Berrow Blues
It's not always the case that things go according to plan, but so far our progress had been admirable. Lee had arrived at my house more or less when we'd agreed he would, and a few miles up the road, and Dave was ready and waiting for us to collect him on the way. Most impressively of all, I'd got out of bed, also more or less when I'd said I was going to. I'd even made my own porridge and had two life affirming cups of tea. After all, if we were going to catch the moments we hoped to later in the week, I was going to need to pay attention when the alarm went off instead of rolling over and returning to my slumbers.
With everything packed into my uncomplaining car we made our way east through sheets of driving February rain, discussing the various locations we'd identified as we went, my passengers regularly checking the weather apps on their phones and making optimistic noises about the prospect of the skies clearing later on. We stopped to refuel; both the car and ourselves and before long we arrived at our home for the next three nights, via the local Aldi where we'd stocked up on beer, wine, chocolate, Haribo (of course) and even food as well - some of it sensible food. Who says us middle aged men don't have any common sense when we're given leave to run amok in Somerset on our own?
Lee had taken charge of organising the accommodation and had booked us into a converted garage close to the dunes at Burnham on Sea - a comfortable yet compact affair - where we didn't linger over our mugs of tea for too long in our eagerness to go and photograph the lighthouse at sunset. Within twenty minutes of arrival at our temporary quarters we were marching excitedly towards the dunes, from the top of which we would drop down onto the seven miles of sand and walk the three hundred yards to our left where the famous lighthouse stood, quietly waiting for us on the sand.
Except it didn't happen that way. Dave had been looking rather more closely at the map than we had, and before we knew it, Lee and I were following him like ducklings chasing after their mother in the opposite direction towards the objects of his enthusiasm; objects that it soon transpired were rather further away than any of us had imagined. Some time later, we finally spotted the tell-tale signs of the wreck of the SS Nornen, a Norwegian barque that foundered in the mud here during a storm one hundred and twenty-five years earlier - more of that to follow in another story, but with the tide now on the way in we didn't linger there long - and fortunately Dave still had an ace up his sleeve in the two long rows of groynes making their way from the dunes all the way down to where the deadly mud began. If you walk onto the mud, you're unlikely to be seen again - at least not for twenty-thousand years or so, at which point you'll be a perfectly preserved anthropological discovery in need of a good scrub, camera bag, tripod and all.
Trying to arrange yourselves around a spot such as this without getting in each other's way is an entertaining business in itself of course, and throughout the remaining hour and a half of daylight the air was full of constant reprimands when any of us strolled merrily across another's scene, leaving footprints everywhere to add fuel to the fire. But as the tide rolled in to remove the indiscretions from the wet sand, we each worked out where we might stand without fear of later reprisals, and began to enter our zones. And as the tide rolled in, the seawater did magical things around the base of the groynes, creating shot after shot full of texture and drama. Gradually, as the light fell, I changed from the six stop filter to the three stop, and then no filter at all before steadily increasing the ISO and nudging the histogram across the screen to keep the shutter speed more or less where I wanted it.
Dave and Lee had already begun the two mile trudge back along the endless sands to where Burnham-on-Sea and its lighthouse were hidden behind a long sweeping curve of dunes. I couldn't tear myself away, spellbound by the images that were flashing up on the back of my camera after each exposure, staying until the light was almost gone and the ISO had gone to the point of no return. It was time to head for the garage conversion and my carefully chosen peri-peri rice and "no chicken" chicken burgers; and a beer if mine hadn't been confiscated by Dave as a result of continually walking into his compositions. As I set off, he rang to tell me they'd cunningly fashioned a big arrow out of three pieces of driftwood, so I'd know which path to follow over the dunes lest I end up on the golf course in the inky night, or under the pier looking confused in my search for the right one.
It had been a great start to the trip, and choosing one shot from the evening to share with my Flickr family was very difficult, but I liked the position of the nearest groyne in this one - I love it when a plan gets completely changed without warning and delivers the magic I wasn't expecting to see.
Another adventure beckons, and I think this will be my last post for the next three weeks. Exciting and frustrating in equal measures with so much to look forward to and so many images from the Somerset adventure waiting to be tinkered with. Have a great weekend everyone!
Berrow Blues
It's not always the case that things go according to plan, but so far our progress had been admirable. Lee had arrived at my house more or less when we'd agreed he would, and a few miles up the road, and Dave was ready and waiting for us to collect him on the way. Most impressively of all, I'd got out of bed, also more or less when I'd said I was going to. I'd even made my own porridge and had two life affirming cups of tea. After all, if we were going to catch the moments we hoped to later in the week, I was going to need to pay attention when the alarm went off instead of rolling over and returning to my slumbers.
With everything packed into my uncomplaining car we made our way east through sheets of driving February rain, discussing the various locations we'd identified as we went, my passengers regularly checking the weather apps on their phones and making optimistic noises about the prospect of the skies clearing later on. We stopped to refuel; both the car and ourselves and before long we arrived at our home for the next three nights, via the local Aldi where we'd stocked up on beer, wine, chocolate, Haribo (of course) and even food as well - some of it sensible food. Who says us middle aged men don't have any common sense when we're given leave to run amok in Somerset on our own?
Lee had taken charge of organising the accommodation and had booked us into a converted garage close to the dunes at Burnham on Sea - a comfortable yet compact affair - where we didn't linger over our mugs of tea for too long in our eagerness to go and photograph the lighthouse at sunset. Within twenty minutes of arrival at our temporary quarters we were marching excitedly towards the dunes, from the top of which we would drop down onto the seven miles of sand and walk the three hundred yards to our left where the famous lighthouse stood, quietly waiting for us on the sand.
Except it didn't happen that way. Dave had been looking rather more closely at the map than we had, and before we knew it, Lee and I were following him like ducklings chasing after their mother in the opposite direction towards the objects of his enthusiasm; objects that it soon transpired were rather further away than any of us had imagined. Some time later, we finally spotted the tell-tale signs of the wreck of the SS Nornen, a Norwegian barque that foundered in the mud here during a storm one hundred and twenty-five years earlier - more of that to follow in another story, but with the tide now on the way in we didn't linger there long - and fortunately Dave still had an ace up his sleeve in the two long rows of groynes making their way from the dunes all the way down to where the deadly mud began. If you walk onto the mud, you're unlikely to be seen again - at least not for twenty-thousand years or so, at which point you'll be a perfectly preserved anthropological discovery in need of a good scrub, camera bag, tripod and all.
Trying to arrange yourselves around a spot such as this without getting in each other's way is an entertaining business in itself of course, and throughout the remaining hour and a half of daylight the air was full of constant reprimands when any of us strolled merrily across another's scene, leaving footprints everywhere to add fuel to the fire. But as the tide rolled in to remove the indiscretions from the wet sand, we each worked out where we might stand without fear of later reprisals, and began to enter our zones. And as the tide rolled in, the seawater did magical things around the base of the groynes, creating shot after shot full of texture and drama. Gradually, as the light fell, I changed from the six stop filter to the three stop, and then no filter at all before steadily increasing the ISO and nudging the histogram across the screen to keep the shutter speed more or less where I wanted it.
Dave and Lee had already begun the two mile trudge back along the endless sands to where Burnham-on-Sea and its lighthouse were hidden behind a long sweeping curve of dunes. I couldn't tear myself away, spellbound by the images that were flashing up on the back of my camera after each exposure, staying until the light was almost gone and the ISO had gone to the point of no return. It was time to head for the garage conversion and my carefully chosen peri-peri rice and "no chicken" chicken burgers; and a beer if mine hadn't been confiscated by Dave as a result of continually walking into his compositions. As I set off, he rang to tell me they'd cunningly fashioned a big arrow out of three pieces of driftwood, so I'd know which path to follow over the dunes lest I end up on the golf course in the inky night, or under the pier looking confused in my search for the right one.
It had been a great start to the trip, and choosing one shot from the evening to share with my Flickr family was very difficult, but I liked the position of the nearest groyne in this one - I love it when a plan gets completely changed without warning and delivers the magic I wasn't expecting to see.
Another adventure beckons, and I think this will be my last post for the next three weeks. Exciting and frustrating in equal measures with so much to look forward to and so many images from the Somerset adventure waiting to be tinkered with. Have a great weekend everyone!