Battling Storms at Malin Head – Did We Get the Shot?

We arrived at Malin Head, the northernmost tip of Ireland, in the final stretch of our three-day road trip along the northwest coast. After a promising start to the trip, the weather had turned, bringing with it relentless rain, wind, and heavy cloud. We had hoped this iconic headland would offer a strong conclusion to the journey. Instead, we were met with a forecast that showed little sign of improvement.

Reports of aurora activity began to circulate, but with skies like this, there wasn’t much to be hopeful about. I’ve had a difficult relationship with the aurora; either I miss it completely or get the timing wrong. This felt like another case of it just not aligning. At one point, we discussed driving four hours south to try and find clearer skies. It wasn’t a serious option, mostly because this location had been a key goal for Diarmuid, and none of us wanted to leave empty-handed.

Still, we had to try. I set an alarm for 3 am. When I opened the van door and stepped out, the same story played out again, thick cloud, no stars, no glow on the horizon. It wasn’t surprising. Most of landscape photography is like this. You can do the planning, be in the right place, and still get nothing unless you persist. On the final morning, we decided to do just that.

Malin Head is known more for its dramatic sunset opportunities. So approaching it at sunrise already put us on the back foot in terms of light direction. But given the overcast skies, direction didn’t matter too much; what we needed was any kind of break in the clouds.

The walk from the van to the viewpoint was short but exposed. From the moment we reached the spot, it was clear that this was going to be a tough shoot. A large rain cell sat on the horizon and it was approaching quickly. I grabbed a few stills before launching the drone, hoping to get footage before the inevitable soaking.

The flight was brief. The drone started to get wet as the first drops of rain hit. I brought it down quickly, just as the wind picked up. The rain arrived heavily. We wrapped up the cameras, pulled on waterproofs, and sat it out. It’s a familiar rhythm: shoot, shelter, wait, and hope. After the worst of it passed, skimming by just enough to let us work, I was back to shooting, wiping the lens every few seconds and trying to make the best of it.

The cloud structure had become more dynamic by now. At one stage, I saw what looked like a funnel cloud out to sea. It wasn’t, of course, just an unusual shape worth capturing. The bigger interest was in the movement of the rain cells. There were now three visible in the distance, and they had gaps within them. With the sun behind us, those gaps allowed the light to bounce over the low clouds above and strike parts of the far-off coastline.

This kind of light is what you wait for, not just for the images, but because it transforms a scene you thought had no potential. I launched the drone again, this time taking more calculated risks, flying close to the edge of the cliffs to get a better perspective and depth in the footage. I was able to grab several clips I was genuinely pleased with, both for the composition and the atmosphere.

Just as I landed the drone, the clouds broke properly for the first time that morning. Light began pouring through, illuminating the stacked rocks and steep cliff faces that define this part of the coastline. The rain lingered in the background just enough to create a rainbow near the horizon. In those few minutes, we got what we had hoped for, a brief moment when everything came together. After two days of poor conditions and missed chances, it was a welcome end to the trip.

From a learning perspective, this shoot was a reminder of a few things. First, you need to accept the conditions you’re given and adapt. Second, not every location gives you the light you imagined, but there’s often still a photograph to be made. Lastly, persistence pays off. Had we left the evening before or skipped the early alarm, we would have missed it completely.

All that was left was to pack down the gear, take the slow walk back to the vans, and begin the long drive home. SD cards were full, but more importantly, I left with memories of a solid shoot in difficult conditions and more time spent with good friends on the coast.