Fire in the December Sky
It was a Saturday afternoon and Christmas was upon us. Like all self respecting landscape photographers I'd done the only sensible thing you can do at these times and shunned the town centre festive shopping chaos in favour of something altogether more soothing for the soul. After all, I'd already done my Christmas shopping. Well, sort of. It had involved the purchase of a sturdy carbon fibre tripod, which I knew I would find more rewarding than socks. I really don't need any more socks. I'm good for socks. Thanks for asking.
Holywell Bay, 12 miles or so from home is one of my favourite retreats. In winter at low tide, the huge beach is quite empty and the foreground changes every time I visit. Sometimes there's a river running across the scene in front of you, yet on other occasions it peters out to the right this composition, spreading out like a big sandy delta on its way to the sea. I love not knowing what such a familiar friend is going to look like on each new meeting. It's a bit like knowing somebody who can't stop changing their hairstyle from one week to the next.
On this occasion it was windy. Very windy. I'd had a notion of trying to catch the sand being blown straight at me across the beach with a shutter time that would need the tripod. Picking my spot I set the tripod up and turned to unzip my bag to bring out the camera. Turning round, the tripod was lying on its side, blown off its feet by a heavy gust of Atlantic air. At times I was also finding it hard to stay on my feet, almost finding myself lying beside the abandoned length of carbon fibre on the sand more than once. I started to wonder whether the trip had been worth the effort when it was clear that my plan wasn't going to work.
And then the light came down through an opening in the clouds and bounced right off the beach in front of me. It didn't last for long - it never does when it looks like this, but it's the light I love the most that I always hope for at the edge of a storm.
Happy Sunday everyone.
Fire in the December Sky
It was a Saturday afternoon and Christmas was upon us. Like all self respecting landscape photographers I'd done the only sensible thing you can do at these times and shunned the town centre festive shopping chaos in favour of something altogether more soothing for the soul. After all, I'd already done my Christmas shopping. Well, sort of. It had involved the purchase of a sturdy carbon fibre tripod, which I knew I would find more rewarding than socks. I really don't need any more socks. I'm good for socks. Thanks for asking.
Holywell Bay, 12 miles or so from home is one of my favourite retreats. In winter at low tide, the huge beach is quite empty and the foreground changes every time I visit. Sometimes there's a river running across the scene in front of you, yet on other occasions it peters out to the right this composition, spreading out like a big sandy delta on its way to the sea. I love not knowing what such a familiar friend is going to look like on each new meeting. It's a bit like knowing somebody who can't stop changing their hairstyle from one week to the next.
On this occasion it was windy. Very windy. I'd had a notion of trying to catch the sand being blown straight at me across the beach with a shutter time that would need the tripod. Picking my spot I set the tripod up and turned to unzip my bag to bring out the camera. Turning round, the tripod was lying on its side, blown off its feet by a heavy gust of Atlantic air. At times I was also finding it hard to stay on my feet, almost finding myself lying beside the abandoned length of carbon fibre on the sand more than once. I started to wonder whether the trip had been worth the effort when it was clear that my plan wasn't going to work.
And then the light came down through an opening in the clouds and bounced right off the beach in front of me. It didn't last for long - it never does when it looks like this, but it's the light I love the most that I always hope for at the edge of a storm.
Happy Sunday everyone.