reflections

on photography and life

Gilbert Lennox 13/10/2024 Gilbert Lennox 13/10/2024

Aurora

Have you ever seen the movie Frequency? A sci-fi thriller, shot 24 years ago, featuring Dennis Quaid and Jim Caviezel as a father and son in which, due to an ‘atmospheric anomaly’, the detective son has the opportunity to reach back through time to change the tragedy that befell his firefighter father thirty years previously. The atmospheric anomaly was the Aurora Borealis.

Now while the billions of watts generated by the solar wind in a display of the aurora can indeed interfere with power lines and satellite communications, the idea that they can also enable interaction across time is scientifically ridiculous. But it is a great movie and remains one of our favourites. While I knew about the Northern Lights, seeing them in the movie created a desire to witness them for myself.

At the time I had no idea that they could be seen from Northern Ireland. I’ve learned since, both in 2014 and in even more spectacular fashion in May of this year. (See my blogpost ‘A night under the dancing lights)'.

Back in May many commented that this was a once in a lifetime experience. While that was true since all experiences of the Aurora (or of anything else for that matter) are unique, on October 10th it happened again.

My decision to head out in May was last minute. This time I was prepared. Which was particularly important as I really wanted one of my photography companions, who had never seen the Aurora, to experience it for himself.

As I drove to pick him up I stopped for a few moments at the beach at Castlerock, set my tripod on the sand and took a couple of test shots. Green was everywhere! But so were clouds. It was starting to rain as I made my shots.

Undaunted we set out, deciding to go to Mussenden Temple, the iconic landmark dating back to the late 18th Century and the eccentric Earl Bishop Frederick Hervey (he was Earl of Bristol and Bishop of Derry). The ‘Temple’ was originally built as his library, modelled on the Temple of Vesta in Italy and is one of the most photographed buildings in Ireland. Its precarious position, perched on a cliff edge overlooking the North Atlantic adds to the drama.

The ruins of the Bishop’s home, Downhill House, still stand and we made our first stop there.

It was still raining but the green was really strong in the sky and we could see that the clouds were clearing in the north west. So we decided to head down to the Temple.

Apart from the weather, I knew that the biggest challenge we were likely to face in making our photographs was the presence of other photographers. The road had been well lined with cars when we parked up and it seemed that there were torches, headlamps and mobile screens wherever we looked.

If you look carefully you can detect that we were not alone!

Of course every person there had the same right as we had to enjoy the spectacle. And not everyone understands the different needs of the photographers who want to photograph the spectacle and those who want to take selfies. However, to stand in the view simply texting… Ah well. We are grateful for the opportunity to cultivate patience (as well as for generative fill in Lightroom!). As they say, if you can’t beat them, join them. So we politely manoeuvred our way to get what we could. And it was great!

Just after 10pm we could see with the naked eye that additional colours were filling the sky above the Temple. I don’t do video. That’s a whole separate skill set that I haven’t yet acquired. A pity, as it is only via video that the waves of colourful movement above our heads could be represented. You will just need to imagine it. The sky was in constant motion, with the result that of a thousand photos of the event none would be the same.

Of all the photos I made that evening I think this is my favourite. I like the drama in the sky - it was most intense in this part. I like the light in the window, the silhouette of the railings at the steps and the distant lights on the shore of Inishowen - the sense of a greater reality above and beyond the confines of our homes, the importance of getting out of the house and looking up.

Tiredness was now taking its toll. I knew that if we stayed out it was likely that there would be another eruption of the ‘lights’. And so it proved. But my friend and I had had our moment. I asked him how he felt as we ambled back up the path towards the ruined house. “Rather overwhelmed” he said quietly. We walked on in awestruck silence.

We stopped for a few moments once again at the house. The display had faded but was still quietly beautiful and we made our final shot.

I went home deeply grateful. That the skies had cleared. That the Aurora had danced so spectacularly. That my friend had witnessed it. And that I had looked further up, and further in.

That was more than enough.

Gilbert Lennox 15/09/2024 Gilbert Lennox 15/09/2024

A Walk on the Wild Side: Radnor Lake

A few miles from where our eldest daughter lives in Nashville, among richly forested hillsides, lies Radnor Lake. With its abundance of wildlife, firm pathways, and many marked woodland trails, it is a marvellous place to walk at any time of year. Especially marvellous with four excited grandkids for company. And so it happened that on the Sunday morning of Labor Day weekend, before church, we set out on a mini adventure.

“What’s that?’ Charlotte said as we made our way from the car park on the path that led to the lake. I had seen nothing, too busy ensuring that the camera settings were correct. She pointed upwards to the left of the path. And there about 10 metres away sat a beautiful Red-tailed Hawk, totally untroubled by our presence. He posed long enough for me to take his portrait before with a languid flap of his wings he glided further into the forest. What a start to our hunt for wildlife!

A few moments later excited chatter from the girls indicated another precious find: a turtle (they are called Pond Sliders) enjoying the heat of the morning sun.

A Red-eared Pond Slider basking in the morning sun.

More turtles followed, taking advantage of handy logs to slip in and out of the water. These Red-eared Pond Sliders are the most popular pet turtle in the United States. Cries of “They’re so cute! Can I take one home?” were studiously ignored by all adults present and thankfully our walk continued along the southern shore of the lake as another discovery was made. A slim, elegant Double-crested Cormorant posed in the strengthening sunlight, drying rapidly after a successful fish breakfast.

My eye was drawn to a commotion out in the middle of the lake. The 200-600 lens was just enough to capture what was going on: another cormorant wrestling with a large fish.

In the hope that I might make it to Radnor I had decided to bring my biggest lens with me. In order to make this possible we had to share our hand luggage and so my long-suffering wife carried the large, heavy lens bag on and off four flights!

By this time the heat was beginning to make its presence felt and for most the adventure gave way to the thought of shade and cold drinks, leaving five adults to complete the circuit of the lake. In order to get to church on time we had to pick up the pace, which isn’t conducive for spotting wildlife, but we still managed some good sightings.

A pair of Wood Duck were preening themselves on a tree that had tilted to an alarming angle across the water. Then a chip monk scuttled into a patch of sunlight as we moved away from the lakeside. This was followed by a flock of Wild Turkeys, always a fun sight.

Finally, as the path wound back down to the lake side, a special moment: a Great Blue Heron standing tall close to the water’s edge,

I decided to return on my own very early the following morning, in the hope of seeing the Bald Eagles that nest at Radnor. The promised unbroken sunshine failed to materialise, replaced by murky, misty conditions. As I stepped out of the taxi I wondered if I had been guilty of poor judgement, especially as I immediately discovered there was no phone signal in the woods. How was I going to order a taxi back to the hotel?

Much to my relief, as I got closer to the lake the signal returned and so I could focus on making the most of the couple of hours before having to go back.

I wasn’t the only photographer hoping to capture something special. Many of the locals were out, all of them very friendly and willing to share tips and sightings with a stranger. “There’s a hawk just ahead on the left” one lady told me as she continued her photo walk. “There’s an otter’s den on the bank under there” said another, camera poised. And sure enough a splash confirmed it as an otter swam into view.

A bird I had never seen before sped across the lake. I managed a few photos and then asked another photographer what it was. “It’s a Killdeer”, he told me after viewing the image on the back of my camera.

And so it continued. “I’m trying to photograph the mink - did you hear them?” So that’s what all the rustling was along the bank. “Last week a young lad photographed a polecat taking a duck.” “The eagles were up yesterday but I haven’t seen them.”

A little boy shouted excitedly to his parents, “Look, it’s a hummingbird.” The blessing of young eyes once again! I waited until they passed me on the path and looked for myself. Sure enough, a Ruby-throated Hummingbird was flitting in its staccato fashion through the branches searching for the last of the summer nectar.

Wildlife photography demands many qualities. One is the ability to wait. Another is being ready. Many minutes would go by when there was nothing to see. Then suddenly a Green Heron was flying across the lake almost directly towards me, giving me only a second or two to raise the camera, focus, compose and take a few exposures before it disappeared into the undergrowth at the water’s edge. Fortunately it chose a branch close by for its perch and I was able to photograph it framed by the leaves.

The Green Heron reminds me for all the world of a punk rocker! At 600mm, ISO 6000, 1/640 sec at f6.3.

Some White Tailed Deer emerged from the forest for a drink.

The light was challengingly low. As a landscape photographer I am never comfortable photographing at more than ISO 800 but that was certainly not going to work here., especially for birds in flight. So for only the second time in my life I set the camera to ISO AUTO and concentrated on choosing the best shutter speed for the particular photo. I was amazed to discover that even at ISO 6000 the photo of the Green Heron was so sharp and clean.

Opposite me across the lake I noticed that some deer had emerged from the forest for a drink. In addition, a smaller bird was creating a great deal of noise with its piercing chatter. So I added the 1.4 converter to the 200-600 lens to see if with a reach of 840mm I could make some distant photos. Photographing the White Tailed deer was relatively straitforward, but the noisy bird took a little more work. Seeing it through the lens I realised that it was a Belted Kingfisher, another variety we don’t have in Ireland and a first sighting for me.

A flock of Green-winged Teal (I think!) at the opposite side of the lake. ISO12800, 840mm, 1/1250 sec at f9

All the time I was scanning the far bank for sightings of the Bald Eagles. Sadly none appeared. It was hard to feel disappointed after so many wildlife encounters. And I hope to be back!

The Bald Eagles of Radnor, photographed on a previous visit.

My thoughts were starting to turn to lunch and finding transport back when, reaching the end of lakeside trail I looked up and saw a large group of black vultures perched in the tree above my head. I decided to head for the carpark before their minds turned to lunch!

Gilbert Lennox 21/08/2024 Gilbert Lennox 21/08/2024

Conversations with Creation

It was my mother who left the door ajar. I was 4 or 5 at the time, watching her weed the rockery at home while our resident robin flitted around her in a hesitant dance. And suddenly I found myself pulled into a conversation with echoes back to Eden and those first excited evening reflections on the discoveries of the day.

Eurasian Robin. Not of course the one who befriended my mother, but a distant descendant that accompanied a doctor friend and me through the grounds of Antrim Castle.

A robin. Why was it called that? Why didn’t it fly away like all the other birds did when I was around? What did it eat? Could it understand my mum when she talked to it?

Watching and listening to the birds in our garden, the rare sight of a red squirrel in the Scotch Pines, hunting for mushrooms, spotting the fish in the local stream, collecting and pressing wildflowers (it was legal back then) for primary school, collecting caterpillars to watch their metamorphosis. Folders stuffed with pictures, bird and flower identifications, naming of parts, Enid Blyton nature stories, endless questions and searching along the track of the abandoned railway line for a rare orchid. I even had an ant colony (two sheets of glass in a wooden frame, filled with soil and sand) and spent long hours watching their remarkable industry.

A Red Admiral feeding on Sea Holly, one of the plants that takes me back to my childhood garden

The conversation faded for a time, while something called ‘real life’ took over. It was as if the dance had moved to a distant corner of the room without ever quite going away. Names were forgotten, but the music remained. And then came the digital revolution and the possibility of entering the conversation again, this time through a camera lens. The dance swept me up with it and hasn’t let me go since.

Barred Owl. First surviving digital bird photo, from woods outside Cleveland, Ohio.

I began to take a telephoto lens with me on my travels. Family trips to California, Florida and Tennessee, speaking trips to England, South Africa and Transylvania became opportunities to seek and photograph some of the more exotic wildlife that I had only seen in the pages of National Geographic Magazine or in some of the BBC wildlife programmes. Other fields always seemed greener.

Brown Pelican, Santa Barbara, California

It wasn’t until ‘lockdown’ (an ugly name for an uglier thing) that I began to pay attention to what was around me, and especially to the birds in our garden. I decided to make photographing garden birds my project during those restricted time.

Chaffinches in the snow, waiting for crumbs to fall from the bird feeder.

I’ve never been any good at DIY but I managed to rig up a feeding station and a perch and using our garden house as a hide, I began to document the birds that visited our garden. I was surprised at the variety: in addition to the robin (every garden has a robin) and the chaffinches, we had starlings, blackbirds, siskin, dunnocks, wagtails, house sparrows, swallows, house martins, collared doves, wrens, blue tits, great tits, gold finches, jackdaws, rooks, magpies, coal tits, and some rare visits from redpolls, greenfinches and a brambling. Missing were birds of prey, although buzzards patrolled the fields nearby, thrushes, bull finches, gold crests, long tailed tits and water fowl, as we didn’t have a pond.

The magnificent, multi-coloured plumage of the starling.

Taking pictures of largely static birds (birds on a stick) was (and still is) really enjoyable. But I wanted to photograph birds actually doing something! And so was born the desire to photograph birds in flight.

Thankfully, digital is very forgiving! It took hundreds of attempts before I managed a sharp photo and several thousand before I managed any that had artistic merit. No wonder I had stayed away from bird photography in the days of film!

A siskin coming into land while warning off competitors.

A swallow swooping low over our neighbour's roof in pursuit of the next meal.

We have since moved on, back into suburbia. The large garden is no more. But there are still birds to photograph and a vast coastline along which to photograph them. The conversation will continue!

Gilbert Lennox 25/05/2024 Gilbert Lennox 25/05/2024

I can't wait until... photographing the seasons

Photographers are notorious for this on social media. When we are in the warmth (or otherwise) of summer, some photographer is bound to start the trend with a post beginning, “I can’t wait until Autumn!” Autumn is no sooner here than I start looking for the inevitable, “Is anyone looking forward to winter?”, followed by some magnificent snow scene. And of course, we are not long into January before a lovely picture of a bluebell wood appears on our Instagram feed. “I can’t wait until Spring.”

It has to be admitted that there aren’t many posts from landscape photographers saying, “I can’t wait until Summer”! Something to do with sunrise being too early, light being too harsh, too many tourists - you know the drill.

But photographers aren’t the only ones who ‘can’t wait’. “I can’t wait until the exams are over.” (I get that one!). I can’t wait until the mortgage is paid off. (I understand the longing.). I can’t wait until the kids are older and we have more time for us. (Hmmm.).

Here’s the thing. I can wait!

Perhaps it’s my age. But every time I read a photographer saying, “I can’t wait for Autumn”, I want to shout, “I CAN wait!”

Of course I get it that, at least for some, this is not an expression of impatience but of anticipation. I also understand the importance of having something to look forward to, the importance of hope. And I love those gorgeous autumn colours. But let’s not rush lest in rushing we miss what is before us.

Landscape photographers have the wonderful gift of shooting and savouring the seasons. We notice, compose and frame the changes. We are immersed in the ancient rhythms of creation, liberated even for a few hours from the safe and sanitised world between four walls where we spend so much of our lives.

From my (almost daily) walk this week on Portstewart Strand, mid Spring with all its changes of light, weather, sea temperature , wave strength and beach contours. What’s not to love?

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. Let’s embrace them, while we still have the opportunity. To everything there is a season. Whether it is the garden, if we have one. Or the green, or the local park, a nearby wood, a favourite beach. Take time to breathe, to notice the changing light, shifting colour palette and slow transitions as all falls into step with the seasons.

Every moment is precious. Don’t wish your life away, even in jest or as click bait on social media. Enjoy the anticipation, but learn to make the most of the waiting.

Gilbert Lennox 18/05/2024 Gilbert Lennox 18/05/2024

A night under the dancing lights

It was February 27th 2014, a few years into landscape photography, when I first became aware that it was occasionally possible to capture the aurora in camera in Northern Ireland. I remember that the possibility was announced on the local BBC news that evening. The night was clear, so after some hasty research as to the best settings, I headed north to the coast.

The Aurora above the Causeway Coast, May 2024

Hopes that I might be on my own were dashed immediately. There were cars everywhere. Finally I hit on the idea of going to the old limestone quarry at Larry Bane and photographing Sheep Island. There was no one else there. As I looked north I was aware of a strange grey mist near the horizon. That’s what it looked like, although it was too bright to be mist. I set up my tripod, opened the shutter on my F4 lens for 30 seconds at ISO3200…. and nearly fell over when the result flashed up on the back of my camera.

Sheep Island Aurora, 1.57am, 28th February 2014

It was just over a year later that there was another alert on a clear night, so I headed out again, this time to the iconic church at Ballintoy, where I met local photographer Paul Moane, who kindly shared a few tips. The Aurora wasn’t as strong and my lens wasn’t quite wide enough for the tight space of the graveyard but it was still another remarkable evening.

Ballintoy Parish Church Aurora, 1.41, 17th March 2015

Then in April of that year, on the night of my birthday, when my wife and I arrived home from two different church events, I noticed the same strange greyness in the northern sky over Gallows Hill. As our eyes grew accustomed to the dark, the Aurora colour became very visible. Heather could especially see the pink, whereas for me the green was much the stronger colour. (Explain that?)

Apart from a brief appearance again in December of that year, Aurora hunting went quiet for me until November 2017 when some photography friends invited me to join them on another Aurora adventure. It was a clear night but with a full moon which, while it provided interesting foreground light, reduced the overall colour intensity. It was still dramatic.

Giant’s Causeway Aurora 22.37, 7th November 2017

Some pillars began to form when we went round the coast to the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, but we now had to contend with a bank of cloud on the horizon and the light house on Rathlin.

Then the Aurora largely went quiet, with just a few hints here and there that I captured, and I learned that it would not be until around 2024 that strong Auroras would reappear this far south. In Iceland and other arctic countries, of course, the Aurora continued to dance. And part of my hope for the trip to Iceland in February 2023 was that we might see the Aurora. Alas, on the night it was predicted, clouds piled in. (I discovered later that there had been a good Aurora showing back home that night!)

A hint of Aurora colour at Westrahorn, Iceland, before the clouds rolled in. 20.01, 24th February 2023

Various local alerts came and went. To tell the truth I was beginning to lose interest. I went out one evening last November and photographed the Aurora at Portballintrae but was rather underwhelmed. It was just more of the same, a band of green low on the horizon, with a hint of magenta above. Nothing special.

Portballintrae Aurora, 20.51, 5th November 2023

Until last Friday. Once again the media was filled with anticipation. But I was dragging my feet. It was Northwest 200 weekend (a massive motorbike event on the north coast), everywhere would be crowded. Why bother. Until my friend Kieran Dodds, a professional photographer from Edinburgh sent me a photo he had just taken from his bedroom, with a one word caption: INSANE!

My wife virtually pushed me out the door. “You’ll always regret it if you don’t go.”

Once again I had the challenge of trying to find somewhere that wasn’t too crowded. In the intervening years since 2014, photography has become much more widespread thanks to Instagram and the iPhone. The roads were crazy, like Christmas! I drove to the Giant’s Causeway and set out along the cliff path. Below me I could see the cars and torches of the crowds packing the Causeway itself so I decided to stay high where there were fewer people and no car headlamps! On my walk up, I noticed a photographer sitting on a bench. “Too cloudy”, he said in a resigned tone. I smiled and pressed on uphill, pausing after a few minutes to take a test shot.

This looked very promising. It was also surprising as I was shooting West rather than North. I moved further along the path to where I knew there was a large patch of level ground and a reasonably panoramic view, from Portballintrae to the south west to the Causeway itself in the north.

Great Stookan Aurora with setting moon. 23.26, 10th May 2024

Already this was remarkable. The colours were growing in brightness and intensity, despite the presence of a slight sea mist and some cloud, and pillars were starting to shoot off in all directions. It became hard to know where to shoot. I would have needed a much wider lens than 16mm but even then I wouldn’t have been able to capture it all as the Aurora was right overhead and almost all around. It was phenomenal. I could have tried to move to other locations but I was mesmerised by the dancing lights and just wanted to enjoy it. The following are some of my best photographs from an unforgettable night.

In this final image I attempted to shoot high to capture the centre of the Aurora.

According to the experts, we have not seen the last of the Aurora this year. The Sun is approaching what is known as “solar maximum”, a point during an 11 year cycle when its activity is strongest. Every eleven years the Sun’s magnetic poles flip, which causes sunspots which in turn cause ejections of material (plasma) which cause solar storms. There were at least five coronal mass ejections (to use the technical term) that resulted in the geostorm that headed towards the earth. Around 18 hours later they interacted with the magnetic field (the Magnetosphere) that protects the earth from radiation. The Northern Lights are caused when these charged particles hit oxygen and nitrogen in the Earth’s atmosphere.

The varied colours relate both to the different gasses and the height above earth. Green is the most common colour, caused by the charged particles interacting with oxygen at anything up to 150 miles. Red occurs above 150 miles. Nitrogen produces the purple (above 60 miles) and blue (below 60 miles).

When there is a really strong storm, such as this month - the strongest in 30 years - the Aurora can be seen much further south than usual. For example it was visible to the naked eye throughout the UK and also in California.

As I stood by my tripod a couple of young men joined me, showed me the photos they had managed to take with their iPhones (I hadn’t even thought of using my iPhone - too old school) and looked at the images on the back of my camera. They had driven up from Belfast just for this and were in touch with friends scattered across the north. In this technologically transformed world it was so good to see and share their enthusiasm for the wonders unfolding above our heads.