Travel at its best
Enjoying travel on a horse trap, a type of carriage, on Inishmore (Inis Mór), the largest Aran Island in Galway Bay.
Copyright 2019 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
A peaceful wilderness evening
The following year my sister Diane and I did two expeditions into the Superstitions, March and November 2006.
“A This video is from the November backpack, taken from the hill above the Ranch Ruin (Click me for “A Ride to Reavis Ranch”) you will experience the peace of this wilderness valley.
Romance of Ruins
In this multi-part blog series:
Part 02: the scene was set, the townland of Loughan named and visualized.
In this Part 03, some contemporaneous people are introduced, more information on the environment provided, some previous residents named and imagined.
To understand the full beauty of a place, it is necessary to live it, to experience the seasons, approach the land from different aspects; pass the same place many time, noticing overlooked features, enjoying old favorites. We did our best in this single day and took the exploration of this Antrim County coast slow, savoring all the views we noticed as this is a once in a lifetime experience. Imagine our amazement to find Scotland so close at hand. In the past, on a fine day the trip across the North Channel, up eastern Kintyre peninsula shores to Campbeltown at the head of Campbeltown Loch, was easier than a land crossing to a closer town.
I picked Campbeltown because my great great grandfather, a sea captain, emigrated from Scotland to County Louth where my great grandmother, Anne Campbell, married John Mills. In this way Captain Campbell escaped persecution for his Roman Catholic faith.
Late in her life, Anne Mills posed for this portrait. I can tell great grandmother Mills is facing north from these clues:
— the press of the eternal east wind on her dress, against her left left and flowing away from the right.
— the sun shadow on her cheek. It was around noon. With the sun, at this latitude, in the south the shadow from her right cheekbone is darker than the left.
A few miles before Loughan Bay, at Coolranny, are informative placards describing the area. I thought the white flowering trees, or shrubs, on the slopes were Hawthorn. On revisiting my capture of the placards I learned these are a different plant named Rowan Tree, aka Mountain-ash. This wind stressed specimen is an typical example of Rowans on this coast, stunted and little more than a bush. This individual is slanted westward from a constant and stiff east wind, as with Anne Mills’ portrait. Residents, past and present, of this coast know this damp, persistent wind well. Note the lack of blossoms on the east side, blossoms that ripen to small dark red fruit called poms (also called rowans). The leaves turn red in the fall. More time, for the fruit to form and leaves to turn, was necessary for me to be certain my identification of this, as a Rowan, is correct.
On this day, Friday, June 6, 2014 I did two rounds of shooting the cottages. The first, handheld, with a Sony Alpha 700. Upon returning to the car for the Canon, Pam was talking to a friendly sheep farmer who pulled up in a large tractor pulling a tank. It turned out we parked below the turnout for his sheep enclosure built on the hill west of Torr Road. His flocks grazed the surrounding land. He and I talked, too briefly, about the hard lives of the people who lived here.
The Coolraney placard, up the road, claimed the cottages were deserted in the 19th century. I found evidence, in the 1901 Irish Census, of three Roman Catholic families, 19 men, women, children, living on Loughan Townland. In Part 02 of this series, setting the stage, Loughan is sized at 112 acres, a single photograph captures Loughan entire. These families had nowhere else to live, in Loughan, other than the cottages.
The smallest, and poorest, the poorest of the poor, family was 32 year old Mary Corbit and her two children, 10 year old Mary and Robert, 2 years. The Corbit family lived in a one room, stone walled, house with a wood or thatch roof. Unlike the other families they had no outbuildings, structures to house livestock or to support a farm operation. The house owner was Marj Delargy.
Here is a single room house among the ruins, four low walls, the east/west with intact gables, the stones collected from the hillside. The west wall higher up the slope, the floor now thick with fern.
Little Mary most certainly took care of Robert for part of the day. Did Mary, with Robert along, gather rowans, and other forage?
Mary Corbit: head of household, occupation laborer. There is a footnote to Mary’s “Marriage” entry as Married, “husband at sea.” The “C” of her census signature exactly like my mother signed her name Catherine.
Mary Corbit and her children were not listed in Loughan Townland for the 1911 Census.
A peaceful wilderness evening
The following year my sister Diane and I did two expeditions into the Superstitions, March and November 2006.
“A This video is from the November backpack, taken from the hill above the Ranch Ruin (Click me for “A Ride to Reavis Ranch”) you will experience the peace of this wilderness valley.
About that mysterious stone structure featured in this video. Over the years I have pieced together its purpose. When the ranch was active, a canal followed the contours from upper Reavis Creek to fill a pond down the hill from the house — I was shown the canal and walked it 2005. The structure was razed in the 1990’s, all that remains is the concrete foundation slab and, when I was there 2005 – 2008, scattered remains of the tile flooring. I am sure the pedestal above the house supported a water tank for a gravity water feed (“indoor plumbing”). Here is a link to more info about that site. The article does not discuss the water system.
Romance of Ruins
For me, the romance of a place is settled in exact knowledge as much as a feeling. Starting with a recollection of the ruined cottages making such an impression we found a parking place and hiked into them loaded with photography equipment, three years later returning to use the photographs, bringing back a rush of memories and feelings, it is a matter of using the set of photographs from that day to build the location.
This much I knew, going in: we were touring Antrim Glens entering at Cushendall, after visiting Glenariff Forest Park, proceeding up the coast through Cushendun to Torr Head. A fortuitous encounter with a village of abandoned farm cottages (“ruins”) happened somewhere in between.
There was a photograph of a notable church prior to the ruins and a fine view, from a place named Greenhill, afterwards.
Here is a picture of the terrain with the three pushpins:
For reasons to be explained later, it is important to know the name of the ruin townland. The place name sign presented in post 1 was a clue (“Loughan an Lochan” — or Loughan Bay), as well at the web site (see link below) listing Irish townlands. The web site map names “Loughan Bay.”
Click for a site providing the exact boundaries of Loughan townland
With this information I was able to peruse Google Earth, found the turnoff and the ruins!
See the above Google Map image sized to approximate the Loughan townland boundaries.
The scenery was jaw dropping lovely the entire time, so I captured view and view. Here are two landscapes time stamped just prior to the church, views including Coolranny and Loughan townlands with Torr Head in the distance.
That is Torr Road….
……a bit further along. It is possible to locate the ruin site from the Google Earth picture. There is a signature grove of bushes on the slope below the ruin site, sandy beach along shore. In the landscapes, Loughan Bay is cradled in a curve of coast.
Imagine the effect of this environment on the inhabitants, the love of it grows with time.
Family Group with child
In this series of three exposures from a tripod mounted Kodak DSC Pro SLR/c and Canon EF 50 mm f/1.4 USM lens, all were ISO 250, at f/8. The difference was the exposure time. In is the shortest exposure, 1.6 second, the human figures are blurred, though to a lesser extent than the second image, released earlier.
This is the last image of our trip to Zion National Park.
a season of wildflowers across a karst landscape
Another aspect of the gradual 1/2 mile inclined path to the central ring of the prehistoric Dun Aonghasa ruins of County Galway, Ireland.
The view north, northwest from this way to Dun Aonghasa (Dun Aengus). In early June, looking across wildflowers, karst landscape, walled fields, farms, the North Atlantic Ocean, coast of Connemara and the 12 Bens (12 Pins) mountains.
Note the doorway (with long lintel) in the surrounding wall, to left of center in middle distance.
Click the photograph for a larger view.
References: search wikipedia “Dún Aonghasa.”
Yesterday, Pam and I headed to the peneplane behind our home to enjoy the Finger Lakes terrain graced by fall colors. The day before I noticed the Japanese Maple leaves had turned from maroon to vermillion. While waiting for Pam to get ready, I capture the following two shots.
This tree was planted by my father and mother in-laws. Developed over the centuries by the Japanese, specimens reached England in the 1820 and spread from there. It is not strictly accurate to call the color vermillion, since cinnabar finely ground produces the pigment for which the color is named, when the sun strikes the leaves vermillion is a metaphor for the impression made.
The scientific name for these trees is Acer palmatum with common names Palmate Maple (for the shape of the leaves “like a palm tree”, as for the scientific name), Japanese Maple or Smooth Japanese-Maple (for the bark).
We drove under the clouds, enjoying the rare dramatic shafts of sunlight and I gave up, finally, tying to time my shots. Here is the view from Connecticut Hill.
The previous photos were taken with a hand held Sony Alpha 700 with variable lens. The next two are with an Apple iPhone I had a hand when Pam and I returned home for a walk around the neighborhood to witness the transformations.
We were surprised by this orange maple, never recalling this shade before. Like our Japanese Maple were assume it is a non-native ornamental.
Our Japanese Maple is a challenge to capture photographically as it grows beneath a larger “nut” (don’t recall the kind at the moment) tree. We are working together to improve that, so I don’t have an overall photograph.
Here is our neighbor’s Japanese Maple. They have a story of carrying this tree, as a sapling, on the bus from Long Island. I love the impression of dark limbs among the clouds of red foliage.
This photograph (the “far” of the “near and far”) is from a remote corner of Chiricahua National Monument, during the trip mentioned in my post, “History and Ghosts of the Triangle T Ranch”. To get there, I drove over a mountain pass to a location was featured in an “Arizona Highways” I read long ago.
I call this photograph “Red Dragon,” the formation is known as a “maple “
dragon”, from the long sinuous form of the tree limb. Known for this reddish orange autumn color, this is a Big Tooth Maple, AKA Canyon Maple. Scientific Name Acer grandidentatum (as in “big tooth”). It is a wild specimen, living along the north fork of Cave Creek. It is a area well know to avid bird watchers and ornithologists.
The camera was my Kodak, DSC slr-c with a Canon 50 mm lens mounted on a tripod.
Copyright 2021 All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
Moments from a September backpack
Peaked Mountain and Pond, Siamese Ponds Wilderness, The Adirondacks
Copyright 2021All Rights Reserved Michael Stephen Wills
An 84-degree October walk up Cascadilla Gorge—quiet paths, bluestone porches, fresh paint on the bridge—waiting for the footbridge to catch the last, warm evening sunlight.
Every fall I make a point of walking Cascadilla Gorge at least once. On an 84-degree October 9 afternoon, Pam was tied up with chores, so I parked downtown and stopped to see the grandchildren. They were with their mom. Two were “too tired” after school to do anything. The youngest, at the age of four, was not yet in school and he floated the idea of the skateboard park; for me, that wasn’t in the cards. So I set off on foot up Court Street, past the residence of Buddhist monks at the gorge entrance.
Cascadilla Gorge is part of Cornell Botanic Gardens (formerly the Plantations), the university unit that stewards natural areas and gardens across campus. Foot traffic was light. A sign explained why: the lower trail was closed at Stewart Avenue, where the bridge spans the ravine. I crossed to the north side by the Christian Science church and wound up Cascadilla Park Road to the rim trail that climbs East Hill toward campus.
Homes line this stretch, porches facing the gorge where the constant music of creek and falls carries up. Not feeling ambitious, I made a few phone snapshots. Here the path squeezes past a porch built of local “bluestone,” a feldspathic sandstone native to the region—around town it’s sometimes called “Llenroc,” Cornell in reverse.
That pot you see in the previous photo gets a closer look here, with more of the same weathered bluestone.
The drop to the gorge floor is steep, sheer in places. The barrier fence looks stout in some sections and thins to almost nothing in others. A few years ago, a recent Cornell graduate walking home late along this path fell to his death. I continued to the fork for the Ithaca City Cemetery, climbed to Stewart Avenue, turned right to cross the Cascadilla bridge, then right again onto the Gorge Rim Trail back toward town. At the bridge I noticed part of the closure work: fresh paint on the bridge and on the suicide-prevention netting beneath. On September 24—just fifteen days earlier—a Cornell senior had jumped; the net caught him, and the fire department brought him to safety.
From the concrete barrier in that photo you can peer into the gorge: a beautiful view, the steady voice of water rising from below. I try to leave the darker stories where they belong—at least until the sight of fresh paint pulls them back to mind.
I took the following photograph in 2005, the September before my previous post, “Autumn Stroll in Sapsucker Woods” with the Kodak DSC pro slr-c, an ND filter, 50 mm lens and a tripod. It was a planned session, I work waterproof boots and was able to stand in the creek after a series of rain-free days. At this time of the year the gorge opens to the setting sun. I waited, taking a series of photographs for the perfect amount of light on the footbridge. The feature photograph (the header to this posting) is a detail from a shot with the bridge more fully lit.
The header image for this post comes from a planned session in September 2005, just before the photograph of my “Autumn Stroll in Sapsucker Woods” post. I used a Kodak DCS Pro SLR/c with an ND filter, a 50 mm lens, and a tripod. After several rain-free days I wore waterproof boots and stood mid-creek. In autumn the gorge opens to the setting sun; I waited and shot a sequence until the light laid perfectly across the footbridge. The banner image is a detail from a frame where the bridge is more fully lit.
We have a framed print of that photograph at home. I mounted it as a gift to Pam on our first Valentine’s Day.
If you’ve walked Cascadilla Gorge in autumn, I’d love to hear your favorite vantage points—porches along the rim, the lower stone steps, or the footbridge at golden hour. Do you know any stories about Llenroc bluestone on these houses, or remember the Stewart Avenue Bridge before its safety upgrades? Photographers: what helps you balance deep shade and bright water from the designated trails? Share a tip or a memory in the comments.
Michael Stephen Wills Photography 