Head, shoulders, knees and...

 toes (knees and toes!): 

February 2021.  Via the 'Blad & 150mm with extension tube, HP5+ on Ilford MG Classic fibre paper.

That's such a good song for the wee ones - gets them moving as well as learning words and parts of the body.   Like most parents, we must have sung that one a few hundred times a few years back, when those toes were a lot smaller than they are now.  

Top tip for Monday

Like vignetting but don't want to fake it in PS?  Not confident enough in the darkroom? Fear not.  Simply use the wrong lens hood and get a lovely vignette effect for free!

The River Bush, at Bushmills, 2021.  HP5+ on MG Classic fibre paper.

I finally made it 'out' for a photowalk last week, with another film user from the Club.  We decided on Bushmills, home to the famous Whiskey.  The River Bush runs through the village and is really a lovely little river - at this point we are less than a mile away from where it empties into the Atlantic in Portballintrae.  I was a bit rusty with the 'Blad but I stuck the 60mm lens on it (slightly wide-angle) and out we went.  There happened to be a lens hood floating around in the bag...I didn't look too closely at it but just twisted it on and away we went.  The Zeiss lenses for the 'Blad all have a bespoke bayonet filter (and hood) ring - which is handy for a quick change of filter/hood.  Genuine Hasselblad filters don't come cheap, though.  The only alternative is a 67mm bayonet-screw step ring and then normal 67mm filters but even the Fotodiox adapter isn't a tight fit.  But I digress.  When the negatives popped out of the developing tank I noticed severe vignetting on all the shots on the 60mm lens.  Whoops.  Turned out I was using the hood for the 150mm lens.  Ah well, hopefully I won't make that mistake again.   The saving grace is the 6x6 negs are big enough to allow a bit of cropping in the darkroom.  Onwards and upwards...

The Herring Pond (and other news)

The Herring Pond in Portstewart is a famous place for diving and swimming - it goes back a lot of years and it's the sort of place you would have heard your grandparents tell you about how popular it was in their day.  Not really surprising, I guess - the Atlantic Ocean's been here for a while and these rock formations don't change overnight.  There's a natural breakwater around the Herring Pond so that for the most part it remains free from strong sea-swells - it's a pretty safe place to swim unless there's really big water about. This is what it looks via the TiTAN pinhole - the pond itself is just behind the railings:

The Herring Pond, Portstewart. Pinhole shot, FP4+ on MGV paper.

It's not best of prints - as you can see most of the detail in the sky has been lost.  I didn't think the shot warranted the sacrifice of another sheet of paper.  If you look closely towards the centre-left of the shot you might just spot the top part of a set of metal steps which lead down into the pond itself.  The show-offs (mostly young lads, for some strange reason) stand atop the step ladder and do a swallow dive into the water some 20 feet or so below.  The rest of us mere mortals edge ourselves in gently and try not to scream as the coldness of the water envelopes you.  And yes, that did include me a few years ago, when my daughter begged me to join her in her 'snorkeling' phase.  Even in late summer the water is cold, I can tell you - and that's with a 5mm wetsuit on, gloves and boots included.  Impressively, the Herring Pond is a favourite of an oldies' Wild Swimming group, who venture down most days of the year - without wetsuits.  I take my hat off to them. 

They say you never forget your first time and that's certainly true for me.  The first time I suited up and went in was quite incredible.  I swam a few strokes out to the centre of the pond (it's not very wide) and then upended myself to see how this snorkeling melarky works.  It is no exaggeration to say I nearly passed out with shock at the sight before me - no-one had warned me what to expect but the floor of the pond was about 100 feet below me and it was clear water all the way down.  My instinctive reaction was to panic - I thought I was going to fall!  I quickly splashed myself vertical while my brain caught up with things and I realised that no, I wasn't going to fall, or even sink to the bottom.  It's quite funny thinking about it now but the fact is I simply couldn't process what my eyes were seeing.  Eventually I got my head around it and ventured another look, remembering that the whole point of using a snorkel was that I could breathe while my head was underwater...

The world that revealed itself to me was like something from another planet - a myriad of kelp, thongweed and various other seaweeds and underwater flora.  The colours and varieties were simply astounding - the whole of the pond was just full of life.  That summer we went to the Herring Pond a lot.

I totally get the whole Wild Swimming thing - I can see how it could easily become addictive.  Yes it's cold at any time of the year but from what I read the sea temperature doesn't change that much throughout the year.  A dip in the Atlantic doesn't half lift you from your torpor, that's for sure.

In other news, I received my second (and last, for now at least) Pfizer vaccine yesterday.  The rollout has been impressively quick here in Northern Ireland - considering it was only December 8th that the first person in the world received the Pfizer vaccine it's quite amazing to be sitting here in a fairly remote part of the UK having had both doses by the 17th of February.  I'm very grateful - to the scientists, public health officials, nurses and volunteers.  No major side-effects to report this morning, apart from a bit of tenderness around the injection site.  

From what I read that means that in 7 days time I'm as protected from a serious reaction to the COVID-19 virus as protected can be.  The quoted efficacy for the Pfizer vaccine is 95%.  Even a glass-half-empty person would have difficulty justifying worrying too much about the 5% - and I'm generally a glass-half-full person.  The caveat is that it isn't clear yet if receiving the vaccine means your chances of getting COVID-19 and transmitting it are reduced - although the head of Pfizer has stated that animal studies have shown that it provides significant protection from transmitting the virus this has yet to be proven in humans.  So for the moment it's business as usual with regard to masks and social distancing, although from now on I'll be the first in our house to volunteer to run to the shops for milk or bread should the need arise.  Heck, I might even get out with a camera again...

Tourism Ireland

My entry for Tourism Ireland's Photo Competition:

Tourism Ireland, 2021.  HP5+ on Ilford Classic fibre paper

I think it captures the essence of a holiday in this part of the world - the space, accommodation which just oozes charm (big old sited caravans five feet from your neighbours) and, well, the guarantee of interesting weather.  What's not to like, eh?

The whole area around us is awash with caravan parks like this - there are literally thousands of static caravans in a 10-mile stretch.  I do think they deserve a serious photographic 'project' and if I ever get my act together that might happen.   Mostly closed during winter, in the summer months they are full to bursting with families from Belfast and County Down - they come down en masse and stay all summer.  Understandable, really, given we have mile upon mile of golden sandy beaches.  What we don't have is the infrastructure designed to support such a number of visitors, so our restaurants are busy-busy and our roads congested, cars nose-to-tail all along the coastal routes.  I think there must be a perverse sort of enjoyment to be had when you're stuck in a traffic jam on a Sunday evening as you try to drive from Portrush to Portstewart - after all, if everyone else is here then it must be the place to be, right?  

Wrong.  

Drive-in, Ulster style

Much of Northern Ireland is steeped in religion, as you probably know.  There's a long tradition of evangelical preaching across our little land.  Not so many years ago if you ventured into town on a Saturday, as almost everyone did in those days, your ears would be blasted by the Pavement Preachers, complete with mic and speaker, who would regale you with dire predictions of what would happen if you didn't repent your sins and turn to God.  These (predominately) old guys would literally be queuing up to take their turn on the mic and often they would work themselves up into a lather once they got going.  Perhaps there was some sort of competition going on that I wasn't aware of...

That seems to have stopped in recent times but replaced from time to time with 'healers' who invite you to sit (in the middle of the town, in full view of everyone) and 'have the hands laid on you'.  I try not to be too sceptical but there seems to be a disproportionally large number of healers for our little community.

This particular drive-in snapped below lies between Portstewart and Portrush - in fact, it's the location of the start/pit area of the North West 200 motorcycle races.  The other 11 months of the year it's just an unused park so I guess it's ideal for this sort of thing:

Drive-in, Portrush, 2021.  HP5+ on Ilford Classic fibre paper.

I don't know how well this event is attended, but I suspect it's pretty popular - maybe more than ever in these times of shielding.  Certainly the bigger churches in the area seem to do a roaring trade on a Sunday.  Perhaps I'll have a wee drive-past myself this Sunday afternoon...

When I was young my father sang in the Church Choir so that meant that we all went to Church on a Sunday - well, up until we hit the teenage years, when it was left up to us whether or not we wanted to go.  Most times we elected not to - my overriding memory of the minister we had was not a favourable one.  He was nearing retirement and the sermons were long, very long and very boring for a young boy.  A Presbyterian Church Service in the 1970s in Northern Ireland was a very rigid thing - there was a traditional way of doing things and that never changed...there would be lots of singing (which my dad liked but I was tone deaf and couldn't hold a note if you paid me), a bit of praying, one short sermon and then the main event - a long sermon.  If you were very young you would escape the long sermon and exit with the other kids through a door in the back of the Church to a Sunday School, which was a bit more relaxed but when you hit a certain age you were expected to sit with your parents and listen attently.  The main sermon was, well, long and held nothing of interest to me.  Looking back, from what I can remember, there was little attempt to make it interesting - it would consist of readings from various parts of the New Testament and then a very literal interpretation of the words.  The Minister never strayed too far from the text - repetition seemed to be key and there was no attempt made to put the words into any sort of historical context or bring any other writers or thinkers into the sermon - it was the Word of God, every week.  And in those days everyone knew everyone else in the town and appearances had to be kept up, so everyone had on their Sunday Best and dutifully went along with the whole thing without question.

So there were a few years in my early teens I was very glad not to have to go to Church, although my father still donned his blazer and tie and sang in the Choir.  I don't know what took me back but when I hit about 16 or 17 I decided to get Confirmed.  I suspect Dad had a part to play in that decision (not Mum, who by then had given up on the whole Church Thing) but I don't remember being coerced into anything - I genuinely wanted to do it.   There wasn't much to the whole thing as I remember it - yes there were classes to go to and then an interview with the Minister where you had to formally accept Christ into your heart and life.  Then the following Sunday your name (along with any others engaged in the same process) was read out in Church and the elders formally welcomed you, shook your hand.  And that was pretty much that.  Shortly after that I left Northern Ireland for University in the South of England.  I remember going once or maybe twice to the Campus Church but there were too many other distractions and I very quickly lost my new-found faith.  

Chicken Silos

 Yes, quite.  Chicken silos, or hoppers, or whatever they're called.  Whatever it is, these ones belong to pretty much our nearest neighbour, just up the road.  Concentration camps for hens, my mother called them.  The good news is, as far as I am aware, the huts no longer contain thousands of little feathered things and the whole operation is being wound down.  A right turn from the end of our drive and a short walk and this is what I saw on a gloomy February afternoon just as the sun was going down:

Chicken Silos, 2021.  HP5+, on MG Classic fibre paper.

They were snapped up on a Yashica T4 point 'n' shoot.  Lovely little thing it is too - Zeiss lens an' all.  From what I can see of the negative there's a better print in it than this, but my time in the darkroom Sunday morning was cut short.  It's me eyes, y'see...they're not where I want them to be at the minute.  Well, they're in the usual place but for the past few days they've not been themselves and I know not why.  So yesterday my wife dragged me kicking and screaming out of the darkroom to head to our local A&E and get them looked at.  In COVID times that's not an easy thing to arrange, I can tell you, but eyes are eyes and you've only the two and they need looking after so eventually we got to see a qualified doctory-type person and he put the staining drops in and then looked inside them. He decided that while he couldn't see anything going on it would be sensible to go see an ophthalmologist and get them properly checked which is what we are doing about now if you are reading this shortly after it's been posted. This time it’s a 40-minute scoot up the road to a bigger hospital with an eye clinic.  Normally on a trip to Derry I’d take a camera and stop off somewhere on the way back but I’ll likely be getting more drops in my eyes so I doubt I’ll be in a position to photograph anything.

Gatelodge

 Over at the entrance to the Downhill Estate is a rather pretty little Gatelodge (as well as impressive stonework around the gates).  I snapped it up a while ago with the 4x5 TiTAN pinhole:

Entrance to the Downhill Estate, on MGV paper, selenium toned.

I was happy with the framing - had to eyeball it (no viewfinder) and it's pretty much full frame but it's not the best of prints.  The negative looked like it was lacking in shadow detail and I wanted the steps leading to the gatelodge door to be visible so I dodged them a little with my finger and the effect wasn't that subtle.  With a bit of imagination it could be some sort of ghostly presence lurking near the gates -  which could well be closer to the truth than we might like to believe for I reckon these stones have witnessed a thing or two in their lifetime.

The National Trust (for it be them that 'owns' the Downhill Estate for now) seem to let the Gatelodge.  It's not somewhere you'd want to live if you liked your privacy, that's for sure - there's a good footfall through those gates on any day of the year and in the summer it's positively teeming wi' folk and to be avoided at all costs.  A few years ago in the winter I had been up by Mussenden Temple and the cliffs and came across a sheep thing that looked like it was in some distress - I can't remember exactly why but there's uneven ground and rocks and tumbled down walls so there's lots of hazards (for sheep and for not-so-mobile humans.  I haven't been up there for a good while now).  As I was about to ring the bell on the Gatelodge to alert them (someone...anyone!) to the problem I noticed a sign to the effect that 'Whatever it is, it's nothing to do with me'.  I rang anyway and the guy listened politely enough to what I had to say and then that was that and I left.  Funny but I got the distinct feeling that he wasn't going to do very much about it...  

The Funky Chicken

Back in the 70s in the UK there was a comedy trio called The Goodies - Bill Oddie (now more famous as an expert on birds and wildlife), Graeme Garden and Tim Brooke-Taylor.  Tim B-T sadly left us a year or so ago but had a very successful career on TV and radio, as did Graeme Garden.  Like those Monty Python dudes, The Goodies met while studying at Cambridge. 

Anyway...the point is, as well as the TV comedy show the Goodies also released a few singles, their most successful being The Funky Gibbon, which I'm informed reached the dizzy heights of #4 in the UK singles charts.  I don't have any photographs of funky gibbons to show you but I do have one of a rather funky chicken, a 'thing' that my wife sneaked into the house when I wasn't looking.  It was one of those 'last shots from the roll' when you don't quite know what to snap but you're dying to finish the film and get it developed so you point the camera at whatever is closest and try not to think about the cost. 

It's a bit Wallace and Grommity in appearance, my wife thinks:

Funky chicken sitting on the window sill, 2021.  Via the 'Blad and 60mm lens, most likely with 21mm extension tube attached.  Ilford Delta 3200 exposed at 800, developed in DD-X and printed on MG Classic fibre paper.  

He's quite an interesting chap, I think - although he's a little unstable and tends to fall over a bit easily if knocked against. He's made from tin, or something similar, in case you were wondering.  I'll have to give him a name - can't really use Feathers McGraw as (a) that's not original and (b) he has no feathers...he's just an egg shape with legs and feet and tail and wings and head.  Hmm...