My first experience ever with an SLR was taking a star trail photograph, all part of an astronomy elective that I took for Physics in my final year of high school. I think the SLR was a Pentax from memory. I also remember standing out at Bass Point, near Shellharbour (south eastern coast of Australia) with my dad for a couple of hours attempting to find the south celestial pole and record the star trails around it. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t come to terms with loading the 35mm film in the camera correctly (first use and all), so my first ever SLR photos drew a blank with both the local photo store and also my dad who had stood out in the cold July air with me. I had a second attempt, a successful one in the back yard a week later, with just the cat for company.

The Irish sky was so pristine last night, that after 21 years, I decided to have another go at a star trail albeit one of a northern hemisphere persuasion. What’s the difference between north and south? Well, for one finding the northern pole proved a little easier. Finding the south celestial pole required drawing an imaginary line from the bottom star of the Southern Cross towards Achernar. Length of the line needed to be around 3.5 times the long axis of the Southern Cross. Got it? Yep not the easiest, and especially harder when the cameras of 1988 were not digital so you couldn’t preview your work. Last night’s shot I found in 3 attempts, just pointed the camera north and adjusted after previewing. That physics assignment would have been so much simpler with a digital SLR. Anyway here’s the shot, taken in County Mayo, Ireland at 11:06pm for an exposure of around 50 minutes. (49 actually). Note the North Star just off centre.

Star Trail, County Mayo, Ireland

I’ve been spending the past week in County Mayo, in the west of Ireland. While rain has been abundant, we have seen a lot of sun too. Ireland can be dreary in the wet, but when basked in sunshine the landscapes become magical. On Wednesday I drove through the outskirts of Connemara to the port of Rossaveal to catch a ferry to Inis Mor, the largest of the Aran Islands, and today, Saturday, I took a drive through the rolling hills of Mayo.  This latter drive was incredible. My father in law, a Mayo local, took me “back the road” (Irish expression for anywhere within 20km of your home) and the scenery was picture post card Ireland for an hour. There was barely a soul on the road, aside from some sheep. That’s what I love about Ireland. You can just take a side road and discover so much. 

It’s fair to say Ireland is rather green, but some of it’s landscapes are truly golden, especially where you come across swathes of peat bog. Below are a couple of photos from this week. I will post more later.

Golden Connemara, The Road from Maam to Maam Cross, County Galway

Golden Connemara, The Road from Maam to Maam Cross, County Galway 

Golden Turf, The Road from Killawalla to Tourmakeady, County Mayo

The above shot is actually a HDR photo. (HDR = High Dynamic Range) This just means I took 3 photos at different exposures and then blended them together using some software to maximise the shadows and highlights of the scene. The golden grasses cover an undulating peat bog and lead to the iconic peak of Croagh Patrick in the distance.

I may be biased, as I am to blog about my wife’s home county, but I’m sure many will agree with me that County Mayo, in the west of Ireland, is one of the less travelled Irish counties for main-stream tourism**, and perhaps one of the unsung heroes of Irish landscapes. But, Mayo, has an abundance of magnificent scenery if one ventures a little further – and indeed if you happen to notice it when it doesn’t rain. Granted, not too often then.

** Well, perhaps with the exception of couple of sites, the Knock Shrine, Ireland’s answer to Lourdes, and to Ballintubber Abbey, Ireland’s oldest Abbey, founded by St Patrick sometime in the 12th century.

Last weekend the winter sun shone for two consecutive days. Well, not quite true. The sun barely rises for 9am and certainly sets at around 3:30pm – so that gives you about 13 hours of prime photo opportunities. Well, if truth be told, this was a mere 1 hour for me, as I availed of the glorious dwindling light of the setting Mayo sun on both days. (Not to mention of course, that I’m a rubbish early riser). On Saturday, I took a winding country road (yes, so all roads in Ireland are like this – I’m telling you nothing), up past Ballintubber Abbey for a couple of kilometres. I then hung a right at Castleburgh, down a boreen (this is Gaelic for yet an even narrower winding country road) and came to the serene Lough Carra. I use the word serene appropriately here. Aside from my father-in-law, there was not a soul at this lake, save the whisper of a faint, frigid, breeze through the many reeds that hug its shore and the occasional squall of a flock of sparrows. I had visited this lake once before, and I loved the texture the reeds made in the water, and given, on this occasion the light of setting sun, I thought it might look extra nice. Below are a couple of shots that I took, so you will see what I mean.

Lough Carra, County Mayo

Ghostly Reeds, Lough Carra, County Mayo

The following day, at around 2:30pm I ventured westwards to Old Head, about a 20 minute drive south of Westport. Old Head, has a beach, and I mean a proper beach with sand. There are even surf life-savers at this beach – granted not during Winter. But it’s not the sandy beach that is it’s draw card, but the beautiful back drop of Croagh Patrick and the vista that is Clew Bay.

Croagh Patrick is a pyramid like Mayo landmark, protruding from the Mayo landscape, like Khufu’s pyramid does from Giza. Yes, that obvious, and equally as marvellous in stature. This peak is even more special for the story that puts St Patrick on top of it’s summit, banishing all the snakes from the Emerald Isle.  So revered is this place, that it attracts many devout Catholic pilgrims, (and hikers too) throughout the year, who tackle the 2 hour climb to the church at it’s peak. Well, 2 hours if you’re equipped with sturdy foot-wear, perhaps a little longer if your faith is so devout, that you figure if St Patrick can achieve herpacide (does such a term for snake abolition exist?) from the top, then scaling this blighter in biting wind and cold, is a piece of cake in bare feet and your Sunday best. I kid you not, I have witnessed this very feet feat with my own eyes. For the extremely hard core, some make the 20km odd trek from Ballintubber Abbey through bog, stile and sheep scattered fields to the summit, once a year, during July, on Reek Sunday.

The view of Croagh Patrick last Sunday was made even more magnificent by the snow, which dusted not only its lofty countenance, but also the distant ranges that edge Clew Bay. I have rambled sufficiently, so let me do this blog justice with a couple of photos.

Croagh Patrick and Clew Bay, View from Old Head

Croagh Patrick Summit 

Mountains and Waves, Old Head, Co. Mayo 

I took a bunch more photos, which I’ll upload to a photo album shortly.

Our sunny weekend in Mayo ended abruptly on Monday evening when, inexplicably, the only apparent place in Ireland which was covered in fog, was Knock airport. I swear Michael O’Leary, Ryanair’s less than tactful CEO, had a fog machine at the end of the runway. I wager he was bored, and thought he’d turn it on, just to piss passengers off. I jest Mr O’Leary! For the record, and our insurance claim, our flight was indeed cancelled by inclement Irish weather of the fog persuasion. So, the following day, a mercy dash across the very sodden breadth of Ireland, to Dublin,  was very much in order. Still, a couple of days of beautiful winter sun, scenery and serenity was worth the trouble and the extra day’s car hire.

I think this photo speaks for itself. Some extended family members, who shall remain nameless, needed a quick cigarette at a family wedding over the weekend. You can’t smoke indoors at public venues in Ireland, so these four sisters huddled discreetly in a corner. But, the beauty of a 300mm lens is that people can be totally unaware you’re snapping them. As was the case here, and they got a bit of a shock when I showed them the preview on the camera. But I (and others) found it amusing. Okay, so I can be evil.

The Usual Suspects 

One of my favourite drives in the West of Ireland, is the route that takes you from Westport, through to Leenaun via Louisburgh. I did this run recently with the intent of taking some photos of the stunning landscape that the drive offers. Despite the driving rain and the incessant howls of winter wind off Clew Bay and the Atlantic, I was optimistic of taking some photographs. One thing I have found in Ireland. No matter what the weather conditions, there is usually a respite of breaking sunshine, and the scenery can be quite dramatic when it does lift. Well, I was an optimist on this occasion. As it turned out on this particular run, the weather conditions didn’t lift at all, and in fact from the time I set out, to the time I made it back indoors, drenched to the bone, the conditions got progressively worse.

Still, I did get a few shots, which was a feat in itself, trying to brace an umbrella against the wind as well as handling my D/SLR. I stopped off at a couple of places on route. Firstly, I stopped at Old Head. Normally, on a sunny day, you can see the magnificent Croagh Patrick, but not today, so I opted for photographing the green-lichen covered rocks and the breaking surf. One such photo is below.

   Old Head, near Westport, County Mayo, Ireland

I couldn’t stay too long out, as the camera was copping quite a bit of the rain, so I was literally on the beach for 5 minutes. After Old Head, I headed to Louisburgh. The winds off Clew Bay were exceptionally strong at this point and so I didn’t hang around. Instead I made my way towards Delphi and Leenaun. This road is fantastic. Spectacular green hills and this one lonely snaking road guiding you between them, hugging a lake. I stopped at the lake and took this shot below. You can see the low cloud and mist hanging over the mountain in the background, and it gives you some insight into how bleak the day was.

On the road from Louisburgh to Leenaun, County Mayo, Ireland

As you near Leenaun, the road takes you past Delphi, braces the fjord like Killary Harbour and then winds its way to Aasleagh falls. Aasleagh (pronounced Ashlee) is nothing like Niagara or Iguassu, but still a respectable sight on an otherwise not so remarkable day. And as the weather was bucketing it down, the falls were gushing. Below is one of several shots I took.

Aasleagh Falls, County Mayo, Ireland 

I must have spent 30 minutes taking in the falls, despite the rain. I was drenched by the end of it, and decided to call it a day shortly after, and made my way back to shelter, a fine meal of steak and mashed spuds and an open fire.

Well the Christmas break this year was indeed a whirlwind concealed within an Irish blur. I recalled my culinary exploits of last festive season and once again cooked the Christmas Turkey (13.5lb of it). It came out a treat, without any fuss whatsoever. Well, the fact that I contaminated a tub of butter with raw-turkey was not a brilliant move on my part – but at least I realised it and binned the offending tub before I poisoned everyone.

The cooking was a bit of a slog especially considering that I was up-and-at-em at 8:45 on Christmas morning to stuff it, baste it, season it and then in the oven throw it. That may seem like a pretty good time to arise, but we were up to the wee hours the night before. So I was hurting, but I think the turkey was a bit worse off than I was.

Christmas Turkey ala Stevo

Another festive highlight was actually being able to snap a Robin Red Breast in the family garden. I noticed them flitting in and out of the hedgerows in the mornings, but getting one to sit in any kind of decent light, for just a moment, to take that fleeting shot proved pretty tough. (I was using a Canon EOS 20D and 300mm lens.) They are pretty jumpy little things. I had almost given up, when I rounded a shrub, and saw one in the branches of a tree. Not only that, but the sun came out and caught the beautiful orange-red chest of the little blighter. Another picture for the Christmas album.

Robin Red Breast, St Stephen’s Day

Anyway. must get back to it. Need to do some exercise and pound the Christmas excesses of turkey, gammon, stuffing, trifle, mince pies and brandy cream into submission. There are a load of photos for your visual delectation in the album opposite.

On the weekend just gone, Mags and I, along with some friends of ours headed to Dublin to rendezvous with other friends in order that we could descend on some other friends at their ranch in County Wexford.

It was a great weekend. Cramming into a 7-seater zippy Zafira, we negotiated the N11, south from Dublin, hugging the Irish coast to our left, and brushing the snow-dusted Wicklow hills to our right. We stopped briefly at Arklow for a bite to eat – a busy, but non-descript town, infamous (in my mind) for the impassable flooded route to a beach which appears to be it’s only tourist attraction. Well, that’s harsh. The feed we had at one of Arklow’s local haunts was jolly good.

We arrived at the Wexford homestead, in wee Curracloe at about 6pm in the evening, to be greeted firmly by our hosts and their new edition – Ella. It was a civilised place, within moments, the lads had a can-a-beer, complete with stubbie holder in their hands. There was even a pool table.

Saturday night, turned into blind wine tasting. Our French companion, and Chelsea wine merchant, Seb, plyed us all with various types of Red, the majority of which all hailing from the Mondal vineyard in Provance. Each bottle of wine was cloaked in a nifty blue sock, to keep us all guessing as to whether the wine was cheap, average, or very cheap. Actually, the Mondal 2000 proved nice, and then a cheeky bottle of Wolf Blass Cab-Sav proved even better. No coincidence that it was the last bottle consumed.

Speaking of Australian whines, I woke Sunday frantically refreshing the cricket scores on my mobile – alas the Aussies had succumbed to England in the cricket. The pain!  After breaky we then took a stroll on the sunny-shores of Curracloe, namely Ballinesker beach. A very picturesque spot, and a rather famous one, because it played host to the Normandy landings, depicted in the opening scenes of Spielberg’s "Saving Private Ryan". It was difficult to imagine, how such a pleasant beach could be turned into those horrific images of WWII you see in the film.

After exercising our red-wine demons, and marvelling at how you can turn a simple beach into a battle-field, we headed back to Dublin – our destination the posh part of the north-side:Hoath. The trip up saw us listening intently to the 6 Nations rugby match on the radio. The match was being played a few miles away at Dublin’s Croke Park - and we made it in time to pile into a Hoath local to take in the second half. It was amusing, listening to the Irish folk cheer on their side to take that inaugural win at Croke Park, only to be countered by their sudden silence, and the cheering of our lone Les Bleus supporting friend, Seb -when France fell through tired Irish defence to score a try right on the death.