David Noton On Location

In a small pocket of Ireland, filled with friendly faces, David Noton gets out his tilt and shift lenses to capture the alluringly craggy coastlines of Donegal

In a small pocket of Ireland, filled with friendly faces, David captures the alluringly craggy coastlines of Donegal

I love the depth in this image. It’s a classic example of the advantages of tilt and shift lenses

Donegal is, I think, one of the friendliest places I have ever been. Complete strangers wave as I pass by, be they walking the dog, driving, tending the garden, or sitting on a tractor. Where else in the world does that happen? Within minutes of arriving in Carndonagh Gerald (you see; first name terms already), a local who stopped to chat as I unloaded the car, was giving me useful advice on the minor road to Malin Head to take for the most spectacular views.

Donegal’s wild western coastline is an epic succession of cliffs, sweeping bays, wave-battered headlands, empty golden beaches, craggy islands and receding capes. Whereas inland rugged mountains and lonely glens intersperse with the soft

rolling countryside of the Emerald Isle. And as for the pubs… and the friendly people… Okay, I know, I’m waxing lyrical, but I think I can confidently surmise Donegal is my absolute favourite little corner of Ireland.

Situated in the far north-west of the island of Ireland, it’s connected to the rest of Eire by a thin strip of land just four kilometres wide. That sense of isolation was exacerbated during The Troubles, when Donegal’s long border with an Ulster riven by sectarian conflict virtually cut it off from the other 26 counties of the Republic. But that detachment is all part of the attraction. Hence the waving at strangers. Long may it last.

I lingered on Five Stands beach on another sunny evening, getting bold and graphic with the artful rocks I’d spotted.

I’d come with the express intention of getting low with my tilt and shifts, and this was a perfect place to do so, while a sky devoid of interest and distant views blighted by haze made concentrating on interesting foregrounds the logical solution.

I have two tilt and shift lenses in my expansive arsenal; the Canon TS-E 24mm f/3.5l II and the TS-E 17mm f/4l. Both are superb optics that have earned their keep in my bag many times over. But they are heavy, bulky, expensive, slow (in terms of maximum aperture, and speed of use), and can be quite complex to use. I can go months without using either, but then one session like this can remind me how useful they really are.

In a nutshell they give me the ability to shift the lens up-down or left-right to capture images with strong vertical or horizontal lines (such as trees or buildings) that appear parallel, thereby avoiding the “building falling over backwards” view normal lenses give when pointed up at a high object. And by tilting the lens I can also optimize depth of field, obviating the need to stop down to tiny apertures, and/or allowing almost infinite depth of field stretching from seaweed encrusted rocks just millimetres in front of the lens all the way to infinite – or Dunaff Head at least. But I often use my TS-ES as standard prime wide-angles just because by definition, and due to their wide coverage, tilt and shift lenses are some of the sharpest lenses available. I finished with the camera down low shooting straight into the setting sun – a formula that can so often look like a cliché. The temptation is to use exposure merging or (don't say it too loud) HDR to over-brighten the foreground and over-darken the sky, with the result looking sickly, unrealistic and overcooked.

Subtlety can be one the hardest look to achieve in photography. But I think it’s worked in this instance; I love the depth in this photograph. It’s just a classic example of the advantages of tilt and shift lenses. For those without such lenses in their camera bags I’d think long and hard before splashing out; they are specialist tools, and it’s perfectly feasible to live without them most of the time. So look before you leap in and buy one. But I have to say… I wouldn’t be without mine.