The weekend solstice conditions were promising, with two mornings featuring the sun in contrasting moods, writes EILEEN BATTERSBY
AFTER THE longest night of the year, this morning’s sunrise at the famous Neolithic monument at Newgrange, Co Meath, is, as always, welcome and rich in symbolism. The ancient ritual of greeting the rising sun, now acknowledged by modern man, marks the beginning of the end of winter; daylight will now slowly begin to reassert itself.
Whether or not the sun decides to appear effortlessly today in full pomp into a cloudless sky shortly before 9am, illustrating an alignment recognised more than 5,000 years ago, is almost academic. It has happened; midwinter has been breached. The by now traditional gathering of solstice watchers, New Age followers, archaeologists, locals and dreamers will be happy, even moved by having shared in a phenomenon that merges science and belief.
While the five mornings of the winter solstice offer a dramatic, though, ironically, pagan or pre-Christian, prologue for Christmas, religion was not really on our minds as we tacked up yesterday morning to ride over to the far point of one of the many large fields surrounding us, to wait for sunrise. With Newgrange directly across the river to our left and the horizon from which we expected the sun to appear, on our right, we were positioned in the middle of the path the sunbeam would have to take through to the roof box opening, on its way to illuminate the chamber at the end of the passage grave.
The weekend conditions have been promising, two mornings that featured the sun in contrasting moods. On Saturday, I walked three of my dogs to the same point in the field. It had been a mild frost and earth that had been so waterlogged was suddenly firm under foot. I stopped and waited. Mitzi, the failed gun dog, sensed the expectation, and began to point, on the alert for something. On cue, the orange band on the horizon glimmered and broadened, the sun broke free. The warm light shone on the black coats of the mother collie and her son, while Mitzi continue to pose, the sunlight reflected in her eyes. As we walked back over the field, our shadows were sharp against the tree trunks. Peering at the monument across the river, it was likely that Newgrange watchers had also struck gold.
Yesterday had begun even better. Conditions seemed ideal. It was freezing and the frost had been even more unforgiving. There was an exciting surreal glow behind the purple cloud cover. Although it was still dark, Sophie, the tempestuous show horse who hates the rain, was sufficiently interested to be saddled and walked cautiously across the frozen yard, iron shoes skidding on the ice. Once we got into the field, the mare’s footing became more secure, and I climbed aboard. My daughter rode beside us, the frosted grass crunched beneath us. Both horses panicked at the sight of a dead hooded crow, one frozen wing pointing skyward.
On reaching roughly the same spot at which the dogs and I had kept vigil on Saturday, the surreal glow abruptly disappeared and the sky became overcast. It was cold and still. What a disappointment. The horses snorted and shivered. I wished for the sun – and gloves. Sophie began stomping, impatient for action. Suddenly, it was there; the struggling sun attempted to break free of the band of clouds. The thin orange line of fire flickered.
Shortly after 9am the ball of light did shrug off the clouds and the burst of full sunlight was even more dramatic because it had been so uncertain, unlike the relaxed, text book sunrise of Saturday. We cantered back across the field, appearing to follow our shadows, expecting something even more spectacular this morning.