The Diamond Sea
It’s really quite liberating as experiences go. I mean, the tripod is with me, but instead of being mounted with the camera, it’s standing just over there on the dry sand, the bag draped over the top, so as not to touch the ground, while I’m over here pointing the camera along the shoreline. It’s the middle of winter, and apart from a handful of people strolling over the sand with playful dogs chasing around their feet, it’s just me. Up there behind us are the dunes I walked over to get here, swaying in the golden glow of half past three on a steely cold afternoon. From the start of November, the big car park at the top of the beach has been free to pull up in, and since we got the van, it’s become a magnet on days like this. Most times when we park there, it’s easy to get onto the front row where we can look at the sea from the cab. Last time we even managed to get the coveted left hand corner spot, where nobody can turn up and impede the view with three and a half tonnes of moving metal. Moments of liberation in a place I wouldn’t even try to come to in the busy months. Sometimes I stay up in the dunes, and at others I come down here to stand by the sea. It’s where all of life’s problems seem to dissolve away into the ether.
It’s been some years since I first noticed the misty cloud at the end of the estuary that hangs perpetually over the ocean and catches the golden hour light. This is the sort of thing we start to see more clearly when landscape photography takes us along for the ride. Quite often before I’ve stood on Gwithian Beach at low tide, taking shots with the long lens of silhouettes on the march. The Sunday parade against the misty magical backdrop beyond the mouth of the Hayle River. It was only when we started to use the big car park in winter that I began to explore the area west of the main beach more fully. And there have been plenty of times just recently when I’ve ended up here, the long lens on the camera and the image stabilisation engaged. When I stand here, that drifting golden haze is far closer than it used to be, hanging over the estuary and Porthkidney Beach like a gateway to another world. Sometimes I'll focus on a lone figure at the water's edge, while in other moments, the gulls will capture the attention. And quite often, the tops of the waves light up like diamonds on the sea. It’s an intoxicating sight. It’s not so long since I’d have automatically reached for the six stop filter and tried to drag the action for a second or two, but I’m not in such a rush to do that now. Not when the sea is as benign and beguiling as this. Those sparkling jewels are more than enough on their own.
I’ve come to the point now that if I don’t take the big telephoto lens with me, I usually regret it. When I come to this place it’s very often the only one I’ll use, increasingly so without the tripod - currently doubling up as a hanger. That’s another thing that’s gradually evolving for me. I’ve always used the tripod for just about every shot I take - even when I didn’t really need to. It slows me down and makes me think about what I’m doing. Of course it means I sometimes miss a moment, but generally I find it helps. And as you might have read recently, I’ve made a small investment to increase its stability on windy days. But when I’m standing here, looking towards the haze with the big lens on the camera, handheld is surely the way to go. Everything feels stripped down and simple. Just me and the camera - and this fantastic winter light. That lens has been such a fantastic addition to the arsenal. Even I can get a sharp enough shot, especially since I stopped being so precious about sticking devoutly to base ISO.
The other thing about these diamond sea moments is that they need next to no editing at all. Maybe a little lift here or a tiny tuck there, but as raw files go, they’re pretty low maintenance. Not quite “out of camera,” but as close as it gets. As raw experiences go, this is about as close as it gets too. Simple joys on these winter days at the edge of the Diamond Sea.
The Diamond Sea
It’s really quite liberating as experiences go. I mean, the tripod is with me, but instead of being mounted with the camera, it’s standing just over there on the dry sand, the bag draped over the top, so as not to touch the ground, while I’m over here pointing the camera along the shoreline. It’s the middle of winter, and apart from a handful of people strolling over the sand with playful dogs chasing around their feet, it’s just me. Up there behind us are the dunes I walked over to get here, swaying in the golden glow of half past three on a steely cold afternoon. From the start of November, the big car park at the top of the beach has been free to pull up in, and since we got the van, it’s become a magnet on days like this. Most times when we park there, it’s easy to get onto the front row where we can look at the sea from the cab. Last time we even managed to get the coveted left hand corner spot, where nobody can turn up and impede the view with three and a half tonnes of moving metal. Moments of liberation in a place I wouldn’t even try to come to in the busy months. Sometimes I stay up in the dunes, and at others I come down here to stand by the sea. It’s where all of life’s problems seem to dissolve away into the ether.
It’s been some years since I first noticed the misty cloud at the end of the estuary that hangs perpetually over the ocean and catches the golden hour light. This is the sort of thing we start to see more clearly when landscape photography takes us along for the ride. Quite often before I’ve stood on Gwithian Beach at low tide, taking shots with the long lens of silhouettes on the march. The Sunday parade against the misty magical backdrop beyond the mouth of the Hayle River. It was only when we started to use the big car park in winter that I began to explore the area west of the main beach more fully. And there have been plenty of times just recently when I’ve ended up here, the long lens on the camera and the image stabilisation engaged. When I stand here, that drifting golden haze is far closer than it used to be, hanging over the estuary and Porthkidney Beach like a gateway to another world. Sometimes I'll focus on a lone figure at the water's edge, while in other moments, the gulls will capture the attention. And quite often, the tops of the waves light up like diamonds on the sea. It’s an intoxicating sight. It’s not so long since I’d have automatically reached for the six stop filter and tried to drag the action for a second or two, but I’m not in such a rush to do that now. Not when the sea is as benign and beguiling as this. Those sparkling jewels are more than enough on their own.
I’ve come to the point now that if I don’t take the big telephoto lens with me, I usually regret it. When I come to this place it’s very often the only one I’ll use, increasingly so without the tripod - currently doubling up as a hanger. That’s another thing that’s gradually evolving for me. I’ve always used the tripod for just about every shot I take - even when I didn’t really need to. It slows me down and makes me think about what I’m doing. Of course it means I sometimes miss a moment, but generally I find it helps. And as you might have read recently, I’ve made a small investment to increase its stability on windy days. But when I’m standing here, looking towards the haze with the big lens on the camera, handheld is surely the way to go. Everything feels stripped down and simple. Just me and the camera - and this fantastic winter light. That lens has been such a fantastic addition to the arsenal. Even I can get a sharp enough shot, especially since I stopped being so precious about sticking devoutly to base ISO.
The other thing about these diamond sea moments is that they need next to no editing at all. Maybe a little lift here or a tiny tuck there, but as raw files go, they’re pretty low maintenance. Not quite “out of camera,” but as close as it gets. As raw experiences go, this is about as close as it gets too. Simple joys on these winter days at the edge of the Diamond Sea.