With our bush taxi broken down and no knowledge of when or if a replacement would arrive, we piled out, with the other long distance commuters, into the small, dusty town of Ankilizato.

Our lack of preference in destination and timing meant only a single hotely was serving food, and its two tables were taken. We retreated to the shelter of a nearby shop that provided seats and refreshments. Sticking out like a sore thumb, we became the curiosity for two kids who remained glued to the street side of our bench wall.

These two made sure to keep right above us we walked along the forest floor. As far as I could tell, they were swinging from tree and each other for the pure fun of it.

The lighthouse glow, cranking in circles to warn sea crafts and creatures of potential doom, happens to work well as a land beacon too. In drizzled mists such as this, there's a reassurance about the gentle, contained strobe cutting through the darkening haze.

Many species of lemurs start life clung to their mothers until confident enough to bound and jump from great heights on their own.

Image Description

Image Description

A spontaneous solo walk, on a day at the beach with friends, led to seeing this alien outline silhouetting the arching dunes protecting the village below. It made no sense until I got much closer and grabbed this shot before climbing up to say hi.

Image Description

Those three seconds after "and the winner is..." can feel like an eternity when your name is in the running.

Seurasaari is one of the many islands forming the archipeligo around Helsinki. A pristine wooden bridge connects it to the shore and it was here I found this guy taking a dramatic, airy stretch.

Image Description

Image Description

Image Description

Image Description

Collared Brown Lemurs won't approach people, but this group, while not habituated, had learned to feel reasonably safe getting a little closer, when picking berries from trees. The pig-like snorts and oinks that ruffle the trees on their approach is the happy giveaway that they've arrived.

Look out in any direction from Fort Dauphin, Madagascar, and the Indian Ocean will be dotted with hand-carved wooden pirogues. Fishing is a dominant way of life in the city and most fishermen are line-fishing, three to a boat, whatever the weather or sea conditions.

Which came first, building a small isolated home on the cliff-side of a national road to sell lingonberries? Or selling lingonberries on the edge of road and building a new house closer to the job? I've no idea, but the sound of our oncoming car caused a mad dash to grab the berries and hurry to the road side to sell.

The mother was generous enough to both allow for this portrait, as well as show us inside her home and how the upper floor was reach by a retractable ladder. They all slept upstairs at night.

Physically, goalkeeping. Mentally, elsewhere. Yes, his team lost.

Groups of high schoolers unveiled choreographed routines they'd been honing for weeks as National schools day took place across Madagascar. Visiting dignitries and teachers could tip particularly good performances, or vote for the winner.

Growing up where lightning is infrequent and underwhelming, I never tired of seeing storms, night after night for half the year. This was photographed from my own balcony, sheltered from the torrential rains that accompanied.

The east coast of Madagascar is a frenzy of humpback whale activity from July to October. The whales migrate south from their nesting spot in Isle St Marie down to the Antarctic. Hugging the coast, there's regular breaches and spouts visible from the shore, as mothers guide calves on their first journey. If there's any sense that the younger ones are a bit worn out, the mother props them gently on her head until they feel able to continue.

A requested portrait at the Manambolo River Crossing. Any cars arriving needed to wait until the barge - pushed across from bank to bank by wooden pole - was ready to take the next car. A slow process entailed that these kids found opportunity to entertain and be entertained by whoever was waiting on the south bank.

Sometimes mistaken for Panther Chameleons, these guys can arrive on tree branches in bright orange, pink and blue colours.

While it's a myth that they change colours to match their surroundings, they do change colour to indicate mood and other emotions. Which is why I was happy this guy was comfortable enough to be this close to the camera without fading to the white colour that typically indicates discomfort or fear.

The giveaway for the Pearson's Chameleon, besides it colouring, is the stubby nose that adds a lot of character alongside the disgruntled curve of the mouth, sliding under the eyes.

Our hike across, up, and back down the razor-sharp tsingy karst formations led us through a cave into a cavern that was perfect for a calm moment to eat and rehydrate. So perfect, that it was clear it was a typical spot to do so and this ring-tailed mongoose had learned that crumbs or anything that falls are too good an opportunity to remain completely hidden for. It waited patiently just far enough away to be safe, but completely alert so that it could snatch whatever opportunity arose.

Madame Marceline was the gratious owner and host of Marceline's beach-front restaurant by Ankoba. Perfect for Sunday afternoon catch-ups.

Furthest in the distance, beyond the peninsula of Dunaff, is Malin Head, Ireland's most northernly point. This was late Summer, when the weather conditions in Donegal pay no heed to whatever season it should be.

I prefer my landscape photos, when the option presents itself, to have a barely-there trace of activity. The weather-hardy walker in this shot almost changed route from where I hoped she'd walk to but got there before I gave up.

Storm Emma was a heavy snowfall for Dublin. As these conditions are infrequent, the city doesn't stock measures to deal with it promptly and everything grinds to a halt for a few days. Bittersweet results follow.

Bema became a regular go-to taxi driver for nights, and a great friend, after a chance hailing by the roadside. He was probably my best sources for learning Malagasy as he, in turn, practised English with me wherever whenever we were jolting along a bumpy road somewhere.

Fishermen and sailing boats retreat for the day, watching the sun do the same.

Ramena's a sleepy harbour village to the east of Diego Suarez, and the popular departure point to sail to la Mer d'Emeraude.

I'd been perched over the edge of the stubby concrete pier, enjoying the unfolding view and decided to jump in the water to get closer to the boats and catch this moment. Swirls of fish, their nestled cover in the sandy floor now blown, darted for new frontiers as I waded over.

A view from the island, looking back on the coastline of Dalkey, Dublin, through the ruins of Saint Begnet's Church. The bog cotton clouds provided a great contrast to the scenery below.

Morning light at outdoor maternal meetings was often generous to a photographer there to document.

We regularly headed to this place from the office for lunch. This waitress had much patience, humouring our requests for any off-menu 'secret' dishes we discovered and never complaining if our Malagasy or French wasn't up to scratch when taking ten orders from a group who could never make up their mind.

It wasn't long before a "You write everything you want down on this paper, instead of me" system was devised for the benefit of all.

Bevava beach has a particular dune which is immensely satisfying to climb, dwarfing everything around and just about to tall enough to deserve being called a hill. I've featured it many times in photos as I revisited it a lot. As mentioned elsewhere, the beach is particularly exposed to winds and yet, right behind it is a small village of wooden houses, sheltered beautifully by the enormity of this dune.

Here, a woman has left the village, scaled the dune and strides down the beach-side of it to use water from the ocean.

We had been tipped off by a fabric-focused friend, on a small Betsiliko town that was worth a detour through some rugged backroads if we were in the central highlands and had a 4x4. There, we were told, we would find a womens union, formed to bring back traditional silk weaving that had fallen out of favour.

Intrigued and with decent directions involving broken bridges, we arrived with a parde of kids running alongside the car and pulled up to where we were told the union operated from. Panic. Sprinting. Until word reached us that impromptu arrivals were not the norm and nobody was ready.

Another moment from a maternity meeting. A few mothers gathered to have a community nurse weigh and advice on the health of newborns. These two spent most of the time giggling by the stairs, eavesdropping on the conversations, and ended up making it into the final shots.

I'm usually fine for directions but I got lost finding my way through a labyrinth of small, sandy back lanes, to document a gathering of mothers who were to discuss maternal health matters with an elected community official.

Their patience in waiting the extra ten minutes was enough time to build up a party atmosphere usually found on a night out. And I arrived just in time to be the punchline of each sentence, from the moment I got to the door of the small house, crammed with about fifteen comediennes.

Deserved, for keeping them waiting, and it was all in good fun. The only difficulty was trying to get a moment where everyone was paying attention to something other than me.