The Return to the Ocean
"Why don't you take your birthday off? You always work on your birthday!"
Katie was right. She always books the day off work when her big day comes along. We've worked together for sixteen years now and I don't believe she's ever come to the office on her birthday once during that time, even though it's in November when it's invariably cold, wet and dark in these islands. I've never really seen the point in wasting a day of precious leave towards the end of the winter just because it's my birthday. It's not a time when I can take extended leave because of where it sits among the annual cycle of endless deadlines. Traditionally, Ali and I have squeezed every single day of annual entitlement into an adventure of some sort, usually under blue skies a long way south of here. We've always gone for quantity rather than quality when it comes to holidays and I'd much rather spend every last available twenty-four hours in the sunshine.
So while I'd normally dismiss her suggestion, 2021 is different for two reasons. Firstly, there's no point in planning foreign holidays just yet as far as I'm concerned. It seems that we can finally see a way beyond the events which have dominated the world for the last fourteen months, but I'm going to wait before I start dusting off my long unused passport. Secondly, there are only seven months to go before the phrase "annual leave" becomes something of the past. With all of this in mind I've been having occasional long weekends, and it struck me that a weekday in term time when the rest of the world was either working or home schooling might be a good time to see the ocean again. We've been really good you see - only exercising on foot from home, and so even though the Atlantic is only ten minutes away by car we've been steadfastly keeping away. I decided that Katie had a point and booked another long weekend. She made things even better by arranging for a courier to send me a present of two books on the special day and she couldn't have chosen better. One, "The January Man" is a tale of hiking adventures, and the other, which has accompanied me into the garden with my coffee for each of the last two days is called "Take the Slow Road - Scotland." I've half devoured this tale of campervan adventures in the Highlands and Western Isles already. She's clearly been paying attention to all my wandering ramblings about future plans when talk of work got too boring to carry on with. Colleagues like her come without a price tag. She watches my back; I watch hers and together we stand or fall. Everyone needs a Katie in their life.
It was the first time I'd been here since New Year's Eve, when the rain and hail came in hard and it had snowed on the journey home. In contrast it was one of those rare windless days when we could feel the warmth of an unbroken winter sun. To arrive in a surprisingly full National Trust car park and then escape onto the almost empty dunes to the west, where you can see the sands stretch down towards Carbis Bay and St Ives brought a rush of the senses that's hard to describe. I'd brought the camera, minus its currently neglected tripod with an idea that I might try some handheld focus stacking. You always hope stuff like this is going to be easier than it sounds, but quite frankly it wasn't. Nor was exposure stacking for that matter. I can't wait to start using the tripod again soon.
So I'm afraid it's another one of those posts that's here because it tells a story rather than for the merits of the image itself. Although I did like the way the light played across the soft dunes in front of me. After these remaining days of strict lockdown, I'm looking forward to a bit more drama and excitement in the last few weeks before spring is amongst us once more.
The Return to the Ocean
"Why don't you take your birthday off? You always work on your birthday!"
Katie was right. She always books the day off work when her big day comes along. We've worked together for sixteen years now and I don't believe she's ever come to the office on her birthday once during that time, even though it's in November when it's invariably cold, wet and dark in these islands. I've never really seen the point in wasting a day of precious leave towards the end of the winter just because it's my birthday. It's not a time when I can take extended leave because of where it sits among the annual cycle of endless deadlines. Traditionally, Ali and I have squeezed every single day of annual entitlement into an adventure of some sort, usually under blue skies a long way south of here. We've always gone for quantity rather than quality when it comes to holidays and I'd much rather spend every last available twenty-four hours in the sunshine.
So while I'd normally dismiss her suggestion, 2021 is different for two reasons. Firstly, there's no point in planning foreign holidays just yet as far as I'm concerned. It seems that we can finally see a way beyond the events which have dominated the world for the last fourteen months, but I'm going to wait before I start dusting off my long unused passport. Secondly, there are only seven months to go before the phrase "annual leave" becomes something of the past. With all of this in mind I've been having occasional long weekends, and it struck me that a weekday in term time when the rest of the world was either working or home schooling might be a good time to see the ocean again. We've been really good you see - only exercising on foot from home, and so even though the Atlantic is only ten minutes away by car we've been steadfastly keeping away. I decided that Katie had a point and booked another long weekend. She made things even better by arranging for a courier to send me a present of two books on the special day and she couldn't have chosen better. One, "The January Man" is a tale of hiking adventures, and the other, which has accompanied me into the garden with my coffee for each of the last two days is called "Take the Slow Road - Scotland." I've half devoured this tale of campervan adventures in the Highlands and Western Isles already. She's clearly been paying attention to all my wandering ramblings about future plans when talk of work got too boring to carry on with. Colleagues like her come without a price tag. She watches my back; I watch hers and together we stand or fall. Everyone needs a Katie in their life.
It was the first time I'd been here since New Year's Eve, when the rain and hail came in hard and it had snowed on the journey home. In contrast it was one of those rare windless days when we could feel the warmth of an unbroken winter sun. To arrive in a surprisingly full National Trust car park and then escape onto the almost empty dunes to the west, where you can see the sands stretch down towards Carbis Bay and St Ives brought a rush of the senses that's hard to describe. I'd brought the camera, minus its currently neglected tripod with an idea that I might try some handheld focus stacking. You always hope stuff like this is going to be easier than it sounds, but quite frankly it wasn't. Nor was exposure stacking for that matter. I can't wait to start using the tripod again soon.
So I'm afraid it's another one of those posts that's here because it tells a story rather than for the merits of the image itself. Although I did like the way the light played across the soft dunes in front of me. After these remaining days of strict lockdown, I'm looking forward to a bit more drama and excitement in the last few weeks before spring is amongst us once more.