones of the year for me, as is their departure in autumn. Such a disruption of the ‘normal’ order of things seems unsettling. Of course, change is the only constant in the world, but it’s the rate at which the climate is changing (as well as the way in which humans use land) that is causing so much trouble. On the whole, an unnaturally rapid shift in climate is going to be bad news for most species, which simply won’t be able to adapt fast enough to maintain their populations (humans included). But it will benefit others such as the little egret, at least until some other tipping point is reached.
23rd February
Close up of a pearl in an unfurling primrose flower. This is in fact the stigma, a part of the 'female' reproductive organ of a plant. This is a very very close up view, taken through a macro lens, which is a lens designed to allow closer than normal focusing. The widest part of the closed petals here was little more than 15mm across. As the spring starts to move along and more flowers emerge I’m looking forward to more and more botanizing and macro photography. It’s not my go-to for photography but it’s always enjoyable and engaging, not least because it gets one out of the human-scale world we’re used to and down into a different level of existence where the exquisite details and patterns of plant life are revealed in their incredible colours and diversity. And as a bonus for the outdoor photographer, these scenes are generally less dependent on dramatic light for impact, so the macro lens is always a good option on dull or rainy days.
24th February
For all my giving out about the wind recently (it felt like there was a poltergeist in the house a few nights back) it has done interesting things to the beaches. Today on Ventry strand there were lots of stones on little sandy pedestals left behind after a few days of gales had blown all the looser stuff around them away into the dunes. It was a strange and eerie-looking landscape. Later on, on my arrival onto this stretch of the beach near Baile an Rannaigh I was immediately drawn like a magnet to this gorgeous wind-blown drift, thankfully untarnished by footprints. A beautiful foreground for this hazy sunset, with the graceful profile of Cruach Mhárthain to complete the scene. After what feels like a long time there’s finally a decent, settled weather forecast. Spring has well and truly sprung.
25th February
This handsome duck is a male red-breasted merganser. There’s a pair of them hanging around the back of Dingle Harbour these days; hopefully they will breed and fledge chicks this summer. They’re not particularly common so it would be great to see another generation get going locally. I learned a wonderful fact from this duck. In the next few photos of the sequence the punk rocker feathers on his head were slicked back like a greasy seventies hairdo. This was done without contact from any of his limbs. All of a sudden the feathers were just down. Do birds have that kind of control over their feathers?! It makes sense for any feathers to be tight against the body for insulation, as air trapped between them is what keeps birds warm, and waterproof when submerged. I texted a very knowledgeable birder I know to ask if any of this idea made sense, and yes: some birds can lower and raise their feathers like that. Pretty cool I thought. Reminds me of people who can wiggle their ears, but cooler.
26th February
Sign of the times – a quiet Friday night in Dingle and the latest form of litter on the otherwise empty streets. I spent most of the daylight hours occupied, and as evening came on I was too engrossed in putting together a planter for some summer veg to bother heading out with the camera. There was five minutes of molten gold light in the garden before sunset, but I enjoyed it with my eyes rather than rushing for a photograph. Later on, with the moon and the stars hidden behind cloud, I headed into Dingle to see if I could find a composition in the brightly lit town. Nothing was jumping out at me til I saw this discarded mask, one of many that now litter our streets and pollute our seas. COVID-19 has been in Ireland about a year at this stage, and we’ve spent most of the past eleven months in some sort of a lockdown. It’s been striking me recently how strange it is that we need government lockdowns to keep from spreading a virus everybody is well aware of by now. I’m not suggesting we carry on ‘as normal’ or that the lockdowns are a bad idea, but I do find it peculiar that as adults we can’t seem to make the right decisions about how to act appropriately, and in a way that could allow us to live with less restrictions on our movements. The Irish government’s approach to dealing with the pandemic has very much been to act as a parent to its untrustworthy children. And though I don’t like the make up of the current government I can’t lay all the blame at its feet. We’re grounded because we can’t be trusted to be let out, as we have proven, twice now. At this stage we all know (surely?) what is and isn’t appropriate behaviour when it comes to the spread of this disease. It shouldn’t be up to the government to tell us what is and isn’t sensible, how many people or households we can visit, how far from home we can travel. Each situation needs to be handled based on its own variables, and surely responsible adults can make these decisions themselves?! But perhaps that’s too utopian an idea. After all, we wouldn’t need any laws at all if everybody acted fairly and honestly and with others in mind, and I doubt the quality of life in most places would increase if the rulebooks were thrown out. At the beginning of this pandemic we were all terrified, and that brought people together. The bullshit and bravado was stripped away; we were all vulnerable, and it’s easy to bond and feel compassionately for others when it feels like everybody is in the same boat. Strangely, I found it quite a hopeful time, and for a while believed this could be the very thing needed to bring about good and lasting change in the world. That was of course very naïve of me, and unfortunately a lot of that good feeling seems to have dissolved now. Though in fairness, that's understandable too. Even if you’re one of those who’s been least affected by the arrival of COVID-19 times are tough, our resilience is being tested, and the future is very uncertain. But what can be done only to carry on, and enjoy what we can. Life was never meant to be easy, but that doesn’t mean there can’t still be joy even in the harder times. And these harder times will pass too.
27th February
After six or so days of hoping a heron would land in this tree while I was watching with a camera I got lucky today. There are a few pairs breeding in this small wood, and after noticing the shapely branch on this conifer I’ve been keeping an eye out for a scene like this whenever I’m in the area. Herons have always seemed to me to be too big to be in trees (there’s a sentence!) Their huge wingspan just seems too liable to catch on every branch and their tall stature makes them look vulnerable to being blown out of these high places in windy weather. But herons pick their trees well, and breed in them they do. In fact, herons are one of the earliest to lay eggs, with most pairs already incubating a clutch at this stage of the year.
28th February
Today marks the start of a very settled spell of weather. Clear skies, light winds and even a bit of warmth are on the cards for the coming week, and it’s all very welcome after a tough February. I headed out for the evening, cooking dinner on a small fire near a quiet sea cove that was being washed by a winter swell. The wonderful sound of stones dragged over one another by the receding waves was a lovely soundtrack, and the smell of campfire, the taste of good food, the sight of the setting sun and the cold shock of saltwater on skin during a dusk-time swim all served to engage each of the senses and make for a good day.
1st March
Time is racing ahead. Already we’re in the third month of a new year. I feel mentally like I’m still in wintertime, not quite sure what to make of this fine weather. But here it is, the season of spring dressed in its best clothes. For now at least. March generally holds days of winter, sometimes few but more often many. This photo certainly has more of a wintry look about it. Most of the day was of hazy sunshine, and I pottered around in the garden and spent some time at the beach, but my motivation for the camera has been low so I kind of let the day slip by without making any images. As the sun sank towards the hills I made a quick picture from the garden, but after coming in and editing it I realised it was just too rubbish. I could surely make a better effort. And so I made the quick trip down to the pier at Wine Strand and made this, similarly rubbish photo. But I can put up with the lack of quality since I got to at least enjoy ten minutes standing before the loud washing of waves on the shore, letting the energy soak into me as day gave way to night.
Find Part 6 here