Bonratty Castle Ireland for Black and White Community

 

A week ago, I shared the grand front façade of Bunratty Castle in Ireland, with its familiar stone walls standing proudly in the light. Today, we turn to the other side—the back of the castle and its shadowed interior, where the mood is altogether different. Bonratty Castle Post

Here, colour seems almost absent. The ancient stone is steeped in shades of grey and black, the rooms quiet and solemn, as though time itself has settled into the walls. There is little need for colour in such a setting; the textures, shadows and weathered stones speak for themselves.

So I might as well let the castle keep its own mood and present these images in black and white—a fitting language for a place so deeply rooted in the past.

Canon 6D

EF 14mm f2.8 

Linking Black and White Community

O'Brien's Tower on Cliff of Moher Ireland for Treasure Tuesday

 

O’Brien’s Tower does not rise like some formidable medieval fortress, nor does it pretend to be a castle of kings and battles. Instead, this small circular stone tower stands rather like a charming scout station at the very edge of the world, keeping watch over the vast Atlantic beyond.

Perched at the highest point of Ireland’s magnificent Cliffs of Moher, it is reached not by carriage or grand procession, but by a gentle walk along emerald-green paths. On a bright and pleasant day, the journey itself becomes part of the enchantment. The grass glows with that particular Irish green that seems almost too vivid to be real, while the Atlantic breeze drifts across the cliffs, carrying with it the wildness of the ocean.

Built in 1835, O’Brien’s Tower was the vision of Sir Cornelius O’Brien, a wealthy local landlord, lawyer and Member of Parliament who claimed descent from Brian Boru, Ireland’s legendary High King. Yet O’Brien’s ambition was rather different from that of the medieval lords whose castles once dotted the Irish landscape. He understood that the cliffs themselves were a treasure, and that their beauty could draw travellers from far beyond Ireland.

So he built paths, viewing points and this curious little tower—not to defend the land from an invading army, but to welcome visitors to its grandeur. In an age when travel was becoming fashionable among the wealthy, O’Brien saw the cliffs as a destination long before tourism became the industry it is today. He hoped that visitors would bring prosperity and employment to the local people.

There is, naturally, a more romantic story woven into the history. Local folklore whispers that O’Brien may also have had another audience in mind: the noblewomen he was courting. Perhaps the tower was not merely an observatory, but also a stage upon which to display the magnificence of the landscape—and, perhaps, the magnificence of its creator.

In its earliest days, the tower offered something resembling a little teahouse above the sea. A large circular iron table provided a place where weary strangers could shelter from the Atlantic wind and pause for tea. It is an oddly gentle image: travellers gathered around a table, cups warming their hands, while beyond the stone walls the ocean stretched towards the horizon.

And what a horizon it is.

From this lofty perch, on a clear day, the eye can wander across the Atlantic to the Aran Islands, trace the distant Twelve Bens of Connemara, and follow the shimmering sweep of Galway Bay. The cliffs fall dramatically towards the sea, while above them the soft Irish grass rolls away beneath an immense and changeable sky.

There is something beautifully fitting about O’Brien’s Tower standing here. It is small against the immensity of the landscape, almost whimsical beside the monumental cliffs, yet somehow perfectly placed. The tower does not compete with nature; it simply invites us to stop, look and wonder.

O’Brien was so energetic in shaping the paths and amenities around the cliffs that the locals eventually joked that he built everything around here except the cliffs themselves.

Perhaps that is the best way to remember him. He did not create the cliffs—they needed no architect—but he created ways for generations of travellers to approach them, linger beside them and gaze out across their extraordinary kingdom of stone, grass, wind and sea.

And so the walk to O’Brien’s Tower becomes more than a journey towards an old stone folly. It is a quiet passage through Ireland’s green heart, leading ultimately to the place where land seems to surrender itself to the Atlantic, and where, for a moment, the traveller stands at the very threshold of the world.

Canon 6D 

EF 14mm f2.8 

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Smugglers Creek Inn, Ireland for Sunday Best

 

The sea winds whispered of smuggler secrets and ancient stone, where cliffs of Donegal look down upon the crashing foam. High above the wild Atlantic wave, there sits a legendary inn—a historic crown of the Irish North West, where timeless tales begin.To this rustic haven on the edge of the world, the mighty and the famous fly, as spinning blades descend from the Irish sky. Here, Hollywood stars and statesmen leave the clouds behind, touching down on the helipad to leave the restless world behind. They step through heavy wooden doors, seeking warmth from the biting breeze, joining locals and travelers alike, all brought to their happy knees.Inside, the shadows dance to the rhythm of the crackling fire, offering every weary soul their deepest culinary desire. We sat amid the storied timber, tasting the magic of the coast—a velvety bowl of rich seafood chowder, a dish of which the angels boast. Then came the sizzle of a premium Irish steak, perfectly seared and bold, paired with a dark, cascading pint of black beer, creamy, deep, and cold.It was a feast of old-world wonder, an unforgettable, sacred bite, where history, royalty, and the wild, wild sea collide into the perfect night.

Canon 6D

EF 14mm f2.8 L 

Linking Sunday Best

Ross Castle Killarney National Park in Ireland for Black and White Community

 

The fortress captured in the image is Ross Castle, a 15th-century stronghold beautifully situated on the shores of Lough Leane within Killarney National Park in County Kerry, Ireland

The hour was fleeting, a swift and borrowed grace, as I was chauffeured through the ancient, whispering depths of the park. My guide, a master of the road, steered our grand luxury coach like a vessel navigating through time itself, unraveling the emerald secrets of the land. Together, we traced the dramatic sweeping loops of the landscape, unlocking the secrets of the upper, middle, and lower rings of this majestic realm. And there, framed like a dream between the rugged boughs of silent trees, the silver stone of Ross Castle emerged from the lake—a timeless sentinel guarding the quiet waters of the Kingdom.

Ross Castle was built in the late 15th century by the powerful O'Donoghue Mór clan on the scenic shores of Lough Leane. It later passed to the Browne family before earning historical fame during the Cromwellian conquest of 1652 as the last Munster stronghold to surrender. The defenders capitulated only when English forces fulfilled an ancient prophecy by launching warships onto the lake. Repurposed as a military barracks in the 18th century and later left to ruin, the fortified tower house was meticulously restored in the late 20th century and stands today as a celebrated heritage site within Killarney National Park.

Canon 6D

EF 14mm f2.8 

Linking Black And White Community

Giant Causeway, Ireland for Treasure Tuesday

 

I still remember how lovely it was to wander through the Giant’s Causeway, where the ancient basalt seemed to rise from the earth in endless geometric stacks, each dark column shaped by fire, time, and the restless Atlantic. There was something wonderfully unhurried about walking among these remarkable rocks, with the sea breathing quietly beside them.

The first photograph captures the extraordinary formation itself—the basalt blocks stacked together like a vast natural mosaic, each one bearing the unmistakable signature of Ireland’s volcanic past. In the second, a brown, muddy path winds patiently towards the shore, rough beneath the feet yet somehow inviting, as though the landscape itself were leading me down to meet the sea. And in the third, everything opens into blue: the Atlantic stretching beyond the wandering path, bright and serene beneath the Irish sky.

After the grandeur of the Causeway, it was certainly more relaxing to return to the city, where the pace was gentler and the streets offered their own quiet pleasures. Yet the memory of those basalt cliffs, the muddy trail, and that endless blue sea remains—one of those places in Ireland where the landscape feels ancient, elemental, and beautifully alive.

Canon 6D

EF 14mm f2.8

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Bridgewater Bay Sunset, Blairgowrie for Skywatch Friday

 

A cold winter evening can paint the sky in colours that summer sunsets sometimes cannot match. The air is crisp, the light softer, and the bay lies quieter beneath the fading sky. There are fewer visitors, leaving the shoreline almost entirely to the gentle rhythm of the waves and the reflections shimmering across the water.

Bridgewater Bay in Blairgowrie is a beautiful place for an evening stroll—a simple walk made memorable by winter light, still water, and the quiet beauty of the coast.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

HeHuan Mountain sky in Mid Taiwan for Skywatch Friday

 

In my experience, Hehuan Mountain seldom reveals itself beneath a clear blue sky. More often, it wears a cloak of mist and cloud, making those rare moments of sunlight feel all the more precious. It was a mesmerising sight to watch thick, velvety clouds drift above the yellowing grasslands, their soft shadows gliding across the slopes where scattered islands of deep green punctuated the fading gold. For a fleeting moment, mountain, cloud, and meadow seemed to breathe together in quiet harmony, creating a landscape of understated beauty that lingered long after the view had disappeared.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Taroko Gorge Taiwan for Water H2O Thursday

 

Taroko Gorge is one of Taiwan's greatest natural wonders, but its beauty is inseparable from its peril. Sculpted by relentless rivers and restless tectonic forces, the towering cliffs bear the scars of earthquakes and landslides, with roads that seem to crumble and be rebuilt in an endless cycle. Beneath them, the Liwu River glows an astonishing emerald green, its vivid colour born from the minerals carried through the marble mountains, as though the earth itself has dissolved into the water.

Swallows wheel effortlessly along the sheer cliff faces, weaving between the precipices as if they alone have mastered this rugged realm. Around them rise immense walls of marble and granite, polished over countless millennia by rushing water into a landscape of breathtaking grandeur. Taroko is a place where splendour and danger coexist—a reminder that nature's most enchanting masterpieces are often those still being carved by its most formidable forces.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Heathcote Pink Desert in Victoria for Skywatch Friday

 

Heathcote was once a town I returned to often, before the slow machinery of local bureaucracy began pushing independent health providers to the margins. Yet beyond the politics of small towns, the land itself remained untouched in spirit. Not far from the township lies the Pink Desert, quiet and otherworldly beneath the open Victorian sky.

The walk there is usually gentle and unhurried, the sort of path that invites silence rather than conversation. Across the dry earth, the trees cast long skeletal shadows that drift over the pale pink ground like brushstrokes on an ancient canvas. In the late afternoon light, the landscape seems almost dreamlike — austere yet beautiful — where dust, shadow, and stillness combine into something uniquely Australian.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Mural reflection at Sunshine Lane in Brunswick for Mural Monday

 

On Sunshine Lane in Brunswick, the mural spoke in a language of repetition — humble blue patterns marching across the wall like fragments of tiled memory. Beneath it sat an abandoned chair, painted in almost the exact shade of weary cobalt, as though it had quietly surrendered itself to the artwork behind it.

Rainwater had gathered in the uneven lane below, turning the gutter into a trembling mirror. The chair, the mural, the peeling textures of brick and paint all dissolved into the sloshy reflection, wavering with every ripple and passing breeze. What was ordinary by daylight became strangely cinematic — a forgotten corner of the city briefly transformed into an accidental study of colour, solitude, and symmetry.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Mural Monday

Corcomroe Abbey, Ireland for Black and white community

 

On a quiet weekend away from the clinical cadence of a conference in Dublin, I drifted westward into the limestone hush of the Burren, where time feels less like a sequence and more like a residue. There, half-held by earth and sky, stood Corcomroe Abbey—a structure that does not announce itself, but rather emerges, as though it had always been waiting for the light to find it again.

The abbey carries the gravity of the 13th century, founded around 1194 and later rebuilt under the patronage of the O’Brien kings of Thomond. It belongs to the Cistercian Order, whose architectural restraint is evident in every line: no ornament for ornament’s sake, only the quiet geometry of devotion. Even in ruin, it feels deliberate. The stone—ashen, weathered, patient—absorbs light unevenly, lending itself to the kind of high-contrast rendering my old Canon 6D paired with 14mm f/2.8 would honour so well.

Through that wide glass, the nave stretches with solemn clarity. The lancet windows, stripped of their glass centuries ago, now frame only sky—sometimes pale, sometimes brooding—each opening a quiet negotiation between absence and presence. The abbey’s most striking detail rests near the chancel: the finely carved tomb of King Conor na Siudane O’Brien, its effigy worn but still unmistakably regal. Time has softened the features, but not erased the intent.

There is something inherently monastic about the way your image resolves—high contrast, almost austere, as though the sensor itself understood the discipline of the place. The Burren’s karst landscape, with its cracked pavements of limestone, mirrors the abbey’s own fractures. Both seem less broken than distilled.

No crowds pressed in, no voices lingered. Just the wind threading through empty arches, and the faint echo of a life once structured by prayer, silence, and stone. In that frame—wide, deliberate, and slightly aged in tone—you didn’t just capture a ruin. You caught a place still negotiating with time, still holding its form against the slow erosion of centuries.

Canon 6D

FE 14mm f2.8 

Linking Black and White community

Collins St Block and Arcade at night for Sign 2

 

Collins Arcade has always held a quiet magic for me—a heritage corridor tucked into the pulse of Melbourne, where time seems to fold in layers. On a humid, stifling evening just before Christmas, I slipped into its cool, shadowed embrace, camera in hand. I chose the FE 14mm f1.8, a lightweight prime lens, knowing I wanted freedom to move, to catch fleeting moments without being weighed down by bulk.

The arcade is more than just a passageway; it is a living memory of the city. Collins Block, the structure that cradles it, dates back to the late 19th century, a time when Melbourne was stretching upward and outward, a city buoyed by gold-rush fortunes and the optimism of civic growth. Its façade, a meticulous blend of classical proportions and restrained ornamentation, hints at the ambitions of the architects who sought to fuse elegance with utility. Pilasters rise subtly along the frontage, and delicate cornices crown the windows, while wrought iron balconies peek out as if whispering the lives of those who once walked above the bustling streets.

Stepping inside the arcade is like entering a miniature urban cathedral. The glass canopy above filters the last of the day’s sun, turning dust motes into suspended jewels. The tiled floor, intricate and deliberate, echoes footsteps from generations past, each step a gentle percussion against the calm of the evening. Shopfronts, framed in timber and brass, carry the weight of history with a quiet dignity. The design is not ostentatious, yet it is purposeful—every line, curve, and reflection crafted to invite a slow, appreciative walk rather than a hurried commute.

I wandered down the arcade with my lens, capturing the candid gestures of passersby, the way light pooled in corners, the reflections that danced along polished surfaces. The air was heavy, thick with humidity and the anticipatory energy of the season, yet the arcade offered a gentle reprieve, a measured rhythm that contrasted with the chaos of the streets outside. Each shot I took felt like a dialogue with history: a small, modern act contained within a space that had already witnessed decades of life.

Collins Arcade is, in a way, a meditation on continuity—a reminder that architecture, when done with care and reverence, can hold stories, tempering the rush of the present with the weight of memory. That evening, walking through its cool corridors, I felt connected to those layers of the city: the ambitions of 19th-century builders, the quiet persistence of shopkeepers, the casual footsteps of strangers, and my own small act of noticing.

And so I walked, lens in hand, carrying not just a camera but a reverence for the arcade’s enduring elegance—a narrow, luminous path through Melbourne’s collective memory.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Sign2

South Bank Melbourne for Sign2

 

I have posted these two images on the other blog of mine Melbourne Street Photography

Both images were first taken in monochrome, their shadows and silences doing all the speaking. Yet earlier today, with time to spare before the cardiology conference at the Stamford Plaza, I wandered along South Bank in Melbourne and felt the city nudge me toward colour again. The river moved with its usual unhurried grace, reflecting fragments of sky and skyline; the breeze carried the faint scent of roasted coffee from nearby cafés; and the footsteps of passers-by echoed softly along the promenade like a gentle counterpoint to the hum of trams and traffic beyond.

On a whim, I decided to give the photographs a muted colour treatment—just enough for the tones to breathe without losing the quiet dignity of their original monochrome form. The results surprised me. Soft washes of colour settled into the images like memories returning after a long absence: the subdued blues of the Yarra, the mellow greys of the paved walkway, the faintest warmth in the late-morning light. What once felt stark now carries a subtle tenderness, a kind of understated calm that pleases the eye and lingers in the mind.

As I stood by the river, watching the city move at its own measured pace, I realised how these gentle hues mirror the mood of the day—unrushed, contemplative, suspended somewhere between duty and leisure. The photographs now hold that feeling too, quietly echoing the simple pleasure of a solitary stroll along South Bank before the formalities ahead.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Sign2

Maldon Milkyway Sky for Sky watch Friday

 

I once shared a vision of the Milky Way above this quiet township, and now I offer another—its silver arc stretching across the heavens, with the glow of an old shop sign below. This is Maldon, Victoria, where time seems to linger in the stones and timber. In the gold-digging days of the nineteenth century, the town pulsed with restless hope, as seekers from distant lands pressed their hands into the soil in search of fortune. Though the fever of those years has long since passed, the streets remain adorned with weathered facades, each one a relic of dreams pursued. Beneath the eternal canopy of stars, Maldon keeps its vigil, a place where the sky whispers to the earth, and history breathes gently through the night air.

Sony A7RIV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Sky watch friday

No 16 Beach, Rye for Skywatch Friday

 

Upon the evening of my visit to Number Sixteen Beach at Rye, the heavens lay utterly cloudless, and the setting sun cast its mellow radiance across the waters. Though this stretch of coast is among the most frequented along the Mornington Peninsula, fortune granted me solitude; not a soul was present to disturb the tranquillity. The waves, breaking upon the sand with unhurried constancy, left a delicate froth in the foreground, a lacework of the sea that I found singularly pleasing.

Number Sixteen Beach, so named after the original trackway once marked by numbered posts guiding visitors through the dunes, has long held a reputation both for its rugged beauty and its perilous seas. Unlike the sheltered bay beaches of Rye, this ocean front faces the Bass Strait, and its powerful surf has made it a place admired by walkers and naturalists rather than a safe haven for swimmers. The limestone cliffs and rock platforms that frame the beach bear silent testimony to the restless shaping hand of wind and tide through countless ages. In former times, the local Bunurong people knew these coasts intimately, gathering shellfish from the rock shelves and reading in the land and waters the signs of season and story.

Thus, standing alone at sunset, with the waves whispering their endless song, one is not merely a solitary observer of beauty but also a quiet inheritor of a long continuum of human presence, reverence, and memory upon this shore.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Grantville Jetty Sunset for Skywatch Friday

 

Grantville lies not far from Tenby Point, and it was this proximity that led Joel and me to visit—drawn, curiously enough, by a singular souvlaki shop, notable for being operated by Greeks rather than the more common Chinese proprietors. The lamb served here is remarkably succulent, richly complemented by a garlicky parsley sauce that lingers pleasantly on the palate.

Just behind the modest establishment stands the town's jetty, offering a quiet vista over the water. Thus, our visit served a dual purpose—culinary and contemplative—allowing us, as the saying goes, to kill two birds with one stone.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Pinnacles Milkyway Cape Woolamai for Skywatch Friday

 

I have not engaged in much astrophotography over the past two years. The notion of spending an entire night outdoors—particularly at such an exposed and windswept location as the Pinnacles at Cape Woolamai—has ceased to hold the charm it once did. What was once a beloved pastime now feels more akin to an obligation. The glow visible on the horizon is the light pollution emanating from the distant city of Melbourne, which has, regrettably, diminished the appeal of this location for many photographers.

Captured using a Sony A7R V paired with the FE 14mm f/1.8 GM lens.

Linking Skywatch Friday

De Grave Place Melbourne Signs for Sign2

 

The signage around this quarter marks some of my favourite locales—there is something distinctly Melburnian about their character, at least as captured through the lens. Nowhere is this more evident than in Degraves Place, nestled in the very heart of Melbourne’s central business district.

Degraves Place, and its adjoining laneway Degraves Street, take their name from the Degraves family, early settlers and entrepreneurs in colonial Victoria. William and Charles Degraves arrived from Hobart in the 1850s and quickly established themselves as prominent figures in Melbourne’s flour milling industry. Their enterprise, the Degraves Mill, once stood near the banks of the Yarra, a symbol of industrious ambition in the young colony.

Today, Degraves Place is emblematic of Melbourne’s famed laneway culture—an elegant mingling of past and present. Beneath its heritage façades and weathered brickwork lie cafés, galleries, and small boutiques, alive with the hum of conversation and the aroma of espresso. The signs that adorn these narrow passages are not mere markers—they are storytellers of a city that thrives on character, contrast, and continuity.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Sign2

Sydney Lunar Park at night for Treasure Tuesday

 

I have visited Sydney on numerous occasions, as is common for many Australians. My travels to the city have largely been for professional purposes, primarily attending conferences. In earlier years, I would often confine myself to the sterile interiors of hotel rooms, sustaining myself on provisions purchased from nearby supermarkets, venturing little into the urban sprawl beyond.

However, my perspective on cities such as Sydney and Melbourne—so often dismissed as soulless concrete jungles—began to shift a few years ago. I came to appreciate them not merely as landscapes of steel and stone, but as living theatres of culture. I developed a fondness for photographing their architecture, their people, and the fleeting moments that give life to the metropolis.

On a recent visit during the Vivid Sydney festival, I made a point to attend Luna Park—an iconic amusement park that dates back to 1935, nestled at the foot of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. This historic park, with its whimsical Art Deco facade and famous smiling face entrance, has long been a fixture of Sydney’s shoreline. Though it had often been closed during my previous visits, its gates were open on weekend evenings for the duration of the festival. Encouraged by the opportunity, I purchased my ticket in advance and resolved to explore its grounds.

Regrettably, my experience at the entrance was far from pleasant. The staff tasked with managing entry proved disorganised, and their conduct was discourteous and inattentive. The queue stretched the entire length of the wharf, winding beside the harbour. Upon finally entering the park, I found myself captivated not by the amusements, but by the sight of young performers dressed in resplendent carnival fashion—evocative of an era I have only seen through the lens of old cinema. There was a glamour to their attire that delighted me as a photographer and observer of human expression.

I chose to forgo the rides, many of which appeared both uninspiring and, frankly, of questionable safety. However, my visit took an unfortunate turn when I was abruptly approached by security personnel demanding a wrist identification band—an item I had not received at the gate, despite possessing a valid ticket with barcode. Their accusatory tone and my subsequent escort to the front gate to rectify the error left me feeling humiliated and unjustly treated. It was a sobering reminder of how poorly systems of order and hospitality can sometimes serve paying guests.

Despite this, a moment of joy emerged as I passed through a corridor ominously referred to as the "clown lane." The clowns—grotesque in design, with a macabre charm—might have unsettled others, but I found the absurdity delightful. I laughed aloud as I snapped photographs, grateful for having brought my 14mm f/1.8 lens, which allowed me to capture vivid images even in low light.

Joel, for his part, does not share my enthusiasm for such spectacles (he decided not to come from Melbourne), and so I ventured to Luna Park alone. In hindsight, while the experience was marred by poor management, it nonetheless offered a glimpse into the layered strangeness and splendour of Sydney’s cultural life—a city more nuanced than its concrete shell might suggest.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Hopetoun Waterfall Beech Forest for Water H2O Thursday

 

Hopetoun Falls, located within the verdant Beech Forest region of Victoria, Australia, is a remarkable natural landmark renowned for its single-span cascade, which makes it an exceptional subject for long-exposure photography. I first visited this magnificent waterfall over ten years ago, and since then, it has remained one of my most cherished photographic locations. The falls descend gracefully through a steep gorge, surrounded by lush temperate rainforest dominated by ancient myrtle beech trees (Nothofagus cunninghamii), which contribute to the forest’s rich biodiversity and striking beauty.

The approach to Hopetoun Falls requires a gentle 30-minute walk along a well-maintained trail, winding through dense ferns and towering tree trunks that evoke the area’s long geological and ecological history. Over the past two decades, I have documented the falls extensively, noting significant changes in the environment, such as the increased accumulation of large fallen logs at the base of the cascade—remnants of the forest’s natural cycles of growth and decay. My earliest photographs, taken before these changes became pronounced, reveal a clearer, more unobstructed view of the water’s powerful descent.

The Beech Forest itself holds great natural heritage significance, forming part of the Great Otway National Park, an area that preserves ancient ecosystems that have persisted for millions of years. This forest and waterfall not only offer stunning scenery but also represent a vital refuge for numerous native species, making Hopetoun Falls a site of both scenic and ecological importance. Despite its popularity and the increasing number of visitors, which sometimes detracts from the tranquil atmosphere, Hopetoun Falls remains a timeless and inspiring symbol of Australia’s unique natural heritage.

Pentax K10D

DA 14mm f2.8

Linking Water H2O Thursday