Fire and Shadow
Brenda has a brand new MOT. A certain amount of surgery was needed, both on Brenda’s subframe and my wallet, but we’re good to go for another year of adventures. When we first took possession of her two and a half years ago, I was frightened to drive her out of the lane at the end of our garden and onto the main road, but nowadays it’s a joy to trundle along at a modest pace along the A30 on the inside lane, towards the blissfully peaceful and charge free car park on the Towans in winter. Even though we’ve stripped out all the soft furnishings and brought them into the house until springtime to keep them from getting damp, she’s comfortable enough to sit in with a cup of tea after a stumble over the dunes, gazing out over the black water towards the darkening hulk of the headland around the bright lights of St Ives. Not that I’m planning to drive Brenda around St Ives any time soon. Anything that might involve reversing in tight spaces is still a bit of a nerve jangler, even with the aid of the onboard reversing camera. Still, I’ve been brave enough to stop in the M&S car park just off Loggans roundabout in the rush hour twice in the last week. Creeping around a car park in over six metres of steel without bashing pedestrians can be a challenge in the dark.
We ended up going to the big free car park on consecutive afternoons. As you’ve no doubt remembered, neither of us have ever been keen on the business of mornings, and at this time of year the sun sets before half past four in the afternoon. So despite a firm intention to head slightly further afield, more often than not we come here. Sometimes we bring lunch with us. On this occasion we picked up a couple of pasties and a salivating spaniel called Rosie. Ali’s sister’s dog. Much as I was delighted to learn that Prima does a flaky steak pasty, having an excitable hound within three inches of my face while I was trying to eat it was rather less enjoyable. And because Rosie didn’t really get the idea that I was hoping to wash it down afterwards, the post lunch coffee was abandoned in favour of letting her loose across the dunes before she exploded with excitement - and other things best not mentioned here. But Ali likes to take the dog for a stomp while I take pictures, so we stomped together for some distance along the dunes before descending onto the beach, where we split up. That dog must cover at least twenty miles in comparison to the two or three we usually manage.
I spent some time on the beach with the long lens, picking out lone figures bathed in light against the backdrop of the bluff and the warmly lit seaspray. Everyone except me seemed to be walking their dogs on this bright winter afternoon that was full of atmosphere. Sunbeams moved continually in and out of the clouds, suddenly illuminating the landscape before everything disappeared into shadows once more. It was an afternoon for catching moments. The lady in the distance really needed to be walking towards me or away from me, but instead she stood in the shallows, throwing a ball for one of her expectant companions, while the other sniffed about in the sand behind her. Actually, I just looked at the picture I worked on from this earlier part of the session and I like it more than I did at first. It might yet make it into these pages - you never know.
After I was happy enough with the shots I’d grabbed down on the beach, I moved up to the dunes, hoping to catch some light on them, much as I’d done the day before, as well as on the last outing of the three happy snappers with Dave and Lee a month earlier. By now we were getting close to sunset, and after trying a wider shot, I returned to the brilliant telephoto lens. Each time the sun peaked out from the dark clouds, the scene before me became a mixture of fire and shadow, parts of the beach lighting up in a golden blaze. I just needed someone to walk across that patch of golden blaze. It seemed unlikely, because who’d be daft enough to walk across the wettest part of the sand and risk a wave breaking over their walking boots? But happily, one barefooted soul obliged. There’s always somebody who wants a paddle, whatever the season.
Shoots at this time of year are often brief, but at the same time I’m always home for tea, and even today I managed the mile across the undulating landscape to the van, arriving just as Ali was unlocking. With a damp snoozing dog sprawled out on an equally sodden blanket across the passenger seat in the cab, we sat in the back and watched the sea through the open side door nursing the steaming mugs we’d been denied earlier in the day. Coffee at last on a perfect winter afternoon.
Fire and Shadow
Brenda has a brand new MOT. A certain amount of surgery was needed, both on Brenda’s subframe and my wallet, but we’re good to go for another year of adventures. When we first took possession of her two and a half years ago, I was frightened to drive her out of the lane at the end of our garden and onto the main road, but nowadays it’s a joy to trundle along at a modest pace along the A30 on the inside lane, towards the blissfully peaceful and charge free car park on the Towans in winter. Even though we’ve stripped out all the soft furnishings and brought them into the house until springtime to keep them from getting damp, she’s comfortable enough to sit in with a cup of tea after a stumble over the dunes, gazing out over the black water towards the darkening hulk of the headland around the bright lights of St Ives. Not that I’m planning to drive Brenda around St Ives any time soon. Anything that might involve reversing in tight spaces is still a bit of a nerve jangler, even with the aid of the onboard reversing camera. Still, I’ve been brave enough to stop in the M&S car park just off Loggans roundabout in the rush hour twice in the last week. Creeping around a car park in over six metres of steel without bashing pedestrians can be a challenge in the dark.
We ended up going to the big free car park on consecutive afternoons. As you’ve no doubt remembered, neither of us have ever been keen on the business of mornings, and at this time of year the sun sets before half past four in the afternoon. So despite a firm intention to head slightly further afield, more often than not we come here. Sometimes we bring lunch with us. On this occasion we picked up a couple of pasties and a salivating spaniel called Rosie. Ali’s sister’s dog. Much as I was delighted to learn that Prima does a flaky steak pasty, having an excitable hound within three inches of my face while I was trying to eat it was rather less enjoyable. And because Rosie didn’t really get the idea that I was hoping to wash it down afterwards, the post lunch coffee was abandoned in favour of letting her loose across the dunes before she exploded with excitement - and other things best not mentioned here. But Ali likes to take the dog for a stomp while I take pictures, so we stomped together for some distance along the dunes before descending onto the beach, where we split up. That dog must cover at least twenty miles in comparison to the two or three we usually manage.
I spent some time on the beach with the long lens, picking out lone figures bathed in light against the backdrop of the bluff and the warmly lit seaspray. Everyone except me seemed to be walking their dogs on this bright winter afternoon that was full of atmosphere. Sunbeams moved continually in and out of the clouds, suddenly illuminating the landscape before everything disappeared into shadows once more. It was an afternoon for catching moments. The lady in the distance really needed to be walking towards me or away from me, but instead she stood in the shallows, throwing a ball for one of her expectant companions, while the other sniffed about in the sand behind her. Actually, I just looked at the picture I worked on from this earlier part of the session and I like it more than I did at first. It might yet make it into these pages - you never know.
After I was happy enough with the shots I’d grabbed down on the beach, I moved up to the dunes, hoping to catch some light on them, much as I’d done the day before, as well as on the last outing of the three happy snappers with Dave and Lee a month earlier. By now we were getting close to sunset, and after trying a wider shot, I returned to the brilliant telephoto lens. Each time the sun peaked out from the dark clouds, the scene before me became a mixture of fire and shadow, parts of the beach lighting up in a golden blaze. I just needed someone to walk across that patch of golden blaze. It seemed unlikely, because who’d be daft enough to walk across the wettest part of the sand and risk a wave breaking over their walking boots? But happily, one barefooted soul obliged. There’s always somebody who wants a paddle, whatever the season.
Shoots at this time of year are often brief, but at the same time I’m always home for tea, and even today I managed the mile across the undulating landscape to the van, arriving just as Ali was unlocking. With a damp snoozing dog sprawled out on an equally sodden blanket across the passenger seat in the cab, we sat in the back and watched the sea through the open side door nursing the steaming mugs we’d been denied earlier in the day. Coffee at last on a perfect winter afternoon.