A Postcard From The Giant’s Causeway

Colin was mesmerized by the steady geometry of the rocks backed by grassy coastal cliffs which looked as though the land had been bitten off and then softly eroded. But for me the Causeway was just a strange pile of stones on an inhospitable day. I couldn’t buy into its myth.

I only sensed something when I picked my way out to where the slippery stones were surrounded on three sides by the sea. Unfeeling blackness hinted at depth and great cold as the waters rose and fell in strange asymmetrical patterns, unlike anything I’d ever seen before. My gaze softened and I was drawn into its rhythm, slipping gradually into a disembodied state. It felt as though the entire world was inhaling and exhaling, and I could have sat there for hours, just watching it.

I heard Colin shouting from my disembodied place on the point, and I reluctantly went back and set to work. If you’ve ever worked with an outdoor photographer, you’ll know that this involves an awful lot of time trudging back and forth.

“Okay, walk from there this time. Over there on those rocks.” Click-click-click. “Once more. Sorry, one more time. Nearly got it that time, but it’s not quite what I’m looking for. I want that headland in the background. Can you go again? A little faster this time?”

It was cold and windy, and I thought about pushing him into the sea. Then I remembered the next round of pints was his. I decided to wait for a more opportune time.