The Giant's Lost Boot
Dave had a very clear plan. He’d looked closely at the map, done a bit of research on some stock images, and picked his spot before we’d set off. On arrival he planted his tripod at the cliff edge, halfway along the beach far below and stayed there until after sunset. Later he told us he’d only taken one shot that was worth the effort of putting through the editing suite. The others were all very slightly blurred. While Lee and I are both now disciples of the rather wonderful magnetic Kase filters, Dave continues to use big square pieces of glass. Similarly effective of course, albeit with the exception that they do tend to act like sails if there’s anything more than the merest of zephyrs beating across the air. Not that it mattered though. Dave’s inimitable editing style delivered a very satisfactory entry into the Explore page the day afterwards. I say inimitable because I’ve tried without success to replicate it more than once, before remembering that it would be better to continue to work on my own process and forget about his degree in Fine Art. Imitation is the sincerest form of irritation after all.
I also had a very clear plan. Ever since the steps were closed off to the general public, my philosophy on the place we should henceforth really just refer to as “Bedruthan” has remained consistent. For a start, only shoot here on a high tide when there’s water around the base of the stacks and all of the rocky debris distractions on the beach are concealed. Once that initial qualification has been fulfilled I either perch on a clifftop at the south end of the beach, or I hover over the edge of the one on the northern side. The latter offers what I think is usually a more pleasing view, the big stacks lining up like three enormous anvils, with the smaller rocks that I’ve come to think of as “the witch’s hat” and “the shoemaker’s last” in the foreground. On a windy midwinter afternoon on a high tide with the low sun just about dropping into the frame, it’s quite a magnificent scene to behold, as long as you’re very careful around the crumbling clifftops that led to those steps being closed three years ago. In the middle of summer the sun sets far enough across the beach to feature in shots taken from the southern side, once famously throwing a vivid pink sky at us seemingly out of nowhere. I hadn’t yet imposed the high tide rule upon myself at that stage. In that shot the sky was one of the best under which I’ve taken pictures. It’s just a shame that the beach was a shambles.
So while Dave decisively planted his tripod at position A, and Lee waited for the arguing couple to finish their takeaway pizza and depart position B so that he could concentrate on the view that had grabbed his attention, I hurried over the coastal path to position C in the north, before scratching my head and moving on to position D, even further north, where almost immediately I engaged full on headless chicken mode. Position E in the south was a total non-starter, and while position F to the faintly south east had the best of the light behind it, the rhomboid of a stack that featured there wasn’t really riveting enough to warrant much effort. As I trotted back along the path and looked again at Dave’s viewpoint I declared I didn’t like the shape of the stack from this angle. By now, Pizza Couple had decided to continue their dispute in position Z at the newly appeared campsite behind us, so I joined Lee at position B for all of 15 seconds before moving yet again. Back at position C I tinkered about and decided that I still didn’t like the light from here. In fact I’d just missed the sun briefly appearing and throwing a bit of tasty side light onto the anvils. I didn’t even bother with position D again.
So finally, here I was, with most of my daily step count requirement having been registered in the last hour or so, back at position A, facing west and out to sea, where Lee had now joined Dave, his tripod frighteningly close to a cliff edge that makes a lump of Wensleydale Cheese look stable. I stared doubtfully at the view from here again, thinking how strange it was that the angle one views a big chunk of rock from alters its appearance so dramatically. A hundred yards along the path I’d noticed for the first time ever that the anvil has a hole in its middle. From here it looked like a wandering giant had lost his boot on the beach. Look, you can even see the toes being tickled by the tide. By now the sun had disappeared, a patch of soft peachy glow just about painting the horizon. At least the light was now in the frame, and a gang of gulls littered the base of the boot, settling down for the night. A series of exposures of varying lengths followed, the calm summer ocean offering a flat glassy surface at thirty seconds of shutter time. Finally the high cloud delivered an element of texture to the sky and the deal with position A was secured. Dave had been right all along. Flipping fine art graduates.
And there lies the rub with Bedruthan. The two opposite ends of the beach can bring rewarding results behind the camera, but with the best of the light far out to sea in the middle of August, shooting straight across the beach from north to south or vice versa becomes a challenge. At least here was a subject that offered a minimalist view, with the light we so often look for on show. The stack, with its new appearance from the unfamiliar angle had gradually grown on me, offering an alternative composition above the beach that may forever be out of bounds. An alternative composition for now at least; who knows how long for when each winter’s sequence of storms and gales brings cliffsides crashing down onto beaches around here. Good job one of us had done his homework in any case.
The Giant's Lost Boot
Dave had a very clear plan. He’d looked closely at the map, done a bit of research on some stock images, and picked his spot before we’d set off. On arrival he planted his tripod at the cliff edge, halfway along the beach far below and stayed there until after sunset. Later he told us he’d only taken one shot that was worth the effort of putting through the editing suite. The others were all very slightly blurred. While Lee and I are both now disciples of the rather wonderful magnetic Kase filters, Dave continues to use big square pieces of glass. Similarly effective of course, albeit with the exception that they do tend to act like sails if there’s anything more than the merest of zephyrs beating across the air. Not that it mattered though. Dave’s inimitable editing style delivered a very satisfactory entry into the Explore page the day afterwards. I say inimitable because I’ve tried without success to replicate it more than once, before remembering that it would be better to continue to work on my own process and forget about his degree in Fine Art. Imitation is the sincerest form of irritation after all.
I also had a very clear plan. Ever since the steps were closed off to the general public, my philosophy on the place we should henceforth really just refer to as “Bedruthan” has remained consistent. For a start, only shoot here on a high tide when there’s water around the base of the stacks and all of the rocky debris distractions on the beach are concealed. Once that initial qualification has been fulfilled I either perch on a clifftop at the south end of the beach, or I hover over the edge of the one on the northern side. The latter offers what I think is usually a more pleasing view, the big stacks lining up like three enormous anvils, with the smaller rocks that I’ve come to think of as “the witch’s hat” and “the shoemaker’s last” in the foreground. On a windy midwinter afternoon on a high tide with the low sun just about dropping into the frame, it’s quite a magnificent scene to behold, as long as you’re very careful around the crumbling clifftops that led to those steps being closed three years ago. In the middle of summer the sun sets far enough across the beach to feature in shots taken from the southern side, once famously throwing a vivid pink sky at us seemingly out of nowhere. I hadn’t yet imposed the high tide rule upon myself at that stage. In that shot the sky was one of the best under which I’ve taken pictures. It’s just a shame that the beach was a shambles.
So while Dave decisively planted his tripod at position A, and Lee waited for the arguing couple to finish their takeaway pizza and depart position B so that he could concentrate on the view that had grabbed his attention, I hurried over the coastal path to position C in the north, before scratching my head and moving on to position D, even further north, where almost immediately I engaged full on headless chicken mode. Position E in the south was a total non-starter, and while position F to the faintly south east had the best of the light behind it, the rhomboid of a stack that featured there wasn’t really riveting enough to warrant much effort. As I trotted back along the path and looked again at Dave’s viewpoint I declared I didn’t like the shape of the stack from this angle. By now, Pizza Couple had decided to continue their dispute in position Z at the newly appeared campsite behind us, so I joined Lee at position B for all of 15 seconds before moving yet again. Back at position C I tinkered about and decided that I still didn’t like the light from here. In fact I’d just missed the sun briefly appearing and throwing a bit of tasty side light onto the anvils. I didn’t even bother with position D again.
So finally, here I was, with most of my daily step count requirement having been registered in the last hour or so, back at position A, facing west and out to sea, where Lee had now joined Dave, his tripod frighteningly close to a cliff edge that makes a lump of Wensleydale Cheese look stable. I stared doubtfully at the view from here again, thinking how strange it was that the angle one views a big chunk of rock from alters its appearance so dramatically. A hundred yards along the path I’d noticed for the first time ever that the anvil has a hole in its middle. From here it looked like a wandering giant had lost his boot on the beach. Look, you can even see the toes being tickled by the tide. By now the sun had disappeared, a patch of soft peachy glow just about painting the horizon. At least the light was now in the frame, and a gang of gulls littered the base of the boot, settling down for the night. A series of exposures of varying lengths followed, the calm summer ocean offering a flat glassy surface at thirty seconds of shutter time. Finally the high cloud delivered an element of texture to the sky and the deal with position A was secured. Dave had been right all along. Flipping fine art graduates.
And there lies the rub with Bedruthan. The two opposite ends of the beach can bring rewarding results behind the camera, but with the best of the light far out to sea in the middle of August, shooting straight across the beach from north to south or vice versa becomes a challenge. At least here was a subject that offered a minimalist view, with the light we so often look for on show. The stack, with its new appearance from the unfamiliar angle had gradually grown on me, offering an alternative composition above the beach that may forever be out of bounds. An alternative composition for now at least; who knows how long for when each winter’s sequence of storms and gales brings cliffsides crashing down onto beaches around here. Good job one of us had done his homework in any case.