The Skelligs
The first time I saw Skellig Michael from a small boat out of Portmagee, the rock rising sheer out of the Atlantic, I understood why the monks chose it. Not for comfort, obviously. For proximity to something bigger than themselves. That feeling hasn't faded, no matter how many times I make the crossing.
I keep returning to the Skelligs because they never look the same twice. A winter dawn from Valentia Island can turn Little Skellig into a white smudge of gannets against black water. In summer, standing among the beehive huts six hundred feet above the sea, the light can shift from soft and grey to blazing gold in minutes. You just have to be there and ready.
These photographs span years of trips by boat, visits to the island, and long evenings watching from the mainland as the sun drops behind the rock. Each time I come home to Cork with something new. The Skelligs demand patience, and they reward it in ways I couldn't have predicted.
If you'd like to know more about the islands - the history of the monastery, how to visit, and the story behind these photographs - have a look at my Skellig Michael guide.
