reflections

on photography and life

Gilbert Lennox 06/10/2026 Gilbert Lennox 06/10/2026

A Donegal Day

Last week there was a day when a decent weather forecast and an empty diary coincided, an opportunity with a good friend for trip to County Donegal, to visit some familiar places and explore some new ones.

Last week there was a day when a decent weather forecast and an empty diary coincided, an opportunity with a good friend for a trip to County Donegal, to visit some familiar places and explore some new ones.

It seemed ambitious to cover both sunrise and sunset on the same day, for it would have meant a 5am start to get to the location for 7.30. So we decided to give sunrise a miss. That’s rarely a good decision in Ireland, where the proverbial four seasons can happen on one day. And even if they don’t, a beautiful beginning is often the harbinger of a bleak ending. And so it proved.

On the plus side, at this time of the year in Ireland (early autumn) the light during the day is rarely harsh and the lower angle of the sun, when it appears, is wonderful for showcasing the landscape.

Landscape photography was not the only thing on our minds and we made our first stop at the wildfowl reserve at Inch to check on the annual migration of the whooper swans.

There were mute swans a-plenty and we could hear noisy geese (greylags) but unlike our previous visit, the sky was not filled with squadrons of whoopers coming in to land from the frozen north. It was too early in the season. We only spotted one small group, hopefully an advance party with many more to come in the next few weeks.

Whoopers at Inch. Photographing into the light was tricky but you can just make out their distinctive yellow and black bills.

The birds generally kept their distance - which is easy to do in the vast spaces at Inch - all except a handsome robin. So after an enjoyable walk in the sun, and a pit stop at the Spill the Beans cafe (excellent food), we headed on for the main business of the day.

While doing some research on Donegal locations I had come across what seemed like a very promising vantage point for capturing the ruggedness and drama of this beautiful county. It is known as the Devil’s Backbone.

I knew the area, near Portsalon, since we had caravanned there over thirty years ago when the children were small. But it involved finding a single track cul-de-sac somewhere in the hills and then a hike higher up into a gap where I knew there was a lake. Thankfully Google Maps didn’t let us down and we found the narrow lane that led us high above a small village until it ended abruptly at a barbed wire fence. At this point the lane widened enough to turn and park the car. What struck us immediately was the silence, disturbed only by a raven’s deep croak and a flutter of wings by a startled wheatear.

The weather, which had been glorious up to this point, decided to adopt a mood to suit the rough terrain. We were spared rain, but the sky became overcast. Halfway up the stony and damp track it was very tempting to turn back. But having made the effort to get so far, we persuaded ourselves that we might as well find out what was over the ridge line. A good decision.

What wasn’t a good decision was the amount of photographic gear I brought with me. Just in case…. My main camera, a zoom lens, a tripod and a drone. For as it turned out, only the drone provided the needed point of view.

I never tire of watching the unfolding vista on the monitor of an otherwise hidden landscape, as the drone rises in the sky. A reminder that sometimes to understand a small scene or issue facing us we need on occasions to get above it, to find a different perspective, so that we are not tied to one limited and usually deeply self-referential location. Life looks different from above.

One of the things I most enjoy about journeys through Donegal is the opportunity for serendipity. It creates an expectation that just around the next of a thousand corners there will be something worth stopping for. And so it was on our way back down to the coast that two fine horses appeared in a field that was suddenly turned golden in bright sunshine.

From here we followed instinct rather than Google Maps - be warned, internet reception is iffy at best in large areas of Donegal - and found ourselves on the eastern coast of the Fanad Peninsula, stopping to take in the view across Lough Swilly of Dunree Head on the west coast of Inishowen. And then on to the viewpoint overlooking the magnificent Ballymastocker beach, where once again we benefitted from the sun lighting up the central part of the scene.

Ballymastocker Beach, with the coastal village of Portsalon in the distance.

Our main goal was the lighthouse on Fanad Head. The weather had once again closed in but at least there was the prospect of sandwiches at our destination and even a cinnamon swirl. There’s an excellent car park at Fanad Head Lighthouse, with a cafe, toilets and a wonderful view of the sea. Although the cafe had just closed, the picnic was welcome. And then, with a picnic still to be eaten, the sun burst through.

I grabbed my gear and ran the short distance to the lighthouse. (Not the best idea at my age.). Thankfully the light stayed with us for perhaps 20 minutes. It was clear from the sky that this was the only opportunity we would have.

It is often like that in landscape photography: long periods of nothing happening and then the rush. It would have been wiser to forget completely about eating and get into position before the light came out, but that’s a lesson I have found hard to remember.

After taking these first two photos handheld, in too great a hurry fearing that the light would disappear, there was time to walk down to the rocks opposite the lighthouse for different perspectives.

The Fanad Head lighthouse is arguably the most photogenic in Ireland. I first visited it eleven years ago in June, when by staying overnight in a local B&B I managed to photograph it both at sunrise and at sunset. It was 4.30 in the afternoon, two and a half hours before sunset, when I made the photos above, just in time before the shadow of the headland behind me obscured the foreground rocks from the sun. Had there been more time I might have ventured lower and further to the left to work a different composition, but the sun then disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and with it the chance of colour in the clouds at the end of the day.

Thrilled with the conditions we had experienced we decided to pay a visit to the Great Pollet Arch a short distance away before heading home. The last time I visited this sea arch I did so with difficulty as a landowner had attempted to block access. However in the intervening years the dispute had been sorted, for we found a new car park together with a fenced walkway that led right down to the small stony beach with close views of one of Ireland’s finest sea arches. It is a considerable walk and the path slopes quite sharply down, so be prepared if you plan to visit. It is worth it. Even in the overcast conditions the Great Pollet Sea Arch made a fitting end to our Fanad peninsula adventure. And on the walk back up to the car I noticed a number of thoughtfully placed benches in case a rest is required. I’m happy to report that I didn’t need them this time!

I’ve always been attracted to sea arches. I think it is because we don’t just look at them, we look through them. And when they are out of reach like this they are especially tantalising and mysterious, portals to another world. And in my imagination I am back at the Wardrobe door, wondering what lies beyond, wondering if this might be the way to another Narnia?

Gilbert Lennox 18/11/2025 Gilbert Lennox 18/11/2025

gold rush

There is a magic moment - a magic few days in fact - that all lovers of the outdoors look forward to each year: peak autumn colour (or fall colour for my American friends). It is the time for wandering amongst the trees, especially beech, oak, birch and maple. Since I live in one of the least forested countries in Europe, that poses a problem. Many years ago more than 80% of Ireland was covered with trees. By 1925 that was down to around 1%. Lush oak woods were everywhere. Now only a few small patches of the ancient forest remains.

For as long as I can remember, rumours of plans to plant significant numbers of native (deciduous) trees have swirled around like dead leaves in winter, but sixty years on progress has been slow. The year 2020 saw the launch of the Forests of our Future programme, with the aim of planting 18 million trees by 2030. According to a report four weeks ago, planting rates have consistently fallen well short of the target.

Autumn in Tollymore Forest Park, one of our finest forests.

But some forests and woods still remain. Arguably Counties Down and Wicklow, on the East coast, boast the best of these . However we now live in the North West! So this autumn I decided not to travel far but to explore my new back yard.

I began with Downhill Forest. Peak colour had not yet arrived. But at least the sun was shining and the trees at the edge of the forest were showing sure signs of gold. The sound of rushing water distracted me and through a gap in the undergrowth I discovered the source: a small waterfall I had searched for before but failed to find.

Five days later I ventured into Mountsandel Forest, on the East bank of the River Bann at Coleraine. Here amongst the usual chaos of woodland I found a part of the path that wound through a group of beech trees. I love the invitation of a path like this, with its vanishing point leading into mystery beyond.

The afternoon sun was shining when on the afternoon of November 1st I returned to Downhill Forest, picking out pieces of gold on the lower trunk and branches of a graceful beech.

My friend Mark who accompanied me showed me the way to a high point in the forest where there is a clearing. It is often easier to compose a photograph on the edge of a wood. And the clearing also gave me the opportunity to send up the drone.

This was the only photo I had envisaged before going out and it came together even better than I had imagined, with the added bonus of the clouds in the background, and the tanker sitting on a blue sea. The distant headland is Inishowen in County Donegal.

Changing the direction of the drone I took another photo of the view towards the north, taking in Castlerock, Portstewart, Portrush and Coleraine in a single shot.

Coming back down from the clearing we followed the walkway into the forest which eventually took us to the waterfall at the old, disused mill. The wheel can still be seen. There was plenty of evidence of recent storm damage with fallen trees and debris complicating any composition.

Gilbert Lennox 30/10/2025 Gilbert Lennox 30/10/2025

new work 2025

I always find it challenging to photograph the landscape in summer. Crazy sunrise and sunset times, atmospheric haze and, most importantly, time with the grandkids! (Not forgetting other commitments such as New Horizon.) Now that autumn is in full swing, hours of daylight have rapidly decreased and children are back in school I have started to venture out once more.

These adventures in the landscape have been exclusively local so far. Living now in Coleraine means that Downhill, Binevenah, Castlerock, Ramore Head, Whiterocks and Portstewart Strand are all within relatively easy access.

It is good to be reminded what is just beyond our front door. And just by going out - with appropriate clothing, of course - there is no knowing what we might find. Even when it is grisly grey and the camera remains in the bag, feeling the wind on our face, breathing in the colder air, tasting the salt, listening to the music of the sea - how good is that! So why not give it a go?

A walk on the beach. Castlerock, October 2025

Venturing out with the camera, then disgorging the digital content of far too many photographs (why do I keep taking so many?) onto my computer, selecting those that please me most, processing them, has not only whetted my appetite to keep going out but also reminded me how poor I have been at updating this website.

However, the dark evenings have provided me with more time and I have managed to add some new work. You will find the more recent photos in my New Work 2025 Gallery, which I have been updating regularly throughout October. So if you would enjoy seeing what I’ve been up to, please head there.

Some of these photos will oeventually make their way into the more permanent collections. Many will be replaced by new work, so please don’t forget to check back regularly. Thank you.

Ailsa Craig. A frenzy of Gannets. August 2025

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!