The Sorcerer and the Sea
Yesterday's visit by Storm Arwen found one photographer in Cornwall doing two things he wouldn't usually dream of. Firstly, he set out without his tripod, intentionally at that, and secondly he was in the car by noon, hours before sunset even at this time of year. It was the beginning of a strange and exhilarating couple of hours in the company of the storm.
I almost always head for Portreath when the weather gets exciting, partly because it's so close to home, but also because it offers a couple of handily placed objects that always grab the attention here. If you look at the other shots in this album you'll see plenty of images of the famous Monkey Hut, rebuilt for no apparent reason other than as a seascape photography subject after the winter storms of 2014. It's less often that I train the lens on the megalith of Gull Rock, planted by giants in the middle of the sea a few hundred yards from the shoreline here. Wondering how big it is? Zoom into the top right hand corner and that herring gull will give you a better idea.
As you drive towards the coast on a day like this, you gradually sense the ramping up of the elements; trees sway ever more wildly as you approach your destination. You open and close the car doors with two hands, praying the wind doesn't rip them from you as you watch them smash into the side of the vehicle you park next to. From the main drag of the village you catch glimpses of the angry sea, with occasional columns of spray drifting towards you along the harbour front.
Yesterday I'd decided on an hour at most. I'd then go home and drink coffee as I pored over the results. I'd attached the 70-200, and at the very last moment popped the 100-400 into the bag as backup. As is so often the case, the moment I was ready to shoot, the sun disappeared, taking the contrast and what colours there were with it. I'd decided a fast shutter speed was important to what I wanted to achieve, hence the absence of the tripod, and taken the ISO to a place I usually prefer not to go to. As I pointed the camera towards the sea, a volley of foam flew towards me like snow, and throughout the episode I found myself continually turning my back to the scene to protect the camera. Almost immediately it became apparent that more reach was needed - it's always fun trying to change lenses in a storm, or at least so I feel when I'm not actually doing it. In the moments when I could shoot, I'd turn and face the sea, looking for big waves to focus on in rapid bursts.
A while passed and I decided I was done, so began my walk back to the car, only for the sunshine to return as I reached for the keys in my pocket. The prospect of coffee and brunch were deeply embedded in my conscious by now, but I reflected on what was almost certainly a poor collection of images on the SD card and turned around, hastening my stride back to the beach before the sun disappeared once more. Suddenly those dull waves were sporting glowing white crests; suddenly the scene had come alive. I set up by the breakwater once more, facing the regular blasts from flying sand and foam across the beach. I was joined by another photographer who was braving it with his Hasselblad film camera on a tripod, attempting the seemingly impossible with a long exposure. If you don't try, you don't succeed and nobody needs to know how many times you failed after all - even though we all do from our own experiences.
From time to time I'd move my focus from the sea, to the Monkey Hut, to Gull Rock, losing track of exactly how many exposures I'd made. Later on at home I recoiled in horror at the number of shots I'd have to sift through - 582 times I'd clicked the shutter in this briefest of outings. A serious cull was needed and before I'd even downloaded them onto the PC I'd reduced that number to 460. Of those, 285 were taken before the half time oranges in the dull light So I disregarded them completely and downloaded just 175, eventually refining my selection to 74. It's so much easier going out to shoot a calm sea with a big ND filter because there's only time to take a handful of shots. 74 is still enough to cause a lot of confusion.
As I looked more closely at the final selection, two things became clear. Firstly, I should have taken the tripod. Those waves really could have been a bit sharper and I struggle to focus my handheld shots with such a big focal length. Answers on a postcard please. Secondly, it seems that a sorcerer, lit up by the sun and almost 100 feet tall lives in the sea beside Gull Rock. Can you see his pointy hat and his long nose? It's worth coming here in a storm just to see what shapes those enormous plumes develop for fleeing seconds as the waves crash into the rock. There will be plenty more shapes in the coming months as the sorcerer contorts and bends his form in the winter storms that are yet to batter the coast here.
The Sorcerer and the Sea
Yesterday's visit by Storm Arwen found one photographer in Cornwall doing two things he wouldn't usually dream of. Firstly, he set out without his tripod, intentionally at that, and secondly he was in the car by noon, hours before sunset even at this time of year. It was the beginning of a strange and exhilarating couple of hours in the company of the storm.
I almost always head for Portreath when the weather gets exciting, partly because it's so close to home, but also because it offers a couple of handily placed objects that always grab the attention here. If you look at the other shots in this album you'll see plenty of images of the famous Monkey Hut, rebuilt for no apparent reason other than as a seascape photography subject after the winter storms of 2014. It's less often that I train the lens on the megalith of Gull Rock, planted by giants in the middle of the sea a few hundred yards from the shoreline here. Wondering how big it is? Zoom into the top right hand corner and that herring gull will give you a better idea.
As you drive towards the coast on a day like this, you gradually sense the ramping up of the elements; trees sway ever more wildly as you approach your destination. You open and close the car doors with two hands, praying the wind doesn't rip them from you as you watch them smash into the side of the vehicle you park next to. From the main drag of the village you catch glimpses of the angry sea, with occasional columns of spray drifting towards you along the harbour front.
Yesterday I'd decided on an hour at most. I'd then go home and drink coffee as I pored over the results. I'd attached the 70-200, and at the very last moment popped the 100-400 into the bag as backup. As is so often the case, the moment I was ready to shoot, the sun disappeared, taking the contrast and what colours there were with it. I'd decided a fast shutter speed was important to what I wanted to achieve, hence the absence of the tripod, and taken the ISO to a place I usually prefer not to go to. As I pointed the camera towards the sea, a volley of foam flew towards me like snow, and throughout the episode I found myself continually turning my back to the scene to protect the camera. Almost immediately it became apparent that more reach was needed - it's always fun trying to change lenses in a storm, or at least so I feel when I'm not actually doing it. In the moments when I could shoot, I'd turn and face the sea, looking for big waves to focus on in rapid bursts.
A while passed and I decided I was done, so began my walk back to the car, only for the sunshine to return as I reached for the keys in my pocket. The prospect of coffee and brunch were deeply embedded in my conscious by now, but I reflected on what was almost certainly a poor collection of images on the SD card and turned around, hastening my stride back to the beach before the sun disappeared once more. Suddenly those dull waves were sporting glowing white crests; suddenly the scene had come alive. I set up by the breakwater once more, facing the regular blasts from flying sand and foam across the beach. I was joined by another photographer who was braving it with his Hasselblad film camera on a tripod, attempting the seemingly impossible with a long exposure. If you don't try, you don't succeed and nobody needs to know how many times you failed after all - even though we all do from our own experiences.
From time to time I'd move my focus from the sea, to the Monkey Hut, to Gull Rock, losing track of exactly how many exposures I'd made. Later on at home I recoiled in horror at the number of shots I'd have to sift through - 582 times I'd clicked the shutter in this briefest of outings. A serious cull was needed and before I'd even downloaded them onto the PC I'd reduced that number to 460. Of those, 285 were taken before the half time oranges in the dull light So I disregarded them completely and downloaded just 175, eventually refining my selection to 74. It's so much easier going out to shoot a calm sea with a big ND filter because there's only time to take a handful of shots. 74 is still enough to cause a lot of confusion.
As I looked more closely at the final selection, two things became clear. Firstly, I should have taken the tripod. Those waves really could have been a bit sharper and I struggle to focus my handheld shots with such a big focal length. Answers on a postcard please. Secondly, it seems that a sorcerer, lit up by the sun and almost 100 feet tall lives in the sea beside Gull Rock. Can you see his pointy hat and his long nose? It's worth coming here in a storm just to see what shapes those enormous plumes develop for fleeing seconds as the waves crash into the rock. There will be plenty more shapes in the coming months as the sorcerer contorts and bends his form in the winter storms that are yet to batter the coast here.