Spring Break Shenanigans

The way our schedule worked out, the class was on a trip to Dublin right before spring break started, so the majority of my classmates left from there on various trips around Europe. I planned on enjoying the cottage to myself and not having to go anywhere or do anything. Since I'd be going home to the cottages, I organized getting everyone's luggage from the trip back into the rightful cottages, and in the process I ended up with keys to three other cottages. So, of course, I had to do something.

I rounded up Joy and Elise, the only other students on campus at the time, and we set off for some pranking. First came cottage 5 with its crowning achievement of the volleyball bra. We put a sports bra around a volleyball, used clementines for boobs, and set it atop the lampshade to watch over the living room.

Volleyball bra!

Doesn't look like much, but all of her clothes are tucked into 

Cottage 4 was already a mess when we walked in, so we had two options: clean it or try to contain the mess to one area. And we sure as hell weren't cleaning! So we piled every piece of furniture in the living room in front of the door. We made sure to leave enough room for the door to open, but the boys are going to do a bit of climbing when they get home.

In front of the door

Joy with all the bottles from the mantle now in the bathtub

Elise tucking Luke's clothes into bed to look like a body

(clean) pans in Willie's room

We concentrated on the kitchen and living room of cottage 8 and just switched the placement of things around, including hiding things in the oven, microwave, and washing machine.

Switched the drawers

Squash and potatoes in the washer

Bakeware in the oven (which they didn't find until the next day)

Food in the microwave

Our professor and his wife were gone, too, so we couldn't just leave them out. We decided to go very subtle with something they'll only find when they go to eat: tin foil all their silverware. We wrapped each knife, fork, and spoon individually in a sheet of tin foil and put them nicely back in the drawer.

Shiny!

Waterford Crystal

Last Thursday we stopped in Waterford to tour the crystal factory there. The tour started with a little introduction on the company and the history of making crystal.  Brothers George and William Penrose started making crystal in Waterford in 1783 and their business continued until 1851. A Czech immigrant by the name of Charles Bacik decided to open another crystal shop there in 1947. The city was still known for the quality of the Penrose brothers' crystal,  which is why Bacik decided to center his business there.

The first room of the tour is the mould room, where moulds are made out of beach or pear wood. These wooden moulds are generally used for special orders or when developing a new product. Even though beach and pear wood withstand heat incredibly well, the moulds usually only last between 7 and 10 days. Pieces that are produced often, like things you would find in their catalogue, would be made in cast iron moulds instead.

Right: blowing the molten crystal into vaguely the right shape
Left: putting the crystal into the mould

Next you enter the blowing room where the crystal actually takes shape. The furnaces heat the molten crystal to 1300°C (2372°F). Once the crystal is red hot, the blowers remove it from the furnace and use wooden tools and their lungs to shape the crystal before putting it in the mould. Once the crystal cools to its normal clear color the piece is removed from the mould, checked for impurities, and is off to the kiln to slowly cool to room temperature.

Once the pieces are fully cooled they go through a series of quality checkpoints.  If they have any slight imperfection, they are smashed and remelted for another go round. The pieces then go to be marked for cutting. A temporary pattern is drawn on each piece that later gets cleaned off during the washing and polishing stage.

The next part of the process is the most interesting and impressive part. Master Cutters use diamond-tipped wheels to cut the patterns into each piece. Even though the pieces are marked with the pattern, the Master Cutters know the designs by memory; they have to before they can finish their apprenticeship. The other way the pieces are cut is by a pair of large, automatic cutting machines.

Brendon working on a bowl at his wheel

What's really cool about this room of the tour is that the Master Cutters will actually talk to you and tell you what they're working on. One Cutter named Brendon chatted with Molly, Joy,and I for quite a while. He talked with us about the differences between machine cuts and cuts done by hand. Horizontal cuts along rounded objects are difficult and time consuming for the Cutters so they often have the machines do these. The machines also do circular cuts, which is what is happening in the picture below.

Gaelic Football

Today we went up to Castlebar for a football match—but it was neither American football or soccer. It was Gaelic football. Going into the match, we didn’t really know a whole lot except what our lovely bus driver, Owen explained to us on the drive up. Two teams of 15 players each try to score by either kicking it through the uprights like in American football or kicking it in the goal like soccer. But here’s the crazy part: they can use their hands.

At the pitch—the field—there was a large section of modern stadium seats under a roof to shield from the rain, and the rest was just old benches that looked to be poured concrete. We were all a little apprehensive about where we would end up sitting because the old benches did not look very comfortable. Lucky for us there are no reserved seats, so we followed Owen under the canopy to the newer seats.

Our team, County Mayo (Maigh eo), proudly donned their red and green jerseys against the #1 ranked Cork (Corcaigh) team. Even though we didn't fully understand what was going on, a handful of my classmates and I got really into the game, shouting and chanting along with the rest of the Mayo fans. Whenever Mayo scored a goal, nearly everyone immediately jumped to their feet and screamed. I never thought it would be so easy to get so swept up and consumed by the excitement of a sporting event. I go to baseball games every year, but I’ve never got so into the feverous fervor of the crowd. After the second goal I actually spilled hot chocolate all over myself, but it didn’t matter. We ended up seeing a brilliant match that left us wanting to see more. And it was a huge plus that Mayo won!

F*** Off

A couple weeks ago, some mates and I were at a pub in Westport talking with Debs, who’d grown up in Louisburgh. Someone asked what the best way to get a guy to go away when you aren’t interested in talking to him. With a straight face, she said, “Fuck off.” We were a little taken aback, surely that was a bit too harsh for someone who was just being a little annoying. She must have seen the looks on our faces so she elaborated, saying that it isn’t taken offensively here.

Of course, you can be rude when you say it, depending on the tone you take. If he’s really persistent, it’s okay to sound a little angry, but sounding pissed off will get you labeled as a bitch. Alternately you can also say it nicely, like, “Hey, fuck off,” softly (this is not to be confused with quietly—saying it quietly will get you nowhere because he won’t hear it).

Nobody really bats an eye when you tell someone to fuck off at the pub. This isn’t to say that you can go around telling people to fuck off whenever and wherever you want. It isn’t acceptable in all situations, so reserve it only for when someone is really bothering you and won’t take the hint to leave.

Pants on the Ground

For some reason, Emilee and I must attract weirdos at the pubs, especially the guys who like to undo their trousers while dancing. The first time we encountered this, Emilee, Claire, Luke (three of my classmates) and I went with the local darts team to Westport. We all ended the night at one of the late pubs, Cozy Joe’s. Emilee, Claire, and I were dancing while Luke talked with our friend Paul. We weren’t by the main dance floor, so we were a bit surprised when this guy came up and started trying to dance with us. And then we realized, his belt was undone and his trousers were unzipped. The trousers were still up where they were supposed to be, but we saw a lot more of his boxer-briefs than any of us cared to. Not knowing what the hell to do, we just stopped and looked to Paul for help. After all, he is a tall guy and can maybe look intimidating if he wanted to (I say maybe because I don’t know that I quite believe that). So what did he do? Got up and mimicked the kid until he got fed up and left.

Paul later told us that dealing with that type of kid is tricky because he’s drunk and talks a big game, but doesn’t have the bullocks to do anything. Merely telling him to f*** off won’t even scratch the surface of his ego. So you’ve got to do strange things to get him to go away, and even that likely won’t last long. And it didn’t. The kid was back trying to dance with us within 20 minutes so we just walked away. None of us had the energy to deal with him.

The second time Emilee and I dealt with someone like that was while we were in Killarney. It was Friday night when we were at the Killarney Grand Hotel. The front half of the Grand is your typical Irish pub that has music every night of the week, but the back half is a nightclub. We were in the nightclub after the band had finished in the front, dancing and having a good craic, when a guy starts dancing with us. Neither Em or I paid him much attention, and a few minutes later, we look over and he’s working on his belt, a mate on either side of him egging him on. Once he gets the belt, he doesn’t just unzip his trousers like the lad over at Cozy Joe’s had, he drops the trousers down to his ankles. Unfortunately Paul wasn’t there to chase the guy off, so we quickly put a few people between us and him, hoping he wouldn’t follow or try to find us later in the night (he didn’t!).

I’m not very familiar with the bar/club scene back home, so I don’t know whether it’s common to see someone dropping trou , but I have a feeling that it’ll happen wherever there are idiots mixed with alcohol. 

Yelow One Update 2

We've been here six weeks so far and the score stands thusly
Emilee: 5.5
Steph: 19

LTL SLR

On our trip throughout the south of Ireland, we stopped in Cork for an hour and a half lunch. Emilee and I were still pretty full from breakfast so we decided to do some shopping instead of eating. Less than a minute after we stepped off the bus we saw a shop that peaked our interest. The sign above the door was canary yellow, and the name, 'It's a Deal!' was lettered in candy apple red. An assortment of kitchen goods and crystal decorations sat in the window, and behind them you could see that the shop was packed with tons of random merchandise.

We browsed around and realized it was basically a garage sale in a storefront. All the prices were on little yellow stickers with initials of who the seller of each item was. Behind a couple bins of records was a cabinet housing a half dozen film cameras. Most were just simple point and shoots, but there were two SLRs. One of them was black and looked very similar to my Minolta X-700, but it had a large, strange looking flash unit attached. I don't remember what the brand was, but it was definitely some European one I'd never heard of before. The body was priced at €20 and the flash was €15-20. It was a really cool camera, but €30-35 was a little too steep for me right now, so I turned my attention to the other SLR.

It was a silver Praktica LTL-3. I knew nothing about Praktica—I'd never heard  of it before then—but the design of the camera was so interesting. Instead of the shutter button being on the top of the camera near the film advance lever and the shutter speed wheel, it was on the front of the camera just to the left of the lens (if you're looking at the front of the camera; to the right if you're taking a picture). Another interesting thing about this camera is that it's a screw-mount lens, meaning that the lens actually screws into the body instead of twisting in. It takes about 4-5 full turns to get the lens attached rather than the 1/4 turn required of normal lenses. I asked one of the guys working at the shop about it, and he said, "It's German, I think. The guy I bought it from told me they're practically bomb-proof." How cool is that?

Even though the light meter wasn't working, I bought the Praktica for €20. Once I get a new battery, I'm assuming it'll work just fine since the rest of it seems to be in really good condition. Later I did some research and found out that what's in the camera now is likely a mercury battery, so that's awesome... I'll have to figure out how to dispose of it properly. But I can get a new, non-mercury battery in the States for $10. I also found that Prakticas were made in East Germany from 1970-1975. Since mine's an LTL-3, it has to have been made in one of the later years (there was an LTL and LTL-2 before the 3 came out, each with only slight changes). This puts my camera collection up to 11!

Shave or Dye

Since I arrived in Ireland at the end of January, I’ve had a handful of people ask me if my hair was for “Shave or Dye,” and I had no idea what they were talking about. Last weekend a woman approached me in Aldi and asked how I dyed my hair. She and her family were going to do Shave or Dye, she said, and she didn’t know how to get the best dye results. I told her my basic tips: bleach your hair to white, wait a day or two, leave the dye in for 2-10 hours (I’ve been leaving mine in overnight lately), and only wash your hair in cold water.

So when I got home I finally looked it up. Shave or Dye is a campaign by the Irish Cancer Society to raise money for cancer research. People volunteer to participate and collect pledges to either shave their head or dye their hair a bright, unnatural color. The campaign started in 2010 and has raised over €6.1 million (source)! I think it’s awesome that simply dying your hair or shaving it off has raised that much money in three years—the figure doesn’t include any funds raised in 2014 yet.

I like this campaign not only because it’s for cancer research, but it’s helping to alleviate the old stereotypes of colored hair. You wouldn’t believe the number of times people have assumed I’m a troublemaker or that I’m into some bad things. When that happens I just laugh because that’s totally not me at all. If I end up dying my hair while I’m still here in Ireland, I plan on participating in Shave or Dye—and I might try to convince some of my classmates to join me.

Whale Ho!

Saturday 1 March 2014

(Right to Left) Captain Tom, First Mate Cami,
deckhands Claire and Willie

We set sail around 11 a.m. with Captain Tom steering us toward the day’s treasure. Okay, well treasure might be a little too exaggerated. For all I knew it was a wild goose chase—wild dead whale chase would be a little more accurate. But in any case, our captain had done some research to pinpoint where the whale was supposed to be. During the hour long voyage through the greenery of County Mayo, First Mate Cami supplied us with the day’s rations of snickerdoodle cookies, which the two other deckhands and I devoured immediately. We would need the sustenance for the impending hunt.

Once we got to the town of Ballycroy we docked for directions and further sustenance. The port was a small supermarket set up like a general store of old with the majority of merchandise on shelves behind the counter. Tending the store was a lovely maiden in a neon pink shirt. She knew precisely where we meant to go and gave us landmarks to steer by. We bought some candies and drinks before reboarding the SS Ford Focus.

It was a treacherous journey from there. We nearly capsized when trying to pass another ship in a narrow strait, but Captain Tom got us out of that sticky wicket. Then we realized that the maiden from the supermarket must not have taken into account the wind speed and direction, so we turned about and tried a different course. A few kilometers into the new route we saw another port with a lass standing on the docks. She rattled off directions without even consulting her compass, and they were spot on. The worthy lass deserved a pint, but she wasn’t to be found at the port on our return journey.

Finally we docked at a rocky beach. There was so little sand I had a hard time calling it a beach, but perhaps it was a real beach before the storms of the last few months. Alas there is no way for me to tell. Captain Tom and First Mate Cami allowed us deckhands to wander at will rather than give us direct orders. Claire and Willie generally stayed ahead, keeping a watchful eye out for the treasure, but I tended to lag behind as I observed the rocks and plant matter of the strand.

I was beginning to doubt our directions since we had walked nearly a half hour without any hint of a whale, dead or otherwise. But then the cry of “Whale!” from Willie stopped us all in our tracks. We strained our eyes to find what he saw and continued moving once we had satisfactorily spotted its location. I had steeled myself for the smell, ready for the repugnance of 50-some tons of rotting whale carcass, but it didn’t come. The only place I smelled anything was directly in front of the whale’s head. Even standing downwind of the actual wounds produced no offending stench.

 

Close-up of the skin

The whale’s skin was dry and cracked; it had been stranded on the beach nearly two weeks by the time we got there. All the ships seeking the thing had signed a no-poaching treaty. It was to be left alone, nothing taken, nothing added. Many ships came to see how they might bring down other whales, to learn their weak spots, but our purpose was merely curiosity. Our whole crew had never seen a whale before—dead or alive—so it was almost necessary to make the voyage.

It rained during the trek back to the ship so our entire backsides were soaked. Despite this, it was a productive journey for all parties—unless you count the whale. His journey was undeniably unsuccessful. Tomorrow we start another new mission, but the Captain still hasn’t let on what it is.

Breathless

Friday night when we were in Galway, we saw a production of “Breathless” at the Druid’s Mick Lally Theatre. One of our professors managed to get us all last-minute tickets, and it turned out to be a brilliant performance. The only thing we were told before we got to the theatre was that the play was about four missing women. Through the large, industrial door in the foyer is a small, 90 seat theatre (source). Instead of an elevated stage like many larger theaters, the Mick Lally’s stage is floor level with rows of chairs ascending above it. “Breathless” only showed for three days, but it held the whole audience captive (at least for Friday night’s show).

My first impression of the set was strange. There was a ratty, torn couch on one side; a bare old mattress in the back; a pile of rusty junk on the other side; empty bottles and cans of beer, hard cider, and wine; and four pairs of nice shoes. A fog machine had recently been running but wasn’t any longer so there was a slight haze hanging at eye level.

Donna Patrice and Kate Gilmore

At first, the play was so confusing, which I absolutely love. Stories always start in media res so having a beginning seems unrealistic. Anyone can start writing at the beginning and progress the story linearly; starting in the middle and weaving a complicated timeline of past and present is vastly more intriguing. It wasn’t until 20-30 minutes in that I realized the women were not just missing—they were dead and in some sort of limbo or purgatory. From the look of the set I had assumed they were hostages in an abandoned house, but no other characters appeared and the women seemed not to know very much about each other.

 

Sinead O'Riordan and Ruth McCabe

The women speak about their current situation, their past lives and problems, good memories, and how they came to be where they are—their murders. Each of them were murdered and their bodies hidden. It begs the question whether they will be able to leave that place of uncertainty if their bodies are ever found. Despite the overarching sad mood, there was plenty of comedy to be had throughout. Definitely an excellent production!

Author: John MacKenna

Director: Iseult Golden

Actresses: Ruth McCabe, Sinead O’Riordan, Donna Patrice, and Kate Gilmore

Yellow One Update 1

After our weekend trip to Galway the Yellow One I Win score stands at

Steph: 10
Emilee: 3

Walking the Country Roads of Ireland

When we go out taking pictures (shooting), we mostly just walk along the roads leading out of Louisburgh. Some have sidewalks but most don’t so you end up walking on the road itself. This can be a bit nerve wracking until you get used to it. The roads are narrow and the cars fast.

It’s a good idea to take at least one other person shooting with you. That way they can keep watch as you take pictures and vice versa. Your ears tune themselves to pick up the frequency of engines off in the distance, and your mouth becomes habituated to warn, “Car!” once you see it rambling over a hill. Waterproof shoes are a must as just stepping to the edge of the road isn’t always enough; occasionally you’ll need to tramp into the soggy, grassy shoulder.

At first this kind of thing really frightened me, but I got used to it within a couple days. We had one experience last week, though, that had my heart racing and adrenaline pumping. Emilee and I were on one of our usual photo excursions walking up a very narrow uphill road when we heard the tell-tale sound of a car approaching the crest from the opposite side. Only it didn’t sound like a normal car. It was much louder and a lower pitch, and that could only mean one thing: a truck. As it materialized at the top of the hill, Emilee and I looked at each other. Her face mirrored the “oh shit” look I knew was painted on mine. Had we been closer to the foot of the hill we would have jogged back down to a wider road. But we were more than halfway up the hill and there weren’t any driveways nearby so our only option was to just stand on the tiny shoulder and let the truck pass us. So we stepped over onto the grassy shoulder only to realize that there was also a trench on that side of the road. It was about a foot wide, but I couldn’t see how deep it was; thee was definitely water at the bottom, though. So there we are, standing on a strip of grass ten inches wide with a truck approaching on one side and a trench on the other. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place—or should I say a truck and a deep place.

The driver saw our predicament and tried to drive as close to the other shoulder as he could, but that’s not exactly possible when the truck is nearly as wide as the road itself. It was so close to us that I wouldn’t have been able to fit a camera between my face and the side of the truck. Maybe four inches, six tops. It would have been a cool picture had I thought of my camera at the time (instead my inner monologue was more like, “Fuck. Don’t move. Breathe. Stay still. Shit. Shit. Shit. Holy shit. Breathe. Calm down. Whatever you do, don’t move. Breathe. It’s okay. Almost done. Breathe.”). Once the back bumper had passed us, we breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief but stayed frozen in place for a moment. When we were finally capable of moving again we booked it up the hill and down the other side. There was no way in hell we were going to get caught on that road with another truck. I was scared shitless at the time, but now—less than a week later—I just laugh about it.

Rugby in the Snow

When I woke up this morning, I was a little confused. I was still in my cottage in Ireland, but outside it looked like we had been transported back to Minnesota. Snow. I built up a fire and spent the rest of the morning tending to it and reading. Then Emilee woke up and wanted to go for a walk, so I threw an extra layer of clothes on and went with her. As we walked, we were talking about how this kind of snow is the absolute best for snowballs; I had an idea that we just couldn’t pass by: snowball fight with all of our classmates.

We knocked on every cottage door with various repetitions of, “Suit up for a snowball fight!” Not everyone was home and not everyone wanted to play, but those who did come out had a blast! None of us expected weather like this, so we were all clad in jeans, light jackets, and any shoes but snow boots. I wore my Chucks (not a bright idea, but it was what I had on hand), and I saw others in hiking boots, rain boots, and tennis shoes. Pretty soon into the fight one of the guys produced a rugby ball. It started as just passing it around and attempting to tackle each other, but progressed to an actual organized match. Or our version of a rugby match, anyways.

The Riders of Johann (who later changed their names to the Mighty Ducks) vs Team Ramrod. Team Ramrod won 3 tries to 1, but both teams put on an impressive game. Everyone came away sopping wet, freezing cold, and needing to do laundry, but it was well worth it. There were a few minor injuries: some scrapes and bruises, sore joints, and almost a broken toe, but that’s to be expected. It was pretty cool mixing our Minnesotan indifference to snow with such a popular Irish game. 

Yellow One I Win!

            One of my best friends, Courtney, and I play this game called “Yellow One I Win” when we’re in the car. Basically you just watch for yellow cars or trucks, and if you see one you have to shout, “Yellow one I win!” However you can’t call taxis, work vehicles, or freight. It’s become such a habit for me to watch for yellow cars that I have been looking for them since we first got to Ireland. But it’s so difficult to find any yellow ones here!

Walking back into Lewisburgh from Carrowmore Beach.
Point for me!

            In high school, Courtney and her friends started playing “Yellow Truck.” Basically the same rules apply, but you just say, “Yellow truck!” and punch the person next to you. She then took the violence out of the game to keep her young brother entertained on a road trip. He loved the game, and everyone in the car ended up getting really into it. Courtney got so excited when she’d get a point that she’d say, “Yellow one I win!” instead of just “Yellow one!” And thus the game “Yellow One I Win” was born.

            I never thought it would be so difficult to play a game like this in another country! In the 13 days we’ve been in Ireland, Emilee and I have only seen 3 yellow cars. It seems that the people around Louisburgh tend to favor darker cars, like blacks and navy blues. Of course, there are other colors—white and red are also fairly popular—but black and blue are by far the most prominent.

            My housemate Emilee said she’d play “Yellow One I Win” with me, but instead of resetting the score after each road trip or outing, we’re going to play throughout our entire three month stay in Ireland. I’ll update the score every couple weeks; right now it stands me:2 Emilee: 1.

Dealing with the Weather while Shooting in Ireland

Ireland’s green landscapes are amazing for photographers, but lots of greenery means lots of rain. And lots of rain can be frightening to photographers who have spent hundreds to thousands of dollars on their camera equipment. But you shouldn’t let a little rain shut you up indoors—this is Ireland after all.

One thing essential to photography in Ireland is a good camera bag. You want to make sure you have something that is waterproof so water won’t leak in while you’re walking, but having something really bulky can be a real pain in the ass. I have a few different bags in various sizes—a largebackpack, a standard Nikon bag, and a small holster—and I decided that the smallest would be the most practical for me while I travel because I like to bring along a water bottle, some basic medicines like ibuprofen and Benadryl, a snack, and some other miscellaneous things when I shoot. So for me the smallest was the best because I can pack it away in a messenger bag with the rest of my stuff.

When choosing what bag to bring, think of what other gear you’ll want while there. Do you need an extra lens? Room for a battery charger in the bag? Space for extra memory cards? Lens cleaning supplies? It’s important to find a bag that fits everything you’re taking, but try not to get a bag so large that it leaves you with a lot of extra space. If you do you’ll regret your purchase after lugging it around day after day.

Some bags have zippers, some have clasps, some even have both, but which is best for dealing with the rain? Each type has their advantages…and disadvantages. Zippers allow your bag to fully close, but unless the zipper is really good, it may not be waterproof and might let some drops of water through in a downpour. Clasps allow the top of your bag to lie flat against the sides of the bag, but if you have something in the bag taller than the sides the top won’t shut all the way, leaving gaps open to the elements. Having both zippers and clasps seems like the perfect solution, but it comes at the cost of time. If you’re caught in a sudden downpour, you’ll be fumbling to undo the clasps and open the zipper while your camera sits in the rain. My favorite kind is zippered, and even though I know the risk, I have never had water leak through. Which type you have should depend on your shooting style, how full you pack your bag, and how quickly you can move things around.

Emilee and her camera baby--she has
yet to name it

You should also consider the clothes you’ll wear while shooting. A zip-up hoodie or jacket is a great way to protect both you and your camera from the rain. You want to wear enough layers that you won’t be cold even if you’re wet. It’s extremely helpful if your outermost layer repels water because a soaked coat will not only make you miserable, it’ll weigh you down, too. Zippered hoodies and jackets are much better than pullovers because if it suddenly starts raining and you don’t have time to put your camera in the bag, you can slip it between your shirt and outer layer and then zip it up to protect it. Yeah, you’ll look kinda strange but it works—you might even look pregnant like my friend Emilee when she does this.

Definitely consider your shoes before you go. Waterproof shoes are a must! Because Ireland gets a lot of rain, patches of grass are often soggy, and tramping around in wet shoes is just no fun (and makes for stinky feet!). Hiking boots are a great choice not only because they’re nearly always waterproof, but also because they go higher up on your ankles. Depending on where you are, you might be trodding over uneven ground or along rocks, so ankle support is nice, especially if you’re like me and have weak ankles.

You might want to throw a hat and gloves in your bag for colder days. You don’t always need them, but it’s nice to have them there. Hoods can work as a substitute for hats, but they tend to blow down in the strong winds that the west coast has been experiencing, and they can get in the way of your peripheral vision. With the kinds of roads you’ll be walking, believe me, peripheral vision is necessary! Normally I would say mittens are fine, but for photography purposes they’re a poor substitute for gloves. Mittens will leave you fumbling around trying to press buttons and turn wheels to adjust your settings, but gloves give you almost a full range of motion.

Now for a couple miscellaneous things that would be helpful to throw in your camera bag. A lens cleaning cloth. Obviously rain accumulates on things, and it is important to keep your lens clean of droplets otherwise they’ll blur areas of your image and there’s no easy way to fix that in post-production. A plastic rain sleeve for your camera.  They can be a little awkward to use, but it’s the best way I’ve found to protect your cameras for those times when you absolutely HAVE to get the shot. The one I have even has a hole for the view finder, so you can take the eyepiece off your camera, put the sleeve on, and reattach the eyepiece over the sleeve; this way you don’t have to keep readjusting it when you or the sleeve move. An alternative to this is a plastic grocery bag. Put your camera in the bag and tear a hole in the bottom just big enough to fit the lens through. Don’t put the whole lens through, just the end. I haven’t used this method, and you should do it with great care: grocery bags are thinner than a rain sleeve and are more susceptible to tearing.

Of course, you should use your best judgment when shooting in rain. If it’s a light rain, I will usually take my camera out for a few shots and then zip it back up under my jacket. But if it’s heavy rain, I won’t even take my camera out of the case. Watch the clouds and if they get dark, it might be a good idea to put the camera away entirely. Cameras are built to stand up to a certain amount of moisture, but it’s best to not push your limits too far or you might have to shop for a new camera.

Arriving in Ireland

We arrived in Ireland at 6 a.m. and by 7 we were on the road to Louisburgh. When we got to the Louisburgh Holiday Cottages, one of our professors had a lunch of soup and bread ready for all of us. My housemate Emilee and I unpacked, and then we were immediately out shooting with our cameras. We wandered around the neighborhood for a little before we found our way to the beach.

When we left Minnesota we were used to 0°F or lower temperatures, so walking on the beach at 40°F felt so warm! I didn’t even need a jacket: jeans and a hoodie was perfect. The tide was coming in so we didn’t have a lot of time to spend there, but we’ll have plenty of chances to go back over the next three months!

Louisburgh is part of the Clew Bay coast, so we can look north across the bay to other parts of Ireland, including Clare Island. This beach is littered with huge rocks, which I’ve found are great places to sit and watch the ocean—if you don’t mind a cold ass, that is!