The surfers had all gone, except for the one lingering ghostlike in my long exposure.
According to this article, 21 billion edges were predicted for Scotland’s 2017 midge season. I reckon that a fair number of them, like me, opted for a trip to Ireland that summer, boosting the already thriving local population.
Those pesky creatures turned these peaceful spots into pure torture, at dawn and dusk respectively.
On my Not To Do list: do not venture here again without a midge net and repellent.
It was relatively calm this evening, though the wind was fierce enough around the head of the strand. As the surfers packed up, there was plenty of space for some wide & long exposures.
Bloomin midges up early searching for breakfast 😫
I stayed just long enough to look up the beach towards the castle, then glanced behind me to see what was going on.
And back again.
The midges had had their lot! Now it was time for my breakfast.
You can read about the Atlantic Reach project here. The proceeds are going to the Samaritans.
My contributions to the project are below.
… and as I was strolling along the sand minding my own business, up came this huge crab out of the water that started crawling along beside me demanding my attention.
How about a gentle stroll along a quiet beach, enjoying the breeze, away from the traffic, the noise, the crowds…
You can get carried away by the current.
This particular day it wasn’t all that strong, but just a few days later – thanks to a wee spot of rain – it was fair charging along, smashing down the waterfall, and these rock islands were nowhere to be seen.
It was pitch black on the way to Glassilaun. Running along the beach to get to the place I had in mind took longer than I thought, and the seaweed fairies hadn’t had time to sweep away the dark brown sea veg.
But the sunrise fairies were there in their fine pink and orange frocks for a short and intense burst of partying.
I wasn’t supposed to be going to Malahide, and I will probably never go there again. But the clouds were interesting.
This sound I’m hearing, is it the wind reverberating through the twelve bens? An echo from across the ocean? Maybe a ghostly hungry moan lingering from the past?
(Or Yvonne: could it be the humming sound that comes from past-their-shelflife hearing aids when the batteries are left in overnight by mistake?)
Whatever the case, this “green swathe of soft glens, pasture and rainy hills” and the “swathes of white sand”, are places “fit for thinking”, as Tim Scott put it in The Guardian over a decade ago.
And photography is a way of thinking a place.