Dunmore East
Modern Day Photos

Here are some recent photos I took in Dunmore East.
Click on them to open a new page, where you can zoom in or download them. 

The Flat Rocks have been drawing anglers for as long as anyone around Dunmore can remember. They sit there just beyond the Shanoon, their rough backs rising out of the water as if they’ve been waiting patiently for the next fisherman to come along and try his luck. Many a hopeful line has been cast from those rocks over the years, with men standing there in all kinds of weather, studying the water and convincing themselves that the next pull on the line might be the one worth talking about in the pub later.

The new footbridge from the Shanoon has made the journey out to the rocks far simpler, carrying you safely over the jagged rocks below. The footbridge, though modern in design, doesn’t take away from the place though. The rocks are still the rocks, and the sea still has the final say in how the day will go.

Stand out there for a while and you’ll feel it soon enough — the steady thump of the swell, the sharp smell of salt in the air, and the quiet sense that you’re standing in a place that hasn’t changed much despite all the years. Some come with rods and bait, others simply to watch the sea rolling in from the horizon.

Either way, the Flat Rocks have a way of keeping you there longer than you intended. And when you leave, you usually find yourself thinking you might call back again the next calm day.

Standing on the footbridge, you get a view that can stop you for a moment — the kind of view that makes you forget whatever you were thinking about on the way out. The sea opens up in front of you, stretching away to the horizon where it meets the sky in that quiet, hazy line that seems to go on forever. On a clear day the colours shift constantly — deep blues, pale greys, and sometimes a silver shine when the sun catches the water just right.

Down below, the tide moves restlessly around the rocks, swirling and curling as it has done for thousands of years, never quite repeating itself. The sound of it carries up to the bridge — that steady, patient rhythm of water meeting stone. Seabirds drift and circle overhead, calling to one another as they ride the wind coming in from the open sea.

The rocks themselves look as though they’ve been standing there since the beginning of time, worn and shaped by countless tides and winter storms. They don’t seem to mind the attention, quietly holding their place between land and ocean.

I’ve often thought that the view from that bridge could hold its own with anything the west coast might offer. It may not have the same reputation, but it has something just as powerful — a quiet, honest beauty that reveals itself if you’re willing to stand still for a while and take it in.

And once you’ve stood there for a few minutes, watching the water move and the sky change above it, you begin to realise that this small corner of the coast has stories of its own — written slowly by the sea and the passing years.

This photograph, taken from the High Wall, looks out over a stretch of Dunmore that carries more history than might first meet the eye. From that spot you can clearly see the old Pilot Station and, a little in front of it, the World War II gun post — both standing quietly now, watching over the harbour much as they always have.

There was a time when the Pilot Station was a busy place. Pilots came and went at all hours, waiting to climb aboard ships that had anchored outside the harbour and guiding them carefully through the tricky waters of the Suir and on towards Waterford. It was skilled work that demanded a steady hand and a sharp eye, and the men who did it knew every tide, rock and current between the Hook and the city.

Not far away the gun post kept its own silent watch during the war years. Even in a small and peaceful village like Dunmore East, the uncertainty of those times was felt, and the lookout stood ready should anything appear on the horizon that shouldn’t be there.

Today the place is calm, and the buildings seem content to rest after their busy years. But when you stand on the High Wall and look across at them, it’s easy to imagine the movement and purpose that once filled that stretch of shore — pilots heading out to sea, watchmen scanning the horizon, and the quiet but constant business of a harbour doing its work.

It’s a fine view from the High Wall, not just for the scenery, but for the memories that seem to linger there if you give them a moment to surface.

This photograph was taken down by the Lighthouse, looking across the Lower Village where Dunmore East spreads itself out in a way that feels both familiar and comforting. From that spot you get a fine sweep of the place, with Councillors Strand curving gently along the shore, its sand changing colour with the light and the tide as it has done for as long as anyone can remember.

The Strand Inn sits there by the water’s edge, as steady and dependable as ever. Over the years it has watched generations come and go — fishermen calling in after a day at sea, families calling in after wandering the strand on summer evenings, and visitors discovering the place for the first time.

If you let your eyes wander up from the Strand, they’ll eventually settle on Killea Church, standing quietly on the top of Killea Hill. Its cross lifts into the sky above the village, keeping watch in its own quiet way over the houses, the harbour, and the boats that come and go below.

There’s something about that view that ties everything together — sea, strand, village and hill — all arranged in a way that feels natural and unhurried. Stand there for a few minutes with the Lighthouse behind you and you begin to understand why Dunmore East has always held such a strong pull on those who know it.

It’s not just the scenery. It’s the sense that life here has found its own steady rhythm between land and sea, and has been keeping time with it for a very long while.

I took this photograph from the Island Road, looking down towards the sea where a row of old thatched cottages sit much as they always have. They seem to belong to another time, their thick straw roofs settled comfortably in place, as if they’ve been quietly minding the spot for generations.

There’s something reassuring about seeing them there. While the sea below is forever shifting — sometimes calm, sometimes restless — the cottages appear content to remain exactly where they are, watching the tides come and go without much concern for the passing years.

Walking up the Island Road, you can’t help but feel that you’ve stepped into a part of the village that has managed to hold on to its old character. The cottages, and the sweep of the sea below — it all fits together in a way that feels simple and unhurried.

Stand there for a moment and it’s easy to imagine the many people who must have paused at the same spot long before us, looking out at the same stretch of water and thinking much the same thoughts.

Some places change quickly. Others, thankfully, take their time about it. The buildings seen here seem to have decided they’re in no rush at all.

This photograph was also taken from the Island Road, looking down towards the stretch of coastline beneath the park. When the tide is well in, as it is here, the little coves that usually hide among the rocks are almost impossible to make out. They slip quietly beneath the water, their outlines softened and disguised by the shifting colours of the sea.

Even so, the place loses none of its character. The rocks themselves take centre stage, rising out of the water in all sorts of shapes and angles, their surfaces worn smooth in places and sharply ridged in others. They look as though they’ve been patiently standing their ground for centuries, letting the sea do its work a little at a time.

Anyone who has watched that stretch of coast for long enough will know how quickly it can change its mood. On a calm day it appears peaceful enough, the water moving lazily around the rocks. But you don’t have to imagine very hard to picture the same place in a winter gale, when waves come crashing in and the whole shoreline seems to come alive with noise and motion.

From the Island Road it’s easy to stand there for a while and simply watch the water move through the rocks. The sea has been shaping this place long before any of us arrived, and it seems quite content to carry on doing so, slowly and steadily, year after year.