Bioluminescence and Reflections Before Dawn in Ireland – A Rare Morning on the Dingle Peninsula

Sunrise photography on the Dingle Peninsula can often feel like an exercise in patience. Positioned on Ireland’s western edge, it is a location best known for dramatic sunsets rather than sunrises. However, understanding how to work with the light rather than against it can open opportunities that many overlook. On a recent road trip with my friends Diarmuid and Patrick, I decided to test that principle again.

The evening before had been unproductive. Heavy cloud cover made any chance of a sunset image impossible. I’ve been in this area enough times to know that when the light doesn’t cooperate, it’s not worth forcing it. Instead, we looked ahead to the next morning. Given Dingle’s orientation, finding a spot that can take advantage of soft eastern light is key. I knew of one location that would work perfectly: Béal Bán Beach in Smerwick Harbour.

I had photographed and led workshops there before, but I’d never filmed a sunrise from that beach. Its position and flat sand make it an excellent option for reflective compositions. The pools left by the receding tide often create natural mirrors, amplifying the colour and depth in the sky. We parked the vans nearby after dinner in Dingle town and prepared for an early start.

When I woke an hour before sunrise, I could already see a few breaks forming in the eastern clouds. That was a good sign. As I stepped outside the van, something unexpected caught my eye. Along the shoreline, faint blue flashes appeared as the waves broke. My first thought was that it might be bioluminescence—a phenomenon I had never witnessed in person. I called the others over, half-wondering if I was imagining it, but Patrick confirmed it. The challenge was that dawn light was already increasing, and the glow was fading by the second.

I quickly set up my camera to capture what I could. The video picked up faint traces of the blue light, though it was brief. A still image was unlikely to show it strongly, but I tried a long exposure just to see. The result was subtle—barely visible unless you knew what to look for—but it was there. Moments like that remind me that photography isn’t only about dramatic results; it’s also about observation and appreciation for fleeting detail.

Once the light increased, I shifted focus to the main goal of the morning: capturing the sunrise reflections. Before the sun even rose above the horizon, the wet sand was reflecting the magenta and pink tones spreading through the clouds. I worked through several compositions, starting wide to include the sweep of the bay and then tighter frames to emphasise texture and light transition. Using a low angle helped maximise the reflections.

The light intensified as the sun approached the horizon. At that stage, I decided to shoot a panoramic sequence—linking the view from The Three Sisters on the left across to Ballydavid and Mount Brandon on the right. Panoramas at this scale can be tricky, especially when working with moving light and clouds, but the result stitched well. The key is to maintain consistent exposure and overlap between frames.

Meanwhile, Diarmuid had set up his camera for a time-lapse on Mount Brandon. He managed to capture subtle cloud movements as the first rays illuminated the peak. I tried one as well, framing the right-hand side of the scene where the sun was rising. The time-lapse was short, but the colour progression looked strong enough to include in the video.

As the light developed, the beach turned into a wash of reflected pink, orange, and blue tones. This is where Béal Bán stands out compared to the more rugged west-facing cliffs—its calmness and low gradient allow the light to double itself in the reflections. The challenge in conditions like this is managing exposure. When you have both direct light and high reflectivity, it’s easy to lose dynamic range. I bracketed exposures and slightly underexposed to retain detail in the highlights, knowing I could recover shadow detail later.

Soon, the sun lifted through the final layer of clouds. A pocket of warm light struck Ceann Sibéal, creating a striking contrast with the cooler tones still lingering over the sand. I closed with one of my favourite techniques—shooting at f/18 to create a defined sunstar as the sun crested the clouds. The symmetry between the rising light and its reflection completed the image.

By the time we packed up, the morning had already shifted into full daylight. Diarmuid made breakfast by the vans, and we all reflected—literally and figuratively—on what had been one of those quietly rewarding mornings. We didn’t just get the images we wanted; we experienced one of nature’s rare light displays along with it. For me, that combination is what landscape photography is all about.