Eye of the Storm

I spent nearly two weeks in Ireland at the end of March into early April.

I have lots to share about my trip and why I went at all when I still have tons of photos from Japan to blog about. But I am going to refrain for now.

Instead, I want to talk about the hour or so I spent on a beach that led to this composition.

It was Easter Sunday to those who celebrate or otherwise observe the holiday.

Storm Dave was also blowing across Éire’s northwestern coast for the second day and bringing with it rain, wind, and foreboding skies.

My kind of vibe. And given the specific day, threat of inhospitable weather, and early hour of the morning, I hoped that I’d have the beach to myself.

That ended up being true and also not true.

Just as I showed up to my location, a woman was getting out of the water and moving off towards her car, which she had parked on the right-hand side of the short, narrow path between the parking area behind and thin strip of sand and stone ahead.

Based on context clues she gave me during our ensuing conversation, I’d put her somewhere between her late 50s and early to mid 60s.

She kicked things off first by asking me how I was getting on.

I cheerfully replied that I was not as brave as her to get into the chilly Atlantic.

That and my obviously American accent must have piqued her curiosity. Regardless, she asked me where I was from, as one does.

I typically tell people from outside the US I’m from near Boston, as that’s a city just about everyone will have heard of. Especially if your home is the emerald isle.

She was clearly familiar with the Boston area, because she pressed me for where around those parts I meant.

I tell her Providence, Rhode Island, and she lights up. Turns out she had gone to Providence College as an undergraduate.

I light up at this point as well.

Certainly I wasn’t expecting to run into someone in and from another country who knows a bit about my locale’s culture, its geography, its history.

We eventually end our chat by wishing each other safe journeys.

I suppose that’s the normal thing to do, too. But after reading similar sentiments on keepsakes at various gift shops I visited, it felt very Irish to me.

After this chance encounter, I had the beach to myself.

I didn’t research the area ahead of time and didn’t have a wholly clear sense of what I wanted to capture.

I often approach my photo sessions this way. I plan to visit a spot that I know on some level will work for landscape compositions, check the weather forecast, and then see what the world decides to present me with that day.

On this occasion, I was generally envisioning and hoping for something moody.

I’d say that the day and weather delivered.

Conditions changed rapidly on me. At the end, I was hurrying down the beach so as not to be caught in a potential downpour (which didn’t come actually). And what looked to be a rising tide.

I wasn’t going to drown in that case. The area was one of the least rugged I visited during my trip, so no scrambling up steep hills or hoisting myself over giant, slippery boulders was going to take place.

But I didn’t relish the prospect of having my entire bottom half soaked either.

In any event, the heavy cloud farther out to sea had been fairly uniform a minute or two before I made today’s share.

The window revealing the tall outcropping thrust out into the ocean in the center of frame remained open for perhaps five minutes and then closed again.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, honestly. I don’t think I’ve seen weather behave in quite that way before.

When I’m not performing my day job or out photographing in my free time these days, I’m often soaking up photography content by folks who really know what they are doing on YouTube.

One of these is Englishman Tom Heaton.

He explores in one of his videos the question of whether anybody with a camera could take just as good a photo as one they see a photographer share.

His response is that they couldn’t have because they were not there in that place at that moment.

This approaches how I feel about this scene.

Sure, there are other photographers out there as skilled as I am. Some I admire, like Tom Heaton, far exceed my abilities.

But I got to experience this arresting scene. I may be the only person on the planet who bore witness to that brief parting of clouds.

I allow that people in their nearby homes that Easter morning may have seen something similar from their windows if they chanced to look out to sea in those 4 or 5 minutes.

That’s special and not special. Let me explain as I wrap this entry up for you.

I tend not to think of myself as especially important in the grand scheme of things. Truth be told, I don’t want that burden.

It’s not that I don’t matter. I’m here, so I do.

I just don’t matter more than anyone else.

Looking back, that hour or so I spent on that beach feels normal. It feels nice. For the conversation and for the camera work.

At the same time, it doesn’t feel earth shattering.

I wouldn’t say I’ve transformed in any appreciative way to magically become a superior version of who I am at my core.

Some days are like that. Perhaps the best days even.

Simple and at once profound. Both wholly ordinary and exceedingly extraordinary.

I’m grateful that I was at that beach with my camera. I’m glad that I can share what I saw with the wider world.

But, you know, it’s also not that big a deal. And that’s fine by me.