Taken on the same day as the image of Milk hill, this image shows a view of Coumfea a corrie lake in the Nier valley, I have many other images of the lake that I will post in full.
A Corrie lake is formed as follows :
How Is a Corrie Formed?
A corrie is formed in different steps. First, the snow accumulates in a hillside hollow and turns to ice. Then, the hollow is deepened by abrasion and plucking and the ice in the corrie moves under the influence of gravity, deepening the hollow still further. Since the ice is at the foot of the hollow and moves more slowly, a rock lip forms. When the ice melts, a lake or tarn may be formed in the corrie. The steep back wall may be severely weathered by freeze€“thaw weathering, providing material for further abrasion.
Black and white photography remains one of by biggest photographic interests, I just love the tones that can be developed from some landscape images.
The day I took this image the weather was very mixed with showers and strong sunny intervals, this allowed for very mixed lighting on the fields below in the Nire Valley, Waterford. I processed this black and white image from the original colour photo sometime later, I just love the strong contrasts and tone produced.
Monday Morning – setting to sea
Monday morning and it is that time of the week when I am always looking somehow to get my mind and body moving.
Some little time back I stayed for a week down near Youghal, county Cork. Each Morning I would watch the boats heading out to sea, very early each day they would slowly disappear over the horizon.
Just to help me start my own day and the week ahead I found this Poem by Lucy Montgomery.
When the Fishing Boats Go Out
When the lucent skies of morning flush with dawning rose once more,
And waves of golden glory break adown the sunrise shore,
And o’er the arch of heaven pied films of vapor float.
There’s joyance and there’s freedom when the fishing boats go out.
The wind is blowing freshly up from far, uncharted caves,
And sending sparkling kisses o’er the brows of virgin waves,
While routed dawn-mists shiveroh, far and fast they flee,
Pierced by the shafts of sunrise athwart the merry sea!
Behind us, fair, light-smitten hills in dappled splendor lie,
Before us the wide ocean runs to meet the limpid sky
Our hearts are full of poignant life, and care has fled afar
As sweeps the white-winged fishing fleet across the harbor bar.
The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free,
There’s keenest rapture on its breast and boundless liberty!
Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out-blown,
And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his own.
Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows the breeze,
And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the combing seas,
Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea-gulls float,
And all the water-world’s alive when the fishing boats go out.