Tara and Loughcrew aligned for Lughnasadh sunset?

Back in February of this year, at Imbolc, myself, Ken Williams and Lar Dooley witnessed the sunrise shining into the ancient passageway of Cairn U at Carnbane East, Loughcrew. That day, I noticed that when I was crouched in the chamber of Cairn U, the Hill of Tara was visible through the entrance of the passage. Based on that observation, I figured that a viewer on the Hill of Tara might see the sun setting over the hills of Loughcrew at Bealtaine (May) and Lughnasadh (August).

The Loughcrew Hills viewed from Duma na nGiall, Hill of Tara, with labels.

I was unable to get to Tara at Bealtaine, so I was determined to go there for Lughnasadh to see if I was right. This evening, standing on top of Duma na nGiall (Mound of the Hostages) at the Hill of Tara, I watched the sun get lower and lower in the western sky with my son, Finn. Above is a photo showing the hills as they appear from atop the Mound of the Hostages. It looked like it was heading for Loughcrew, but I couldn't be sure. So I watched and waited.

The sun setting over Cairn D, Carnbane West, and Carrigbrack, as viewed from Duma na nGiall.

And sure enough, as the sun set, it did so over Carnbane West and Carrigbrack, which appear almost as one hill as viewed from Tara. It was a beautiful sunset, and as the sun went down there was a lovely sun pillar (a vertical shaft of light extending upwards from the sun) reaching into the sky.

The sun pillar visible in the sky as the sun sets behind the hills of Loughcrew viewed from Tara.

So it appears that Duma na nGiall, the oldest monument on the Hill of Tara which is thought to date to the late Neolithic, around 5,000 years ago, is aligned with Loughcrew for (a) sunrise on Samhain/Imbolc viewed from Cairn U Loughcrew towards Tara; and (b) Bealtine/Lughnasadh sunset viewed from Tara towards Loughcrew.

The actual date of Lughnasadh this year was (I believe) August 7th, so the sun has moved a little bit to the south (left) since then. And I'm not sure how much the sun's position has changed at Lughnasadh from where it was 5,000 years ago. But it's would certainly appear that there is an alignment. Whether it was intended is another question entirely. But this is just one of many examples of alignments of sites over long distances. Seeing Tara framed by the ancient stones of Cairn U at Loughcrew in the cold dawn of Imbolc six months ago certainly was very fascinating to me. "This is hardly all coincidental," I said to myself. Indeed it might not be, but we may never know whether it was intended by the builders. All we can do now is watch and wonder.

The author atop Duma na nGiall watching the sunset over Loughcrew tonight. Picture: Finn Murphy.

Lughnasagh sunset still shines into the passage of Cairn S, Loughcrew, more than five millennia after it was built

37 years ago, in 1980, Martin Brennan, Jack Roberts and their team of researchers made several significant discoveries relating to the astronomical alignment of several ancient chambered cairns (passage-tombs) in the Boyne Valley region. One such discovery, made in early August of that year, was the apparent alignment of the passage of Cairn S at Carnbane East, Loughcrew. Sitting in the chamber of the (now roofless) cairn, Brennan and his team saw that the Lughnasadh cross-quarter sunset was visible through the passage.

Lughnasadh sunset shines down the passage of the ancient Cairn S at Loughcrew.

Tonight, for the first time in my 18 years of research and photography, I witnessed what Brennan’s people excitedly discovered back then, and it was spectacular, as you can see. There is a story behind this photograph. With my son Luke accompanying, I drove an hour from Drogheda to Loughcrew this evening with the express purpose of witnessing and photographing this alignment. However, when we got there, a massive cumulonimbus cloud was looming over the whole western horizon. After sitting in the car for a few minutes, we figured that it was moving, albeit slowly, towards us. The sun was hidden. It was clear that this cloud was giving out a lot of rain. So we decided to sit it out. We arrived at 8pm. We knew the sunset would occur at about 9.10pm or so.

We sat and waited. Another man who had arrived with camera gear got out of his car and they went up the hill. “A big mistake,” I thought to myself. I could see the rain wasn’t far away and that it was extremely heavy. Sure enough, by about 8.25pm or so it was raining very heavily. The problem was that the cloud was moving extremely slowly. With no let-up in sight, we considered leaving. But having spotted a small patch of blue behind the grey sheets of rain, I decided we’d wait. In the meantime, the gentleman who had gone up earlier returned, quite soaked. After a few minutes, he left in his car.

“If needs be, we can leg it up the hill as soon as there’s any let-up in the rain,” I said to Luke. We planned our departure. When the rain finally started to ease, we made a dash for it. It was 8.45pm. Surely this was an exercise in futility?

As we ran up the hill (and it was a struggle for me, I can tell you, with the heavy camera equipment on my back), I turned and the sun was appearing beneath the huge black shower cloud. “We might be lucky yet,” I said as we scrambled up that hill. The thing about Sliabh na Calliagh is that, when you want to get up it fast, it seems to take every bit of your energy and determination. By the time we hit the last ascent, the steepest part, I was breathless to the extent of being in a state of near-collapse. Luke took the camera bag for the last stretch. What a fantastic companion to have on this trip – a sprightly, nimble and energetic 15-year-old.

After getting in through the gate, we reached Cairn S. I dumped the tripod on the ground, and ordered Luke to put the camera bag down. It was still raining, but the sun was out. I needed to act quickly. We might only have a minute or two to get a photograph. “Which camera?” I thought to myself as I worked out which would work better with remote flash. I decided on the D3X and quickly got set up with the 14mm f2.8 prime lens. It turned out to be a good decision. The photo you see above was taken with this setup. As you can see, the enormous cumulonimbus cloud occupied a huge portion of the sky – but crucially, the sun was out, and just at the right moment! What a capture. What a journey. What a brilliant climax after such an uncertain wait.

A wider view of the Cairn S Lughnasadh alignment from outside the chamber.

I actually got plenty of time to take photos then – with both cameras, and a variety of lenses. But within a short time the sun went in behind some cloud and the magical moment had passed. Nonetheless, we had captured it, in all its fabulous glory. We were wet. We were cold. We were out of breath. But boy were we happy.

After that, we relaxed a bit. The almost-full moon was out. We got lots of other photos – of Cairn S, of Cairn T, of the Hag’s Chair, of Cairn U, and Cairn V. But for now, the magical, mystical shot of the sunset from the chamber of Cairn S is putting a big smile on my face. I feel like I’ve caught up with not just 37 years of history tonight, but over 5,000 years of it.

Because of its short passage and wide chamber, it is obvious that Cairn S will align with the sun for some time. I will have to make a return visit in a couple of weeks to see if it is still aligned. 

New Year, New Moon - sunset, dusk and the arrival of the moon, Venus and the stars at twilight at Newgrange

The first evening of the new year was a glorious one at Newgrange in the Boyne Valley. The first sunset of 2017 was magnificent, followed by a descent into twilight that featured rich hues and colours, and then the crescent moon next to Venus, the Evening Star, made it a really gorgeous close to the day. In a couple of the shots, you might also catch a glimpse of Mars, which was trailing the Moon and Venus. I was lucky to be able to spend time there putting together this very special time lapse video. It might have been cold, but it was lovely.

Enjoy watching this time lapse with music to match. You will see the sun setting behind Réaltoge Hill, and the last tourists of the evening departing from Newgrange, before seeing the gradual arrival of twilight and darkness. Shot on four different cameras from six different vantage points over the course of four hours. Well worth the effort, I hope you agree. This video captures some of the essence of a place that, as a sacred monument, sees hundreds of visitors every day, but which once evening falls becomes a lonely and lovely place.

What could be better than to watch the sun, moon, planets and stars from Newgrange, where our ancient ancestors did likewise?

Time lapse video - winter evening setting sun illuminates southern chamber at Dowth megalithic monument

It was shaping up to be a lovely time lapse video. I wanted to record the setting sun shining into the southern chamber of Dowth. It's six days until Winter Solstice, and the sky was nice and clear, so I headed out to Dowth with the cameras hoping to catch the illumination of the chamber. As you can see, all was going well, but an encroaching Atlantic front - bringing rain - started to shroud the sun just at the crucial time, and cut off the light, which had begun to reach the chamber floor.

I guess I will just have to try again, if and when the opportunity arises.

Make sure to watch the video full screen and in 1080 high definition. (To do that, press play on the video, and when it starts playing click on the YouTube logo on bottom right. That will open the video in a new window. Then click the full screen and HD settings either side of the YouTube logo).

In the meantime, if you want to see some fantastic photos of a previous winter solstice illumination of Dowth by Anne Marie Moroney, click on this link.

The 12 days of Solstice - Day 2 - the golden glow of a beautiful winter sunset at Newgrange

Today is the second day of my new series of Newgrange photographs entitled 'The 12 days of Solstice". Today's image shows Newgrange in winter at around sunset. The sun has just disappeared below the near horizon, but its golden glow is still very much visible. The winter days are short in the Boyne Valley - in midwinter, the sun rises shortly before 9am and sets before 4pm. This dearth of light and heat reminds us how difficult life might have been around solstice in the Neolithic, and how important the turning of the year was to the builders of these huge monuments.

As a photographer, I enjoy the special light that happens at sunrise and sunset in winter. Even when it's cold, and maybe your hands are numb from holding the camera, the golden glow of the sun helps to warm the soul. Sunrise and sunset are very special times, and provide the observer with a moment of exhilaration and gladness. One can only imagine that the builders of Newgrange experienced  similar moments of bliss punctuating their lives as they grappled with some meaning behind their own existence.

For an explanation about the inspiration behind the new series of photographs, see this post:
http://blog.mythicalireland.com/2016/12/celebrating-winter-solstice-season-with.html

A marvellous vision of Tír na nÓg at Sliabh na Caillighe

When you climb Sliabh na Caillighe (the hill known today as Carnbane East, Loughcrew), it's difficult not to think of what motives and forces inspired a community of people in the far distant past to create great monuments of stone on the peaks of these hills.

Sunset over Carrickbrack and Carnbane West viewed from Sliabh na Caillighe, Loughcrew.

How did they do it? Why did they do it? How did they stay warm up here, on autumnal days like today, when the wind is blowing and bringing water to the eyes? How many people laboured here, in honour of what gods, and at what cost to their physical and spiritual beings? You wonder about what could have driven them to such fabulous exploits, to create these permanent memorials of stone in honour of ideals and aims that we can only feign to understand.

Ambient light streams into the chamber of Cairn T.

But, in the fading light of day, you catch sight of a marvellous vision. The clouds and the sun create a powerful drama, a play on the stage of the western horizon, causing sudden and thrilling changes in colour and light that bring a sense of rapture. You are witness to another dazzling moment in nature's constant dance.

The haze causes the landscape to fade into ever-dissipating layers of mistiness, and the scattered beams of the sun create the impression of a golden opening to something wondrous beyond the cairn-topped hills. Perhaps this is as close as you can get to actually seeing Tír na nÓg. The eye beholds; the mind tinkers with possibilities; and the heart is greatly warmed by the glory of the scene.

And here, at this sanctified spot where the ancestors gathered in the ancient yesterday, you feel like you have made a connection with them, across time and space and landscape. You grasp with the notion of an otherworld in the here and now, one that transcends time and place, so that you can call out to them and they will answer.

And you wish and hope that the landscape will stay like this forever. Forever ancient.

The evening sun over Cairn T (the Hag's Cairn) at Loughcrew.

Newgrange at midsummer - the solstice and the longest days of the year in video and photos

I had the pleasure of spending a couple of evenings out at Newgrange this week, following the very recent Summer Solstice.Tonight's visit was especially beautiful. I saw the sun going down and there was a beautiful sky at the time. This was followed by a lovely red sky and a vivid lingering twilight.

Taken tonight, a week after the Summer Solstice, with the sun's setting position not having moved much in a week, you can see how the sunset at this time of year is opposite the winter sunrise, towards which the passage opening points.

From here on in, the sun begins its slow retreat southwards, with the inevitable shortening of the days that comes with it.

Right now, the twilight lasts throughout the night. This will keep happening for another couple of weeks, but after that the evenings will start to draw in again.

This is something that must have had quite a dramatic impact on the minds and lives of the people of the Stone Age. The passage of the sun from its strongest to its weakest is surely something around which the monuments and some of their mythology was based. It's easy to see why this would be the case. The long days of light in the summer seem everlasting. This might have been what the legend of Dowth referred to.

A beautiful red sky ensued after sunset at Newgrange tonight.

Although I love this time of year, and the warmer and brighter days, they are always tinged with a sense of sadness too, because these days don't last. The endless twilight of midsummer is fleeting, and the year turns again quickly. The retreat of the sun back towards the south gave rise, I have no doubt, to numerous myths involving themes such as darkness and the vanquishing of one foe or hero by another. At Newgrange, this is best exemplified in the myth of Aonghus Óg, who takes Síd in Broga (the old name for Newgrange) from his father, Dagda, the chief of the gods. He does this by asking him for possession of the Brug for one day and one night. When the Dagda asks for the return of the Sídhe, Aonghus says "all of time is made up of night and day" and thus, through cunning, takes permanent possession of Newgrange from his father.

Perhaps Aonghus Óg, Aonghus the young, represents the coming of the new sun at winter solstice, and the growing of the year that results, and he takes possession of the mound from the older, dying sun of the previous year.

Watching the northerly march of the sun as we head towards the longest days of the year

I realise that I haven't written a blog post in a while. It's not that I haven't been doing anything. Quite the opposite. One of the things that's been keeping me busy is photography. Among many other things, I've been tracking the northerly progress of the sunsets over the past month or so as we march inevitably towards summer solstice and the longest days of the year. It's just over three weeks away now, and as much as I love this time of year, personally watching the sunsets is always tinged with sadness for me. And in this blog post, I will attempt to explain why.

The sadness finds its source in a number of places. I think that its difficult to live at any latitude so removed from the equator that the difference in the length of day from midwinter to midsummer is enormous. It's not so difficult to live in Ireland in summer, when the days are long and there is a great spurt of life and growth evident all around. Winter is a very different story. The days are short, and are often shortened further by a darkness that is creeping and all-encompassing. Immersed in this darkness, all you can do is accept it, and perhaps embrace it, and wait for the days to lengthen.

A recent sunset over the Boyne from Millmount.

Summer then arrives rather abruptly. In late March, the clocks go forward by an hour. Where previously the sun was setting around 6pm, now it sets at 7, and it doesn't get dark until nearly 8. Because it's the time of equinox, the sun's rising and setting positions on the eastern and western horizons are moving at their greatest speed. The days are getting longer rapidly from Imbolc (the ancient Celtic spring festival of early February), through spring equinox, and on towards Bealtaine (early May). Before Daylight Saving Time kicks in, you are probably driving to and from work in the dark, and find that the only daylight activities you can partake in (apart from whatever work you do) are at weekends, when you try to "cram it all in".

From late March onward, you can start to enjoy the "stretch in the evenings", as it is commonly referred to here in Ireland. And very quickly, within a month, you've gone from driving home in the dark to enjoying brightness until well after 9pm.

Tonight, (May 29th, 2016) I watched and photographed the sun as it went down beneath the horizon from Millmount, a mound said to have been built by the Normans in the 12th century, but which local folklore says is an ancient burial mound. The sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon at 9.33pm. As I write, it's 10.29pm and it's still not dark.

Now don't get me wrong. I love this time of year. And I love the long evenings. I enjoy the extra light. It invigorates my spirit. There is something about the lingering of the light that I have always connected with hope, and vitality. I suppose there's probably nothing unusual about that.

However, part of the sadness that I feel, even at this time of year, stems from the realisation that inevitably the sun will reach a certain maximum setting azimuth and, after halting there for a few days, will begin to start heading south again. No sooner do the glorious days of summer arrive and suddenly the pendulum swings against us. From Millmount, the sun at midsummer appears to set over Hill of Rath, in the direction of another hill at Collon known as the Black Hill. I wonder if this name is one of many place names in Ireland that might possibly be explained through such astronomical alignments. Is it called the Black Hill because it marks the place from which the sun turns back, towards the shorter days and darker evenings?

Today was a particularly glorious day in the Boyne Valley. It was warm and sunny and the whole valley is alive with the business of summer. People were out in droves, walking, playing, relaxing. It was one of those days when you might say to yourself, "if it was like this all the time you'd never want to leave."

But some of us are so married to the place - despite the sometimes endless rain, and the short cold days of winter - that we never leave it anyway.

The swifts and swallows and house martins, having recently arrived back from their faraway wintering grounds in Africa, perhaps conversely remind us of our own rooting to place, our connection to home, something that, until the invention of powered flight, was largely intrinsic to our lives as humans. We might have ventured across the globe as a species, but locally, once we find home, we tend to stay there. And sometimes, bound to that spot on the earth by our sense of belonging, and perhaps reinforced by our sense of community, we might wish that, like the swallow, we could just alight into the great air and fly off somewhere else for the winter, leaving the harsh chill behind.

One of the other things that makes me sad, even on these lovely long evenings of summer, is the fact that the relentless movement of the sun, and the consequent brightening and darkening of the days, is an eternal reminder of the fleeting and changing nature of our own lives. There, reflected in the everyday movements of that golden ball upon which we depend for so much, we see in vivid reality the corruptible nature of our own carnal selves. Just as the day rises tentatively in the east, and the noon comes brightly to strengthen the day, the evening arrives all too swiftly and the day is spent. All this is extended and magnified in the great drama of the seasons, and all too quickly the autumn arrives, with its fallen leaves and drooping spirits ushering in the harsh winter.

The setting sun in early May viewed from Millmount.

So even as we watch the sun dropping down onto the far green-grey hills in the warm evening, we contemplate the relentless march of time, and of season, and how the winters and summers rise and fall with alarming haste. And we think back, perhaps, to the metaphorical dark and bright seasons in our own lives - times when we might have enjoyed a fulsome vitality, or times when maybe there was darkness or a lack of light. We might think of people - friends, relatives or acquaintances - upon whose lives the sun set all too soon.

All of which gives us good reason to enjoy, as much as possible, while we have the time, and while we might be able to, the glorious coming of the long evenings of summer.

And perhaps, as we watch that sinking red orb strike the horizon, we might remember also the ancient ancestors who possibly stood at the same spot and watched that same sun disappear into the earth.

Almost 1.9 million sunsets since Newgrange was built

Almost one million, nine hundred thousand sunsets. If we take the date of 3150BC for the construction of Newgrange (which is the date favoured by archaeologists), then tonight's sunset in the Boyne Valley (pictured) would be the 1,886,632nd sunset since this great monument was built in the distant New Stone Age. Also pictured, directly under the setting sun, is a satellite mound known only as Mound B.

You can now purchase prints of my photos online: http://www.mythicalireland.com/gallery.php

Photo shared from Flickr http://flic.kr/p/Gd62CC

Aonghus and Caer lover swans on the Boyne at sunset

Two swans on the river Boyne at sunset beneath the Boyne Valley Bridge.

http://bit.ly/MI-gallery

from Flickr http://flic.kr/p/G1bkRU

Sunset over the Boyne Valley, viewed from Ardmulchan

Friday's setting sun over the Boyne Valley viewed from Ardmulchan.

from Flickr http://flic.kr/p/Fq8z9Q

Sunset over Dunmoe Castle, Boyne Valley

Sunset this evening, April 15th 2016, over the top of Dunmoe Castle, viewed from Ardmulchan, in the Boyne Valley.

from Flickr http://flic.kr/p/Gic8UZ

Spectacular Summer Solstice sunset over Newgrange

The clouds looked ominous as I headed out from home towards the Boyne Valley. As I got closer to Staleen, on the southern banks of the Boyne opposite Newgrange, I could sense that something dramatic was about to happen in the sky. In my rush to get out there, I left my 18-105mm lens behind (at home) and only had my 12-24mm wide angle lens. I grabbed my camera and ran down the path along the Boyne canal. I was breathless when I got to the location from which the above photograph was taken. Within moments I was clicking away as the sun appeared below a great bank of dark cloud. For a few moments, it was spectacular. The sun lit up the whole underbelly of the cloud, creating a dramatic sky. It might have been raining - meaning that I had to wipe the lens pretty much after every shot - but it was perfect! The moment had finally arrived. Sunset on the longest day of the year had come. Orion carried the golden ball of light down into the earth. And it was beautiful.

Below is a sequence of four unedited jpegs showing just how beautiful it was.

One of my best shots of Newgrange to date

I just realised that although I've been keeping my Facebook page up to date, I have not blogged in a while. So here goes. A beautiful image of Newgrange taken yesterday towards sunset. This is one of the best shots of Newgrange I have taken to date. Very pleased with the result.

Sun's rays peek through clouds over the Boyne Valley

The sun's rays made a brief appearance this evening over the Boyne Valley, out in the west, beyond Newgrange. It was a fairly grey day throughout, in contrast to the beautiful blue sky days during the week. It was as if the Tuatha Dé Danann or the fairies were having fun, one last hurrah before the sun went down beyond Réaltoge Hill...

Ruins on the Hill of Slane

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The ruins on the Hill of Slane, illuminated by different types of lighting, in the evening glow after sunset. This is the place where, according to tradition, Saint Patrick lit the Paschal Fire in contravention of the laws of Ireland, and in direct view of the King, Laoghaire, who saw the fire from nearby Tara. In earlier tradition, the Fir Bolg king Sláine was said to have been buried in a mound behind these ruins. It is from this king that the modern village of Slane gets its name.

New photos of Newgrange and Dowth

Newgrange in the evening sunset glow. Taken September 8th, 2012.

I thought I would share a couple of recently taken photos from the Boyne Valley. Above is Newgrange taken about 20 minutes before sunset. Below is Dowth, which is the anglicised version of its Irish name, Dubhadh. According to the legend of Dowth, which is about a total eclipse of the sun, darkness fell on the men of Erin when they were making the mound. They abandoned the task, and the king said the place would forever more be known as 'Dubhadh - Darkness'. I think the photo captures that mood nicely.

Dowth - Darkness - in silhouette with the full moon.

Beautiful Dowth winter shots from Anne Marie Moroney

For some years, a row of evergreen trees growing to the southwest of Dowth has gradually blocked the light from the setting sun at Winter Solstice entering the southern chamber of the Neolithic cairn. However, a couple of years ago, with the permission of the land owner, there was some trimming of the trees which allowed sunlight back into the chamber - with glorious results, as can be seen in these photos, which were taken by Anne Marie Moroney in early January 2011. Anne Marie, author of 'Dowth - Winter Sunsets', has been studying the phenomenon for years.