Sunset Swirl over the Floating Garden
Sometimes you arrive at a location when you really don’t know which direction to stare in first. On this final afternoon of exploring the Floating Garden, we’d returned to the Ponta do Rosto in kinder conditions than those of a few days earlier when the strong evening wind had made photography from the clifftops a little bit too challenging. Now we were back at the rocky platform of 360 degree views among just a handful of other people, all gazing here, there, over that way and then here again. Every turn of the heels offered something. Every rotation of the tripod head promised a vista to be frowned at in the hopes of getting a shot. To the east lay a textbook sunrise location in the form of the ever narrowing isthmus of the sea stack littered Ponta de Sao Lourenco, where an energetic stroll along a series of undulations takes the visitor through endless compositions to the very edge of the Floating Garden. Beyond this lay the distant shimmer of the island of Porto Santo towards the north eastern horizon, its long white sandy beach just about revealing itself to the naked eye. On the other side of the jutting headland lay the mysterious Ilhas Desertas, inhabited by the natural world alone, lying serpentine and aloof in the cold Atlantic waters. On a clear calm day when the evening colours begin to light the sky, views don’t get much better than this in my experience.
And then in completely the opposite direction lay the rest of the Floating Garden itself, the view you’re looking at here, the south and north coasts spreading away from us, a slowly darkening shroud swirling and concealing the summits of the mountains we’d been in just a few hours beforehand. From here we could see places we’d visited over the two weeks of our stay in one grand panorama. From here we could stand and watch the Floating Garden disappear into the night beneath a purple and orange afterglow. Along that northern coast in the folds of the dark moody cliffs lay hidden villages, each one with its own ocean panorama to feast the senses upon. On the other side the occasional plane came in to land on the famously frightening runway that hangs over the sea and the main road. Close your eyes when you’re about to touch down if you want my advice. Unless you're the pilot that is. Soon, one of those planes would be coming to whisk us away and drag us back to the reality of late winter in Britain. Just beyond that southern lip lay Funchal, the island capital where almost half of the inhabitants of the Floating Garden live in seemingly vertical terraces that cling tenaciously to the mountainside upon which the city is built. That’s the beauty of a place like this; so compact that you can be up in the clouds, hiking mountain paths at one hour, and then sipping a cold draft of Super Bock and stuffing your face with a pastel da nata down by the coast in the next. Nowhere is too far away and everywhere clamours for your attention when there’s a camera straining to be let out of the bag. It might not be huge, but you could spend a long time here and still keep finding new subjects to train your lens upon. In truth we barely scratched the surface of that richly stunning interior.
And the great thing about the Floating Garden is how accessible it is. My last post was about another island photography hotspot, the one I’m returning to in about nine weeks from now; the Floating Glacier if you will. I’m really excited about the thought of spending two weeks of September in Iceland, but at the same time I know it’s not a trip I can afford to make more than once every few years. Last time I spent about as much of my hard earned cash there in one week alone as I did over a fortnight in Madeira for the pair of us. Although the adventure will be worth every penny, Iceland is frighteningly expensive, no matter how many economies you make. But heading roughly the same distance in a southerly direction is much kinder on the pocket, and you still end up living on top of a volcano for a fortnight. And if danger brings excitement, the Floating Garden offers plenty of opportunities to go out in style too, especially if you ignore the safety of the brand new tunnels and take the old coast roads beneath those sheer cliffs in your rented convertible. A few feet further forward from this spot would have resulted in a rather dramatic termination for starters, and some of you will remember an earlier story when only the sound of Slovenian voices across the mist saved me from a lonely night of hypothermia at a freezing Fanal Forest over eleven hundred metres above sea level. Much more interesting than fading away in one’s bed of course, although I was hoping to hang around for a bit longer just yet as there’s so much more to do and see. I haven’t even thought about planning Lofoten yet, and we had to postpone Harris in the spring as well for that matter. And my mate Dave keeps going to Vancouver Island for a month every spring. Although he keeps having near encounters with Grizzly Bears so maybe cross that one off. I still shudder at that scene from The Revenant.
It seemed a fitting way to end our adventure here, watching a huge bank of dark cloud swirl and sweep its way towards us, almost mirroring the contours below as it spread itself over the landscape. A super long exposure brought out all of that drama playing across the sky as the bolder colours at the horizon intensified and glowed. From here it felt as if we were watching the entire world, while the dusk gathered around our lonely clifftop, stealing what daylight remained and cloaking us in darkness. By now we were the only ones left, and it was time to retrace our steps towards the car before the short walk became charged with potential pitfalls. The Floating Garden had delivered everything it had promised, and a bit more besides. Of course we’ll have to go back you know. Plenty more to see here. Better pop another spare battery in the bag if you’re going. You might just need it.
Sunset Swirl over the Floating Garden
Sometimes you arrive at a location when you really don’t know which direction to stare in first. On this final afternoon of exploring the Floating Garden, we’d returned to the Ponta do Rosto in kinder conditions than those of a few days earlier when the strong evening wind had made photography from the clifftops a little bit too challenging. Now we were back at the rocky platform of 360 degree views among just a handful of other people, all gazing here, there, over that way and then here again. Every turn of the heels offered something. Every rotation of the tripod head promised a vista to be frowned at in the hopes of getting a shot. To the east lay a textbook sunrise location in the form of the ever narrowing isthmus of the sea stack littered Ponta de Sao Lourenco, where an energetic stroll along a series of undulations takes the visitor through endless compositions to the very edge of the Floating Garden. Beyond this lay the distant shimmer of the island of Porto Santo towards the north eastern horizon, its long white sandy beach just about revealing itself to the naked eye. On the other side of the jutting headland lay the mysterious Ilhas Desertas, inhabited by the natural world alone, lying serpentine and aloof in the cold Atlantic waters. On a clear calm day when the evening colours begin to light the sky, views don’t get much better than this in my experience.
And then in completely the opposite direction lay the rest of the Floating Garden itself, the view you’re looking at here, the south and north coasts spreading away from us, a slowly darkening shroud swirling and concealing the summits of the mountains we’d been in just a few hours beforehand. From here we could see places we’d visited over the two weeks of our stay in one grand panorama. From here we could stand and watch the Floating Garden disappear into the night beneath a purple and orange afterglow. Along that northern coast in the folds of the dark moody cliffs lay hidden villages, each one with its own ocean panorama to feast the senses upon. On the other side the occasional plane came in to land on the famously frightening runway that hangs over the sea and the main road. Close your eyes when you’re about to touch down if you want my advice. Unless you're the pilot that is. Soon, one of those planes would be coming to whisk us away and drag us back to the reality of late winter in Britain. Just beyond that southern lip lay Funchal, the island capital where almost half of the inhabitants of the Floating Garden live in seemingly vertical terraces that cling tenaciously to the mountainside upon which the city is built. That’s the beauty of a place like this; so compact that you can be up in the clouds, hiking mountain paths at one hour, and then sipping a cold draft of Super Bock and stuffing your face with a pastel da nata down by the coast in the next. Nowhere is too far away and everywhere clamours for your attention when there’s a camera straining to be let out of the bag. It might not be huge, but you could spend a long time here and still keep finding new subjects to train your lens upon. In truth we barely scratched the surface of that richly stunning interior.
And the great thing about the Floating Garden is how accessible it is. My last post was about another island photography hotspot, the one I’m returning to in about nine weeks from now; the Floating Glacier if you will. I’m really excited about the thought of spending two weeks of September in Iceland, but at the same time I know it’s not a trip I can afford to make more than once every few years. Last time I spent about as much of my hard earned cash there in one week alone as I did over a fortnight in Madeira for the pair of us. Although the adventure will be worth every penny, Iceland is frighteningly expensive, no matter how many economies you make. But heading roughly the same distance in a southerly direction is much kinder on the pocket, and you still end up living on top of a volcano for a fortnight. And if danger brings excitement, the Floating Garden offers plenty of opportunities to go out in style too, especially if you ignore the safety of the brand new tunnels and take the old coast roads beneath those sheer cliffs in your rented convertible. A few feet further forward from this spot would have resulted in a rather dramatic termination for starters, and some of you will remember an earlier story when only the sound of Slovenian voices across the mist saved me from a lonely night of hypothermia at a freezing Fanal Forest over eleven hundred metres above sea level. Much more interesting than fading away in one’s bed of course, although I was hoping to hang around for a bit longer just yet as there’s so much more to do and see. I haven’t even thought about planning Lofoten yet, and we had to postpone Harris in the spring as well for that matter. And my mate Dave keeps going to Vancouver Island for a month every spring. Although he keeps having near encounters with Grizzly Bears so maybe cross that one off. I still shudder at that scene from The Revenant.
It seemed a fitting way to end our adventure here, watching a huge bank of dark cloud swirl and sweep its way towards us, almost mirroring the contours below as it spread itself over the landscape. A super long exposure brought out all of that drama playing across the sky as the bolder colours at the horizon intensified and glowed. From here it felt as if we were watching the entire world, while the dusk gathered around our lonely clifftop, stealing what daylight remained and cloaking us in darkness. By now we were the only ones left, and it was time to retrace our steps towards the car before the short walk became charged with potential pitfalls. The Floating Garden had delivered everything it had promised, and a bit more besides. Of course we’ll have to go back you know. Plenty more to see here. Better pop another spare battery in the bag if you’re going. You might just need it.