Family Bonding
Together we peered uncomfortably at the last knot of beachgoers. “There are people here,” I murmured. “Hope they’re going soon.” Nicky nodded; like her father she’s not wild about being in close proximity to strangers, and the one remaining party on the sand were just a few feet from the rocks where we wanted to pitch our tripods. What if bolder togs came along in the meantime and stole our place? Well we’d only have ourselves to blame of course. All we had to do was walk over boldly and set up camp. All it needed was a little less self-consciousness. But we’re not good at that sort of stuff. We hung about at the edge of the rocks and hoped it was nearly time for them to go home. Fortunately, they in turn soon noticed the two backpack carrying oddballs loitering nearby and began to put away their beach mats. No further invitation was needed.
Usually at high tide I don’t venture down to the beach, preferring to stay on the cliffs, compositions simplified by the reduction of the number of rocks that litter the sand when the water is lower. But a few weeks earlier Nicky had shared an image which divided opinions on the family Whatsapp group. At high tide she’d shot the lighthouse from almost exactly this spot. The composition itself was perfect, and the colours in the sky brought a rush of winter drama to the image. Everyone agreed that it was a lovely shot, but without her tripod and filters that day she confessed it would have been better still with the addition of a six stop. Both Dave and I immediately agreed with her. Water was falling from every part of the rocks, but at one eightieth of a second; well, she knew she should have had her filters in the bag, but sometimes she prefers not to be weighed down by accessories. “Even half a second to bring out the drama in the water and smooth the falls over the rocks,” we electronically nodded in agreement would have further enhanced the final result – she had after all asked me to go out with her to offer a bit of tutelage after I’d bought her a second hand DSLR for her birthday. But of course, nobody else in the family knew what ND filters were or understood what we were talking about, and our mother (who has plenty of my long exposure photos over the walls over her house) was quick to chide us for what we felt was constructive feedback. “Smooth the falls? What are you on about?” I could almost hear her admonitory tones across the ether. For a few moments there was a defensive rush of comments of the photo from all and sundry. I decided that sharing an example taken by myself might be seen as my trying to hijack the moment, so I remained silent on the topic, letting the miniature tempest blow itself out, my sister diplomatically explaining to the rest of them that it’s “their jam after all.” I had no idea that anyone in the family made jam. The thread moved on. They spend a lot of time on various Star Wars spin off series that I’m not permitted to watch because Ali thinks that R2D2 is in fact Dusty Bin from 3-2-1. At the time we were in Madeira. I poured a glass of wine, quietly grumbled about the fact that only three of us in a group of fifteen had the faintest idea what we were talking about, and set myself to examining the raw files from the foggy afternoon in the Fanal Forest that we’d just returned from.
So now we were here at this spot together, armed with ND filters on Easter Monday at the end of a sunny afternoon when the first hints of the warmer air that normally arrives in the second half of April were on the wind. On an evening when high tide and sunset were less than an hour apart there was little beach on which to spread out, and while the waves weren’t in a particularly fearsome mood, they were still strident enough to warrant our respect. Close to the water’s edge, yet pinned to the side of the cliff, we did at least have an easy route to safety, but there was a chance we might get showered by the occasional rogue blast of seaspray. But the conditions were good, the diffused sun was just about creeping into the left hand side of the frame, and it was just a matter of catching a wave retreating at the right moment; preferably while a smoothed out waterfall or two might be gushing over the foreground rocks at the same time. Then Nicky could share her results with the family and Dave and I could humbly accept a collection of backtracking apologies from those who’d doubted our wisdom on the subject.
Of course it didn’t happen like that. We got our shots and headed back to our cars and then home. Typically I was drawn between two shots. In another I liked the sea, but not the much clearer sky, and in this I absolutely preferred the dark clouds and the washed out sun. For a moment I considered blending the two, but they were taken an hour apart and I decided to leave each original alone. There was no great unveiling of our images with reference to the earnest discussion of a few weeks earlier. We both posted our images on Instagram to moderate acclaim, including from those members of the family who’d protested at mine and Dave’s impudence. Well they liked her shots anyway – they seem to have ignored mine. What do I know after all? Her sea thrift image was nicer than mine too. I think I’ll just remain quiet. No need to stir them all up again really. I might never get to taste that jam otherwise.
Family Bonding
Together we peered uncomfortably at the last knot of beachgoers. “There are people here,” I murmured. “Hope they’re going soon.” Nicky nodded; like her father she’s not wild about being in close proximity to strangers, and the one remaining party on the sand were just a few feet from the rocks where we wanted to pitch our tripods. What if bolder togs came along in the meantime and stole our place? Well we’d only have ourselves to blame of course. All we had to do was walk over boldly and set up camp. All it needed was a little less self-consciousness. But we’re not good at that sort of stuff. We hung about at the edge of the rocks and hoped it was nearly time for them to go home. Fortunately, they in turn soon noticed the two backpack carrying oddballs loitering nearby and began to put away their beach mats. No further invitation was needed.
Usually at high tide I don’t venture down to the beach, preferring to stay on the cliffs, compositions simplified by the reduction of the number of rocks that litter the sand when the water is lower. But a few weeks earlier Nicky had shared an image which divided opinions on the family Whatsapp group. At high tide she’d shot the lighthouse from almost exactly this spot. The composition itself was perfect, and the colours in the sky brought a rush of winter drama to the image. Everyone agreed that it was a lovely shot, but without her tripod and filters that day she confessed it would have been better still with the addition of a six stop. Both Dave and I immediately agreed with her. Water was falling from every part of the rocks, but at one eightieth of a second; well, she knew she should have had her filters in the bag, but sometimes she prefers not to be weighed down by accessories. “Even half a second to bring out the drama in the water and smooth the falls over the rocks,” we electronically nodded in agreement would have further enhanced the final result – she had after all asked me to go out with her to offer a bit of tutelage after I’d bought her a second hand DSLR for her birthday. But of course, nobody else in the family knew what ND filters were or understood what we were talking about, and our mother (who has plenty of my long exposure photos over the walls over her house) was quick to chide us for what we felt was constructive feedback. “Smooth the falls? What are you on about?” I could almost hear her admonitory tones across the ether. For a few moments there was a defensive rush of comments of the photo from all and sundry. I decided that sharing an example taken by myself might be seen as my trying to hijack the moment, so I remained silent on the topic, letting the miniature tempest blow itself out, my sister diplomatically explaining to the rest of them that it’s “their jam after all.” I had no idea that anyone in the family made jam. The thread moved on. They spend a lot of time on various Star Wars spin off series that I’m not permitted to watch because Ali thinks that R2D2 is in fact Dusty Bin from 3-2-1. At the time we were in Madeira. I poured a glass of wine, quietly grumbled about the fact that only three of us in a group of fifteen had the faintest idea what we were talking about, and set myself to examining the raw files from the foggy afternoon in the Fanal Forest that we’d just returned from.
So now we were here at this spot together, armed with ND filters on Easter Monday at the end of a sunny afternoon when the first hints of the warmer air that normally arrives in the second half of April were on the wind. On an evening when high tide and sunset were less than an hour apart there was little beach on which to spread out, and while the waves weren’t in a particularly fearsome mood, they were still strident enough to warrant our respect. Close to the water’s edge, yet pinned to the side of the cliff, we did at least have an easy route to safety, but there was a chance we might get showered by the occasional rogue blast of seaspray. But the conditions were good, the diffused sun was just about creeping into the left hand side of the frame, and it was just a matter of catching a wave retreating at the right moment; preferably while a smoothed out waterfall or two might be gushing over the foreground rocks at the same time. Then Nicky could share her results with the family and Dave and I could humbly accept a collection of backtracking apologies from those who’d doubted our wisdom on the subject.
Of course it didn’t happen like that. We got our shots and headed back to our cars and then home. Typically I was drawn between two shots. In another I liked the sea, but not the much clearer sky, and in this I absolutely preferred the dark clouds and the washed out sun. For a moment I considered blending the two, but they were taken an hour apart and I decided to leave each original alone. There was no great unveiling of our images with reference to the earnest discussion of a few weeks earlier. We both posted our images on Instagram to moderate acclaim, including from those members of the family who’d protested at mine and Dave’s impudence. Well they liked her shots anyway – they seem to have ignored mine. What do I know after all? Her sea thrift image was nicer than mine too. I think I’ll just remain quiet. No need to stir them all up again really. I might never get to taste that jam otherwise.