Tag: Nature Photography
An Capall Bán

An Capall Bán

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“My soul was an old horse

Offered for sale in twenty fairs…..

—

But this evening, halter off,

Never again will it go on.

On the south side of ditches

There is a grazing of the sun.

No more haggling with the world…

As I said these words he grew

Wings upon his back. Now I may ride him

Every land my imagination knew.”

Patrick Kavanagh

 After breakfast I went for a ramble. Surrendered to the direction that called, I let it guide my feet.

Up the lane, around the high road, past an Irish Cob and her filly, around the bend, down the hill and to an intersection. One of many historic markers was posted so I followed it down a rocky path.

Clochán na Carraige, the sign said. So I followed it and several smaller arrows through fields, over stone walls through stiles, across a bog and finally to a beehive hut.

As I reached the hut, far up on the hill behind a maze of stone walls, was a beautiful white horse. Her mane was streaming in the wind and I said to her, “I want to meet you!” But the reality was there was no way to figure out how to navigate the network of walls.

I explored the stone hut, a remnant of green martyrdom of Celtic monks who tried to prove their love of Christ by living a life of extreme penance. It was in great condition considering it was built in perhaps the 8th century and is regularly visited by farm animals as well as humans.

By the time I finished walking around it and climbed through the stile in the stone fence, the white horse disappeared.

After lunch our small group gathered and met with Dara Ó Maoildhia, a Celtic priest who lived as a modern-day hermit in 1985 on Árainn. He now works as a guide to the historic and sacred sites of the island.

Our first stop? The Beehive Hut–Clochán na Carraige.

After we wandered down the hill and through the stiles and across mucky pastures and the bog, we climbed up to the hut and there, waiting for us, was the white horse.

I stopped and stared in disbelief and then said the words…”I don’t believe this!”

Fiona, my name for her, stole the show from Dara. She greeted everyone in our group, some with great gusto. She made faces at us, frisked a few, nibbled a few ears and nuzzled necks and then rolled in cow poo, jumped up and went through her comedy routine once more.

When I first saw her on the hill I was taken with her beauty and thought she was symbolic of the evolving Divine Feminine within me. It made no small impression on me that she was waiting, reminding me of the strength and beauty growing within my life.

An Capall Bán…the White Horse.
Guth na Farraige

Guth na Farraige

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I climbed the pathway to Dún Aonghusa. The thunderous roar of the sea meeting earth spoke to me….again the Voice. It reverberated throughout my heart as a drum and I felt it open wide and clear in Oneness.

As I walked up the steep hill to the ancient fortication, all of my walls crumbled and I became an open channel for Spirit to move through…a flute for the Winds of Heaven to play and bring forth beautiful music.

The place, perched atop a 300 foot cliff, invited contemplation. It invited me to move deeply into the tides of my inner life and become the observer of the ebb and flow, the inner cycles.

The rocks, so perfectly stacked against intruders, created patterns and textures that delighted my eyes. Soft, fine grass growing against hard, course rock gave stark contrast that reflected the contradictions that are so common with life.

I stopped to view the Chevaux de Frise–large stones placed at awkward angles in the ground to prevent enemy soldiers and their horses getting through. Due to the delicate balance of the ancient stone placements, a modern metal gate had been erected. The sections were down; however, and the metal pipes that held them upright stood in the strong wind. Holes were drilled in them and beautiful, otherworldly harmonies sang out. With the booming bass of the sea and the higher flute-like melodies played by the wind, it created a natural concert of the sweetest music.

If a metal pipe can be an instrument, cannot I be one?

“To drift with every passion till my soul

Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play…

Surely there was a time I might have trod

The sunlit heights, and from life’s dissonance

Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God”

Oscar Wilde, Hélas

 

Guth na Farraige….Voice of the Sea
Do Ghrá Árainn

Do Ghrá Árainn

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The window from my room at the bed & breakfast overlooked the ruin. Michael, the trap and horse driver, recommended a visit there and gave directions. So I left Tigh Fitz and crossed the road, heading south to the first road. I turned right and after a short distance came upon a narrow pathway that led up through pastures where fuzzy cows laid chewing their cud.

It was nearing sunset so I moved steadily upward, the rich light calling me with urgency. Over stiles I climbed, through rock fences and briars that hugged the footpath, using flat rocks to stay free of black mud.

The little church of St Benan was probably built in the 11th century* and was possibly used by a hermit associated with a nearby monastery. According to Dara Ó Maoildhia, in ancient times travelers visited Árainn, or Inis Mor. Irish monks, at one time, would take pilgrimages to the island that were as important as those to Jerusalem and Rome.

But the history wasn’t what I was focused on. As I crested the top of the steep, grassy hill I felt it–the thundering voice of the sea meeting craggy, dark rock face of the Irish shoreline. It reverberated loudly through flat rocks that covered the landscape. I climbed thinking I would visit Teampall Bheanáin, ruins of a small chapel, but it was the sea that truly called me.

 

As I climbed beyond Teampall Bheanáin, layers of cracked and broken karst crisscrossing in mind-blowing patterns lead to the crashing sea. Distant walls of stacked stone created even more patterns for my eyes to feast upon.

I paused to take a couple of photographs but quickly walked through an expanse of rocky grassland to the Voice calling me. It wasn’t as if the edge of a cliff was nearby and the huge waves blew spray on me…it was a quarter mile away and the roar of the sea meeting shore created an underlying boom that I felt through my bones. The sound reverberated upwards through my body and anchored me fully in the present moment.

After several moments of feeling awestruck, I moved forward. There was such sweet communion and bliss between the deep bass of the sea and me. And while I cannot share the depth of experience because that is beyond description by words, I can say that when a Voice with such strength and presence speaks, the only option is to give It undivided attention.

The vibration of the thundering Voice opened a doorway within me, a Threshold appeared and I felt steady and ready to walk through it.

Thus began my journey on Árainn. Safe passage through the week I was there and back over Galway Bay to the mainland of Ireland have come about but echoes of the Voice reverberate still through the corridors of my being days after my first encounter with It.

Do Ghrá Árainn…..For the love of Árainn

*Dara Ó Maoildhia wrote a wonderful little guide for all seekers traveling to Árainn. It is filled with great information about the island, especially for those intending a pilgrimage. It is called A Pocket Guide to Árainn: Legends in the Landscape and can be purchased on the island or you can email Dara and get a copy before you travel there….it helped me to learn as much as possible before going.
Waves, Wind and Light

Waves, Wind and Light

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Generally when we have a hurricane nearby it’s wet, humid, hot with southern winds…give or take a few directional degrees. But Irma was kept to our east by a strong cell of high pressure with cool, dry air. When she roared up Florida’s west coast her counterclockwise winds brought a strong northern flow our way.

I rode my bike before sunrise Sunday morning and the waves and winds weren’t kicking but I knew, after looking at the forecast, that by Sunday afternoon we’d have a strong north wind and larger waves.

All day I dreamed of larger waves rolling in from the south and the strong north wind pushing their crests back. I envisioned spray flying back over the spine of the waves. And sunlight illuminating the spray…don’t let me forget that visual that knocked around in my mind all day.

Late afternoon found me back at the beach with my camera. A strong wind was blowing and sand was intensely moving creating a hefty sand-blast of my bare feet and ankles….and any exposed skin. Changing lenses was dicey. One grain of sand and ugh….

The light was beautiful for cloud photos but I arrived a bit too early for the effects of spray and light I hoped to capture. I played around one area of Gulf State Park beach and then, closer to sunset, went to the state park pier.

Clouds made the light rather iffy and certainly did nothing for the white foam and cresting waves. I took a few images of a great blue heron and played with wave shots at the pier. With the rather boring light I nearly gave up on my vision.

And just as I was turning to trudge back through the soft, white sand to my car, the sun broke through a low bank of clouds and a wonderland appeared before my eyes. This is what I’ve been waiting for, I thought. WOW!

I spent a while whispering words of gratitude for the perfection of the scene. No rain….dry, cool air…interesting clouds and oh yes, those majestic waves with their tops swirled back over their spines.

Eventually I lowered my camera and stood witness to the beauty, the convergence of waves, wind and light. It’s always nice to dive deeply into my happy place.
Watershed Beauty

Watershed Beauty

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Dog River, Mobile, Alabama

Earlier this week I was part of a large group of individuals doing health assessments on the local manatee population. While the health of the animals is important and the work by the Dauphin Island Sea Lab biologists and volunteers as well as Sea World Rescue was outstanding, as I rode in one of the boats I couldn’t help but feel amazement at the beauty of our area.

Dog River–Cypress Trees

Dog River conjures images of mud from Will Kimbrough‘s awesome song, Mud Bottom. As I took time at our lunch break to cool off, I thought of the squishy mud Will sings about which always reminds me of Week’s Bay….where I grew up. And the mud is indeed squishy. But I digress….

Our watersheds of coastal Alabama are simply magnificent. The Mobile Delta is one of the most ecologically diverse places on the planet. Yes, it’s muddy. Yes, the water is dark….but it’s dark like a good roux in gumbo is dark. The darker the roux, the richer and tastier the gumbo.

One of the many launch points on the Mobile Delta

If you are a resident of coastal Alabama I invite you to visit the Delta. Take an eco-cruise with Jimbo Meador or take your kayak out….but hire a guide if you go far. The Delta is a maze of marsh grass and channels leading into a labyrinth of alligators, lotus blossoms and nurseries for baby sea life.

The Mobile Delta

Visit the rivers…Dog, Tensaw, Blakley, Fish, Magnolia….but leave the powerboat at home.  Take a canoe or kayak or paddleboard to really experience the essence of these special places. The Gulf of Mexico is where they all end up but their routes are fabulous water trails into the vast diversity of our area.

Volunteer to help…through wildlife agencies, water keepers….be a part of the solution!

Part of our awesome group of manatee-lovers and scientists.