Murlough Bay

The answer was always the same: ‘Go to Murlough Bay!’ – no matter whether you asked your host at the B&B or the farmer beyond the stone wall. Everyone swore that this small, remote bay was their personal highlight along Northern Ireland’s Causeway Coast. So I set off to explore it too. That was fifteen years ago, and I still remember that first drive to the bay well: a narrow road winding steeply downhill to the coast, with a view behind every bend that topped the one before. Once you reach the bottom, the bay opens up like a small, self-contained world. The hills slope gently down to the sea, partly wooded, partly covered in lush green. Rock faces shield the hinterland. There’s a sense of solitude about the place, which its secluded location has preserved to this day.

As you let your gaze wander into the distance, you’ll spot Rathlin Island, peeking out from behind the distinctive Fair Head. Over there, on the other side of the sea, lies the Mull of Kintyre. Scotland and Ireland are separated by just around 25 kilometres at this point. For me, having a soft spot for both countries, this is always a special sight.

Over the past few years, I’ve returned to Murlough Bay time and again. I particularly like to go there in the early evening, when the light still skims across the slopes and the shadows are already growing longer. The jagged rocks cast soft shadows, and the green around them glows in every possible shade. I’ve especially liked a solitary tree standing on a hilltop above the bay. It looks as though it secured the best spot for itself, from which to survey the scenery. I’ve often stood next to it to enjoy the view, and just as often I’ve positioned myself a little further away to photograph it against the backdrop of the bay. Just like in the photograph that graces the cover of my Ireland Calendar 2027.