Ireland's Call
“It’s got an amazing coastline. You’ll get loads of great pictures there!” I forget where we were discussing. Bali perhaps, or Western Australia - places I’ve never even been close to. Most of my Irish cousins are far more well travelled than I am, at least where long distances are concerned. Especially since two of them moved to Perth about fifteen years ago within a few months of one another. Neither of them have ever shown any signs of coming back to the northern hemisphere for anything more than a family visit. One day I might finally see those distant worlds, but my response was a simple one, and I had my cousins’ own backyard in mind. “I can’t think of many places I’d rather go to than the west coast of Ireland,” I replied. “Filthy weather, lonely clifftops, fleeting moments of spectacular light, and a wild and beautiful coastline.” I could have been talking about home. But I’d heard Ireland’s call and my flights were booked.
I should have known that a certain airline, famous for a long list of optional extras, would deploy its well known tactic. Fare creep is an insidious beast. I suppose at least they let you sit down for the flight rather than strapping you to the fuselage unless you cough up another fifty quid each way. A normal person with a normal hobby wouldn’t have this problem, but Muggins here needed to take a bagful of camera equipment, and even the smaller pack was pushing the boundaries when I reached for the tape measure. That telephoto lens is a beast, but I couldn’t have left it at home. On the plus side, the additional forty quid I was about to part with entitled me not only to bring the camera bag into the cabin with its own seat, extra leg room and complimentary snacks from the lite bites menu, but also made me one of the chosen few. Priority boarding no less. I’ve never felt quite so important. I imagined the conversation at check in. “Priority boarding? Oh yes it’s quite popular. See that couple over there sharing the battered looking tin cup, drinking coffee out of a thermos flask? They’re the only ones who haven’t purchased it for the flight to Dublin this afternoon”
“Laptops and kindles in a separate tray!” sings the operative for the hundredth time this morning. I point to the one where I’ve already placed mine. “Belts and watches off. Empty your pockets. Are you wearing boots today sir?” I nod at the other tray where I’ve already put all of these items. Yet no matter how much I’ve prepared for the walk of intrusion, I almost always set off the metal detector. I could be standing there in my underpants and it would bleep in indignation. Sometimes I can almost hear the imaginary rubber gloves snapping onto eager fingers, yet I'm not Carlos the Jackal, neither am I doing part time work for a group of Colombian businessmen. I have never had surgery involving insertion of ironmongery in replacement of missing bones, nor do I have gold teeth. But still that infernal machine sings at me like an over excited whistleblower. At least this time the camera bag and the laptop made it through without drawing unwanted suspicion. To my left stood a man nursing a pot belly that he’d no doubt lovingly crafted over many decades of real ale consumption. There was no option other than to reach out across his protruding gut to retrieve my laptop and Kindle. Which was almost as uncomfortable as the sound of those rubber gloves snapping away in my subconscious.
I’d only now realised that this was my first solo mission. I’ve been away on photography trips with Dave and Lee plenty of times, but never before was there nobody to please but myself. If I was prepared to sit on top of a freezing cold headland in the pouring rain, waiting for the light, there would be no need to worry whether everyone else was enjoying themselves quite as much as I was. I’d already dropped some very subtle hints to my Irish family, gently letting it be known that I will often stay in the same place for two or three hours, even though nothing much might be happening. Watching landscape photographers at work is by no means an exciting pastime, especially in adverse conditions. This was going to be a trip where there would be no compromises with anyone except for myself. I needn’t have worried though. Everyone needed to go to work, and I’d deliberately chosen the middle of the week for my jaunt down west.
And then there was the subject of locations. The family had a long list of suggestions, many of them very distracting - and by that I don’t mean the guided tour of the Jameson’s distillery in Midleton. The south west corner it would definitely be, in either Cork or neighbouring Kerry, but I didn’t want to be spending big chunks of short November days driving long distances in and out of the five toes of rocky land that lay dipped into the edge of the Atlantic on the map. With just three afternoons of shooting ahead of me, I needed to keep it simple.
In fact with the two locations that were at the forefront of my mind, the decision was a very easy one. The Dingle peninsula promised everything I was looking for. So Kerry it would be. I booked the hire car, found a small cottage and started my research. I’m rarely happier than when I’m making plans. And sometimes those plans are interrupted by an unscheduled stop to grab that fleeting moment of spectacular light, a rainstorm crossing the semi-mythical, but very real Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, which is exactly what happened here. Told you I needed that telephoto lens.
Ireland's Call
“It’s got an amazing coastline. You’ll get loads of great pictures there!” I forget where we were discussing. Bali perhaps, or Western Australia - places I’ve never even been close to. Most of my Irish cousins are far more well travelled than I am, at least where long distances are concerned. Especially since two of them moved to Perth about fifteen years ago within a few months of one another. Neither of them have ever shown any signs of coming back to the northern hemisphere for anything more than a family visit. One day I might finally see those distant worlds, but my response was a simple one, and I had my cousins’ own backyard in mind. “I can’t think of many places I’d rather go to than the west coast of Ireland,” I replied. “Filthy weather, lonely clifftops, fleeting moments of spectacular light, and a wild and beautiful coastline.” I could have been talking about home. But I’d heard Ireland’s call and my flights were booked.
I should have known that a certain airline, famous for a long list of optional extras, would deploy its well known tactic. Fare creep is an insidious beast. I suppose at least they let you sit down for the flight rather than strapping you to the fuselage unless you cough up another fifty quid each way. A normal person with a normal hobby wouldn’t have this problem, but Muggins here needed to take a bagful of camera equipment, and even the smaller pack was pushing the boundaries when I reached for the tape measure. That telephoto lens is a beast, but I couldn’t have left it at home. On the plus side, the additional forty quid I was about to part with entitled me not only to bring the camera bag into the cabin with its own seat, extra leg room and complimentary snacks from the lite bites menu, but also made me one of the chosen few. Priority boarding no less. I’ve never felt quite so important. I imagined the conversation at check in. “Priority boarding? Oh yes it’s quite popular. See that couple over there sharing the battered looking tin cup, drinking coffee out of a thermos flask? They’re the only ones who haven’t purchased it for the flight to Dublin this afternoon”
“Laptops and kindles in a separate tray!” sings the operative for the hundredth time this morning. I point to the one where I’ve already placed mine. “Belts and watches off. Empty your pockets. Are you wearing boots today sir?” I nod at the other tray where I’ve already put all of these items. Yet no matter how much I’ve prepared for the walk of intrusion, I almost always set off the metal detector. I could be standing there in my underpants and it would bleep in indignation. Sometimes I can almost hear the imaginary rubber gloves snapping onto eager fingers, yet I'm not Carlos the Jackal, neither am I doing part time work for a group of Colombian businessmen. I have never had surgery involving insertion of ironmongery in replacement of missing bones, nor do I have gold teeth. But still that infernal machine sings at me like an over excited whistleblower. At least this time the camera bag and the laptop made it through without drawing unwanted suspicion. To my left stood a man nursing a pot belly that he’d no doubt lovingly crafted over many decades of real ale consumption. There was no option other than to reach out across his protruding gut to retrieve my laptop and Kindle. Which was almost as uncomfortable as the sound of those rubber gloves snapping away in my subconscious.
I’d only now realised that this was my first solo mission. I’ve been away on photography trips with Dave and Lee plenty of times, but never before was there nobody to please but myself. If I was prepared to sit on top of a freezing cold headland in the pouring rain, waiting for the light, there would be no need to worry whether everyone else was enjoying themselves quite as much as I was. I’d already dropped some very subtle hints to my Irish family, gently letting it be known that I will often stay in the same place for two or three hours, even though nothing much might be happening. Watching landscape photographers at work is by no means an exciting pastime, especially in adverse conditions. This was going to be a trip where there would be no compromises with anyone except for myself. I needn’t have worried though. Everyone needed to go to work, and I’d deliberately chosen the middle of the week for my jaunt down west.
And then there was the subject of locations. The family had a long list of suggestions, many of them very distracting - and by that I don’t mean the guided tour of the Jameson’s distillery in Midleton. The south west corner it would definitely be, in either Cork or neighbouring Kerry, but I didn’t want to be spending big chunks of short November days driving long distances in and out of the five toes of rocky land that lay dipped into the edge of the Atlantic on the map. With just three afternoons of shooting ahead of me, I needed to keep it simple.
In fact with the two locations that were at the forefront of my mind, the decision was a very easy one. The Dingle peninsula promised everything I was looking for. So Kerry it would be. I booked the hire car, found a small cottage and started my research. I’m rarely happier than when I’m making plans. And sometimes those plans are interrupted by an unscheduled stop to grab that fleeting moment of spectacular light, a rainstorm crossing the semi-mythical, but very real Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, which is exactly what happened here. Told you I needed that telephoto lens.