Journey Through the West of Ireland – Connemara, Belmullet & Achill Island (2015)

 Back in 2015, I set out on a photographic journey through the western part of Ireland — to places that, even now, I consider among the most remarkable on the island. The regions of Connemara in County Galway and Belmullet and Achill Island in County Mayo captivated me with their raw beauty, ever-changing light, and the kind of silence you find only where the road ends and the ocean begins.

 It was in these landscapes that I first felt how photography could become a form of storytelling. At the time, I wasn’t yet thinking in cinematic terms, but I was already chasing emotion — in the light, in the movement of clouds, in reflections on still water. Today, years later, I return to those frames — re-edited in a cinematic style and 2.35:1 aspect ratio — to give them a new life and atmosphere they once hinted at.

 Connemara is a land of lakes and mountains, where the sky seems to change every minute. Morning fogs over Lough Inagh, clouds mirrored in the still waters, and dramatic light over the Twelve Bens — each moment felt like a scene from an adventure film.

 Belmullet and the Mullet Peninsula, on the other hand, offered something entirely different — wild, windswept, and almost deserted. Cliffs, crashing Atlantic waves, and endless open spaces radiated a raw, untamed beauty. And Achill Island, with its winding road leading to Keem Bay, felt like the backdrop to a film about solitude and freedom — a place where time slows down and every ray of sunlight feels special.

 That journey in 2015 marked the beginning of a deeper understanding of Ireland’s landscapes. Now, looking at these reimagined images in a panoramic cinematic format, I see not just landscapes — but emotions: peace, melancholy, and the magic of light that has always drawn me to photography.

 

Visiting Hook Head - The oldest lighthouse in the world

Visiting Hook Head

When you walk out onto Hook Head — that sharp, rocky prow of the Hook Peninsula in County Wexford — you sense something immediate and elemental. The air shifts: a salt-laden breeze, the taste of sea, the damp of stone. Before you lies the vast Atlantic, waves crashing at the base of towering cliffs.

Your first glimpse of Hook Lighthouse — striped in white and black — commands respect. In that moment it feels like the sea and sky are conspiring to remind you of the smallness of humankind in the face of nature’s might.

A bit of history

Hook Lighthouse (also called Hook Head Lighthouse) carries with it centuries of lore. Hook Lighthouse & Heritage Centre According to tradition, as early as the 5th century, the monk Dubhán maintained a beacon here — a blaze or fire lit to warn seafarers of the treacherous rocks. Great Lighthouses of IrelandThe headland bore his name in Irish as Rinn Dubháin; later, the name morphed into “Hook Head,” in part a play on words (dubán in Irish also meaning “hook”).

The existing stone tower was built in the early 13th century under the direction of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, between about 1210 and 1230. The walls in places are several metres thick.  Over the centuries, the lighting method evolved — from coal fires to oil lamps, then gas, paraffin, and finally electric systems. 

The tower stands around 35 m tall, with the light positioned about 46 m above sea level. Its beam reaches out to around 23 nautical miles (over 40 km). In 1996, the lighthouse was automated, and keepers were withdrawn.

Feelings and seascapes

Standing on the cliff edge, you look down — waves assault the rocks, white foam sprays skyward. The sound is physical, vibrating through your chest. The wind sings in your ears. You glance out to the horizon — sometimes a ship is far off, dwarfed by the scale of sea and sky. Everything feels eternal.

Inside the lighthouse, you ascend 115 spiral steps through narrow stone corridors, passing ancient rooms, thick walls, dim light filtering in. You feel the weight of time — centuries of watchers, storms, nights spent in vigil. Emerging onto the lantern balcony, the panorama is breathtaking: sea, cliffs, the sweep of coastline under wide sky.

Walking the coastline reveals sculpted rock formations, jagged edges, hidden coves, the interplay of sea and stone. On a bright day the sea glitters in blues and greens; on an overcast day, it becomes a steely, brooding expanse, full of drama.