Behold the passive tide.
On these tranquil waters, lie our reflections of the day.
Solidarity in the afternoon sun, our thoughts gone from us a long while.
Me, I have no opinion o dreamer in this thoughtful moment.
I’ll only stay a short while and you no minute longer, mind lost in experience or wonder.
Did you know you can search for content using the category link?
Click on the category search buttons to find further content related to that category.
Here’s another photo with textures that I finished recently. In fact, it’s technically a re-edit of a photo I posted last year of local pub The Bog (formerly The Royal Albert Hotel and The Albert Arms) which I rather liked when finished with some texture.
Re-editing photos by adding a bit of enhancement via textures is a great way to breathe new life into a photo, it can lift a flat photo or just a fun way to play around with images – as in this case. I believe it has around five or six layers of textures finished with a bit of vignetting before saving.
St Cuthbert’s Church in Luxford Street, Wellington had everything you’d want in a church – a beautiful rimu interior, a nicely tiled roof, a stunning rose window, a bell and a turret for good measure. Unfortunately for the local congregation, it was classified as an earthquake prone building and so was sold and later demolished in 2015, thus ending sixty two years of community service.
However, before it was reduced to rubble several items were saved including the stunning Rose Window that is now on display in Wellington Museum.
This is St Stephens Green, a few days after Christmas on a chilly Dublin afternoon. It almost seems impossible to believe it wasn’t always the manicured Victorian park it is today. In the 17th century, the area was used as land for grazing livestock. It then became a popular dueling spot during the 18th century as men would settle disputes with pistols at dawn in the park. Around this time, public executions including hangings were held in the area while in more recent times the park featured a statue of King George II that had stood since 1758. That was, until it was blown up the day after the coronation of George VI by Irish Republicans in 1937
It was while I was out exploring the tracks around the Hereweka property near Larnach’s Castle that I came across these ruins. I’d spent a good portion of the day walking up and down hills, climbing over and under things, taking wrong turns, stepping over and in sheep poo and generally rather enjoying myself. Before heading home, I came across this derelict building on the Larnach estate. It looked to be an old cottage of some description going by the layout, room sizes and fireplaces, maybe to do with the farm that was operating at the time when Larnach occupied the property. But then again, this is just an assumption. Either way, it was fun to explore and photograph.
I like Melborune, partly because it is very walkable and easy to navigate thanks to all the bridges across the river, but mostly because of the trams. So, when I found myself with a day free of any planned activities, I spent the first part of the day riding trams to random locations I’d never been to before. Following that, I spent the rest of a very pleasant Melbourne day wandering its busy streets and narrow alleyways, admiring the Yarra River, its modern skyscrapers, historic architecture and bustling laneways.
It was while ambling along Swanston Street that I came across this lady who does the most colourful designs with vinyl records. I watched and chatted to her for about 10 minutes as she created new designs that would evolve right before your eyes.
I was going to visit Dunedin’s famous Tunnel Beach when I realised the track is currently closed and has been for the last seven months. Severe rain in October 2024 caused numerous slips and significant damage along the track, forcing its closure until major repairs (including a geotechnical investigation) are carried out. Apparently the Department Of Conservation are now prioritising the restoration in the coming months, making access to the hidden beach possible once again.
Here’s a view of Hoopers Inlet and the rolling hills of Sandymount on the Otago Peninsula for you to enjoy.
Did you know you can search for content using the category link?
Click on the category search buttons to find further content related to that category.
Departing from my usual writing narrative that accompanies my images, I wanted to allow myself to change direction every now and then with posts for something different. So, with that in mind, I thought I’d put up a post about using textures in photos.
If you don’t mind a bit of enhancement in your images, textures are a really fun concept to play around with. When you add textures to photos, you do so via layers. The more textures you want to add to a photo, the more layers you require. I’ve done images with simple two or three layers of textures and more complex images that have over thirty to forty layers on them. Once you know how to add textures to an image, the real trick is knowing when to stop as it’s easy to kill an image with too many textures.
This image of Lake Hayes has around twelve to fifteen layers including some split tones from memory.
Invercargill became a city on the 1st March, 1930. I know this because I read the plaque that was in the Town Hall. I also discovered that when both a new Town Hall and Theatre was needed, local officials decided to combine the two projects – not without controversy. In some quarters, the building of a theatre was viewed as sinful due to religious beliefs while others felt that a theatre should be funded from private investment, not public money. Nevertheless the project went ahead and was officially opened in November of 1906.
It had rained most of the day in Wellington, so I stuck to indoor activities. By early afternoon, I found myself wandering down a wet Willis Street after a slow day of museums and art galleries. The city felt different in the rain, quieter. There was a kind of charm in taking it slow, lingering over art and history while the world outside dripped with rain.
I was strolling along Waterloo Quay one lazy afternoon when I stumbled upon this tucked-away walkway near the waterfront. It wasn’t flashy or polished, just a quiet, open space with old brickwork that had clearly seen a lot of life. The windows were long gone, but their empty frames let the sunlight pour through, casting these beautiful shadows and patches of light that danced along the ground. It had a raw kind of charm with layers of texture and history that told stories of the city’s past life.
One more photo from my phone which I found around the same time as yesterday’s post.
Hong Kong is a sensory rush, especially on a first visit. Start by simply wandering its streets: in the planet’s fourth-densest city, 7.4 million people generate an endless swirl of sights and sounds. Balance that urban energy with a trip to Aberdeen’s floating village, where traditional junks bob beside sleek yachts. After dusk, dive into the night-markets that spring to life in neon alleys, then find a waterfront perch for the Symphony of Lights glittering across Victoria Harbour. Even the airport, a mini-city of its own, feels like part of the adventure. There really is nothing like walking through a city, having no idea where you are, not being able to read the street signs or understanding a word of the local language.
Here’s another photo from my phone, I’d forgotten all about it. I took this in Belfast while on a Black Taxi Tour through some of the city’s historic peace lines and murals. It was both a surreal and profound expereince.
When I was growing up, I couldn’t tell you what all the troubles in Northern Island were about, all I knew was that there were two groups of people who were very angry with each other. This much I was certain about, mainly due to the fact that every so often a news item would appear on television which featured things being blown-up, people getting shot at and lots and lots of fighting. What started all this? Well, I just couldn’t say, but boy did they seem to dislike each other.
So, a number of years later (quite a few actually), when I found myself in Belfast, I took the opportunity to do a Black Taxi Tour. I’d been reliably informed that it was a fascinating way to see many of the historic sites in Belfast that featured in the violent clashes between the British Army and the Provisional IRA. To which, I have to say, it was one of the most eye opening tours I’ve ever done. If you’re ever in Belfast, I’d advise doing a Black Taxi Tour, it really is a fascinating few hours.
It was on this tour that we passed through the Falls district where the Falls Curfew took place. Until that time, I didn’t know what the The Falls Curfew or The Battle of the Falls was. Thus I discovered on a rainy day in Belfast that the Battle of the Falls was a violent clash in July 1970 in Belfast, Northern Ireland, between the British Army and the Provisional IRA in the nationalist Falls Road area. Triggered by an arms search, the army imposed a curfew and launched a large-scale operation, sparking intense gun battles. Four civilians were killed, and hundreds were injured. The incident deepened mistrust between the Catholic community and the British Army, escalating tensions during the early troubles.
Yesterday I mentioned I haven’t posted many photos taken from my phone. Well, so it’s not a one off, here’s one of Wellington Railway Station.
The mid-morning train from Upper Hutt to Wellington had been unusually full for a Thursday. Inside, it felt like a moving collection of private lives, commuters heading into the city, caught in their own little worlds. Some read engrossed, others stared blankly out the window, as if in a trance, the passing hills and suburban streets passing in a blur. Some wore headphones, their expressions blank, detached from the soft clatter of the carriage.
Others appeared restless, they needed somewhere to go, something to do. For others, just movement, just purpose was enough. In this quiet time, nobody had to think too much-it was the in-between hour, the hush before the city’s noise.
When the train finally pulled into Wellington Station, the mood shifted. The doors opened and, like clockwork, everyone disembarked, filtering through the terminal and dissolving into the city, each carrying on with a day that had already quietly begun.
It’s been a while since I’ve taken any photos on my iphone. I forget it’s there, however I remembered about it when I discovered this duck pond fill of autumn colour. It has to be said, the quality of phone cameras and on devices has significantly improved from what they once were. With advancements in lens technology, sensor size and higher-end devices to choose from that offer excellent image quality, they simply continue to get better and better.
However, I was wondering if people have remained using iPhones or have switched over to Android’s phones?
The idea to develop a traditional Chinese garden right in the city had been ruminating around the council officials for some time. Then, in the early 200o’s the idea swung back into life. It wasn’t just about creating a pretty space, it was a way to recognise the Chinese community that had been part of Otago since the gold rush in the 1860s and made a big impact on the region.
The garden was designed in the style of a classic Chinese garden, and to keep it authentic, most of the materials were shipped straight from China, everything from tiles to timber. Then in 2007, around 40 skilled workers came over from Shanghai and built the whole thing by hand, using traditional Ming Dynasty techniques. A tribute to history, heritage, and the bond between cultures.
Otago Peninsula from Harbour Cone
It was steep, very steep and the weather was changing quickly. Turns out that pamphlet I had read before leaving home was right. Who knew the people who wrote those things actually knew what they were talking about? I hadn’t noticed it at first, but now I was actually starting to feel rather cold. The wind? Oh yeah, definitely picking up. And the rain? Spitting again, this time a wee bit harder.
At the summit, I stood for a moment, let the wind blow through my hair, and fixed my gaze beyond the horizon. I stayed a while to take a few photos, enjoy the view, and have a drop of water. It really was quite spectacular. Standing there, at the highest point on the peninsula, I suddenly knew what it must have felt like for Sir Edmund Hillary when he reached the top of Mount Everest. It was nice to have something in common with the great man.
Papanui Inlet
Recently, I’ve been spending a fair bit of time on the Otago Peninsula on a number of photographic outings. These journey’s aren’t particularly planned ahead of time, instead I have a list of locations in my head that I pick from, depending on the time of day and weather. The peninsula can be such a moody place when the weather changes and low clouds roll in. That’s what happened here while at Cape Saunders – low misty rain and heavy cloud cover drifted in from out at sea within a matter of minutes.
The Otago Harbour
The glorious Otago Harbour as viewed from the Otago Peninsula on a stunning autumn day. With warm temperatures and not a breath of wind, the harbour was as calm as a millpond from dawn till dusk. It was a scene made from pure magic as the sunlight danced on the water while birds gracefully wheeled overhead.
Peninsula Sunrise
An early morning trek on the Otago Peninsula to capture the sunrise on a stunning autumn day in May.
Dusk at Blackhead Beach
Now, I know I might be completely biased here, but New Zealand has some wonderful beaches—and Dunedin’s are some of the best. They’re long, unspoilt, full of wildlife, as moody as they are imperfect—and I won’t hear a word against them!
On this occasion, I spent the evening watching the waves at Blackhead Beach roll in a steady rhythm, catching the last colours of dusk as they swept over the rocks as if in time with a Mozart symphony. Offshore, Green Island sat quietly beneath a lavender sky, as if it too were patiently waiting for night to return. I lingered for a few moments, watching the colours of the sky fade as evening took hold.
Dunedin waterfront at dusk
I ambled through the streets until I came to a section of wharf called the Steamer Basin. Located right beside the railway lines on the eastern edge of the main business district, it was here that cargo was once loaded, unloaded and passed through the Customs Department Wharf Office. Thus, showing the importance of the area as a transit point between markets in the first decade of the twentieth century.
For some time, the local city council has been developing this area by very strategically doing nothing at all. A strategy that successive councils have had in place for sometime now, and appears to be going according to plan. About every five to eight years a new, grand design is unveiled to the public which is always received with much oohing and ahhing, before eventually getting forgotten about and disappearing into the annals of time.
The most recent push to redevelop the waterfront happened in 2017 when a group of notable locals got together to produce blueprints and 3D modelling that would transform the Steamer Basin into a stunning array of buildings and spaces over a span of thirty years. The designs included public spaces, Ecotourism office space, cafes, a Marine Research Centre and Aquarium, walkways, cycleways, docks, exhibition and office spaces, apartments, a luxury Hotel and a Culture Centre. All done in a futuristic space-age design and finished with a foot bridge linking the waterfront to the city. Unfortunately, after the initial enthusiasm wore off, the plans floundered, the whole project was put in the ‘too-hard basket’ and life moved on. Leaving the Steamer Basin to look as it always does, a little past it’s best
I thought about this as I walked around and looked across the water to where a Marine Research Centre and Aquarium could now be standing. If that plan had gone ahead, we’d be eight years into a thirty year plan. I ambled a little further in the fading afternoon. Still, the people fishing seemed happy, and at least there’s a lovely pontoon that can fit up to twelve people on it.
Overbridge sunrise
The forecast for the day was for long periods of fine weather with evening high cloud, light northeasterlies, and a high of a delicious 20 degrees.
Now 20 degrees — for Dunedin at any time of year — is practically tropical, but in May is simply unheard of. The city’s infrastructure simply isn’t built to handle such extreme weather. When you take into consideration that this was the third day of the current run of fine weather, Dunedin was approaching, it must be said — a heatwave.
In fact, we were teetering on the brink of what I like to call the John Caswell Heatwave Threshold — an entirely unscientific, arbitrary benchmark that is based on nothing but my own personal feelings about the weather! To be clear, my own personal threshold for heatwave in Dunedin is as follows: any spell of weather that is better than the previous summer. So, while my system might not be as reliable as the official one, it’s my rule, so I get to make-up the parameters.
Now, the previous summer, and I will be quite frank here, was simply awful. It was a masterclass in disappointment. Throughout most of December, January, and into February, there hadn’t been more than three days in a row where the weather was fine, warm, and pleasant. What you might traditionally associate with summer. Most of the time, there had been low cloud, wind and long periods of rain hanging around the city like it had nowhere better to be.
Yet, here I was, on a warm Dunedin morning in May, watching the sun appear over the peninsula, with another long, fine day in prospect, wondering if we’d need to declare a state of emergency if the mercury hit 21 degrees. The only question was, what was I going to do with it? A completely rhetorical question I can assure you.
Boulder Beach, Otago Peninsula
Before I went there a few days ago, about all I really remembered about Boulder Beach, beyond the fact it had sand and rocks, was that access was via a farm road, followed by a short walk through sand dunes.
Like so many parts of the Otago Peninsula, Boulder Beach is managed by the Department of Conservation. Once upon a time, a well-maintained and signposted track led down to the beach, with further walking tracks branching off through the dunes and up over the nearby hills. All those paths are now a distant memory.
The beach survives, but in a very different way. As a protected area under the Department of Conservation, it is often visited by fur seals and sea lions, and is a favoured nesting spot for yellow-eyed penguins. In fact, the beach is so popular with these shy, nesting birds that the track is closed to the public from November to February during the breeding season.
I walked down to the beach. The farm road was longer and steeper than I remembered, and the nearby sand dunes had collapsed, resulting in an unexpected excursion through newly formed valleys, overgrown and heavy with dune. Reaching the bottom of the hill, I pushed my way through dense bushes tangled with vines. Every so often, the path would disappear—only to reappear moments later.
Eventually, after much swearing, I stumbled upon the isolated, wild, windswept beach. Golden dunes spilled to the shoreline, while large mounds of dark, smooth stones stretched along the beach and into the distance. The air was rich with salt, and the rhythm of waves rolling beneath the endless blue sky. It was just as I remembered it: quiet, peaceful, and serene.
Two Trees
The idea of simplicity is one that I find myself revisiting time and time again. This photo, Two Trees, came from that impulse—to strip things back, to sit with the bare essentials. Just earth, sky, and two trees holding space in their own quiet way. It felt like a kind of conversation between, nothing dramatic, but something stretched across the space between.
I’ve always been drawn to the structure of the landscape—lines etched by ploughs, long shadows, open skies. It’s tempting to fill a frame, but this time I left a lot out. I wanted room to breathe and to explore the space between the Two Trees. You can feel the emptiness, but also the balance. It reminds me that not everything needs to be explained.
Hare on Fence Line
This image is my take on rural life on the peninsula—unfiltered and a bit rough around the edges. I initially drove past this scene after first seeing it. Something about it stuck with me. It’s not an easy picture, and that’s part of why I took it. There’s no drama, no movement—just a quiet, weathered kind of finality.
At first, I wasn’t sure what to do with it. But on a still, grey morning, walking the same fenceline, I realised this was really a photo about boundaries, both literal and symbolic. Out here, fences mark more than just paddocks. Sometimes they hold stories, or reminders. This hare, caught and left, becomes part of the land in a strange way. You see things like this from time to time. No explanation, just a presence.
Rural life can be harsh. There’s beauty in it, but not always the kind you hang on a postcard. This photo sits with that reality. Quiet, a little uncomfortable, and honest.
Farm field on Cape Saunders road.
The metaphor of lines dissolving into the horizon crops up often in my work. Here, the fence line draws the eye through, threading its way into the brooding grey sky. I’m often drawn to the way the land seems to pause, as though waiting. There’s a tension between what is visible and what remains just out of reach beyond the rise. I nearly passed this scene by on a gloomy afternoon, but something about the scene made me stop. The light was heavy, flat—but quietly alive. There’s no grand gesture here, only wire, grass, and sky—but that’s all that’s needed. Everything is pared back to the essentials, and in that bareness, something honest emerges.
Cenotaph, Queens Gardens
The cenotaph was a quiet, somber place. The usual crowds were elsewhere, and those passing by didn’t linger. Not today—not with the wind whipping autumn leaves like a child’s toy and rain sweeping the city in steady waves. Nobody lingers on days like this. It’s a day to be indoors, somewhere sheltered, somewhere warm. On days like this, people don’t stop to read, to talk, or to ponder.
But on ANZAC Day, this is Dunedin’s gathering place—whatever the weather. Each year, at 6am on April 25th, the city gathers. It has for 110 years. The people come to remember, reflect, and honor the fallen. At 6am in 1915, the ANZACs landed on the shores of Gallipoli. And now, the city gathers before dawn, as darkness gives way to light.
The wreaths laid on ANZAC Day remind us and teach us. They remind us of sacrifice, identity, and unity. They teach us mateship, courage, and peace. And in the days that follow, they remain—a quiet, enduring reminder.
First Church in Dunedin
First Church is one of Dunedin’s most iconic landmarks and holds a significant place in the city’s history. Its original congregation consisted of Scottish Free Church settlers who arrived in the 1840s. Several different structures once stood on the site, but the foundation stone for the current building was laid on 15 May 1868, and the church was ready for use by 1873. With its striking Gothic architecture, it’s no surprise that First Church is considered one of the most impressive nineteenth-century churches in New Zealand.