Cappuccino Flow
It wasn’t all sunsets and speedos on this trip to Fuerteventura. And although Ali reminded me that our time here started almost three weeks later last year, we’ve been on the island in deepest winter before and not seen any rain. This time, the heavens vented forth on a number of occasions. Never for more than about three minutes at a time, and quite often followed by warm sunshine almost immediately, but even so - we’d come here to escape the end of the winter at home. The first week and a half were dogged by “La Calima,” with sand blasted across the sea from the Sahara Desert that whipped around us with alarming vigour. The exfoliating shower gel in the wash bag back at the hotel might as well have been left at home in view of the free skin care regime the elements were offering. Today, we’d decided to walk to the rim of Calderon Hondo, a nearby volcano, only to be rained upon as we arrived at the top. I’d never felt so cold here before. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Last year, the temperatures had at times reached the low thirties, but at the moment we were more than ten degrees cooler as we sat at the edge of the crater feeling slightly downcast. There was no point in going and lying on the beach today. We’re not into suffering for the sake of it you know.
So after descending back to the leeward side of the volcano and the comfort of the car, we came here. Well we didn’t at first - instead we decided to head down a very rough track at a quarter speed, dodging sharp stones and wondering whether it really was such a great idea. Eventually, we shuffled uncomfortably over a very lumpy entrance to what passed for a parking area at the top of the cliffs, and squeezed in next to a series of far more rugged looking vehicles. There was a path down to the sea, where two kamikaze windsurfers were trying their best to shred their boards and bodies into untidy ribbons, racing towards the rocks at the shore before changing course at the last moment. Maybe I could try photographing the water coming in over those rocks? Or maybe I should have pulled up at the other end of this long beach - the end that offered rather more possibilities than here; the end where I had unfinished business from last year. Twelve months earlier I’d taken what I thought was a lovely glowing long exposure of an uncovered rock, only to find the raw image was about as sharp as a swimming pool full of candy floss. The submarine shaped rock in the sand looked as if the captain had just received instructions to intercept the stranger on the shore just as I hit the shutter. Maybe a wave had come in and nudged the tripod at the moment of truth. Maybe it was a simple case of user incompetence. It wouldn’t be the first time. We’ll come back to that image - writing this tale has reminded me of a tool that wasn’t in the armoury until recently.
The only thing was, the light didn’t look like it was going to play ball today, so whatever this was going to be, it wasn’t going to be a repeat performance. Even so, we crept over boulders and back along the dirt road to the headland at the edge of town, where Ali pulled out her kindle and I headed off towards the beach with the camera. In the absence of a warm glow on the horizon, maybe a moody flow on the foreground would fill the void. I wandered along the clifftop towards the beach, passing the usual array of ancient motorhomes from various corners of Europe, certain that at least one of them hadn’t budged an inch since our visit here last year. Down by the water, I felt at least that I was in familiar territory. Chasing receding streaks of white foam back down towards the sea isn’t exactly a leap from what I’m often playing at ten miles down the road from home, and for once, I stopped as soon as I knew I had a shot in the bag and moved onto something else.
“That looks just like the cappuccino I’m having,” was the response from one of my clearly not too occupied correspondents as she viewed the image over her morning coffee. By now, I was missing cappuccino - I’d moved onto black coffee for the duration of the holiday for practical reasons - so it wasn’t at all difficult to see it for myself. I’ve got one of those milk frothing gizmos at home now, and after years of trying, I’ve finally got my home brews just how I like them, chocolate sprinkles et al. Although I don’t usually take mine on the rocks; not unless it’s summer, and today didn’t feel like summer at all.
It wasn’t the end of the rain, although this was as gloomy as it got during our stay. Most sunset hours at the coast would be spent trying to balance out vicious dynamic ranges, and this was perhaps the only time before sunset that the histogram didn’t have a tantrum on the back of the camera. If I said I’d taken this at home in Cornwall, nobody would have batted an eyelid. But while it was reassuring to shoot a moody dark sky, we were here for warm afternoons on the beach. So thank goodness the sun was shining the next morning.
Cappuccino Flow
It wasn’t all sunsets and speedos on this trip to Fuerteventura. And although Ali reminded me that our time here started almost three weeks later last year, we’ve been on the island in deepest winter before and not seen any rain. This time, the heavens vented forth on a number of occasions. Never for more than about three minutes at a time, and quite often followed by warm sunshine almost immediately, but even so - we’d come here to escape the end of the winter at home. The first week and a half were dogged by “La Calima,” with sand blasted across the sea from the Sahara Desert that whipped around us with alarming vigour. The exfoliating shower gel in the wash bag back at the hotel might as well have been left at home in view of the free skin care regime the elements were offering. Today, we’d decided to walk to the rim of Calderon Hondo, a nearby volcano, only to be rained upon as we arrived at the top. I’d never felt so cold here before. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Last year, the temperatures had at times reached the low thirties, but at the moment we were more than ten degrees cooler as we sat at the edge of the crater feeling slightly downcast. There was no point in going and lying on the beach today. We’re not into suffering for the sake of it you know.
So after descending back to the leeward side of the volcano and the comfort of the car, we came here. Well we didn’t at first - instead we decided to head down a very rough track at a quarter speed, dodging sharp stones and wondering whether it really was such a great idea. Eventually, we shuffled uncomfortably over a very lumpy entrance to what passed for a parking area at the top of the cliffs, and squeezed in next to a series of far more rugged looking vehicles. There was a path down to the sea, where two kamikaze windsurfers were trying their best to shred their boards and bodies into untidy ribbons, racing towards the rocks at the shore before changing course at the last moment. Maybe I could try photographing the water coming in over those rocks? Or maybe I should have pulled up at the other end of this long beach - the end that offered rather more possibilities than here; the end where I had unfinished business from last year. Twelve months earlier I’d taken what I thought was a lovely glowing long exposure of an uncovered rock, only to find the raw image was about as sharp as a swimming pool full of candy floss. The submarine shaped rock in the sand looked as if the captain had just received instructions to intercept the stranger on the shore just as I hit the shutter. Maybe a wave had come in and nudged the tripod at the moment of truth. Maybe it was a simple case of user incompetence. It wouldn’t be the first time. We’ll come back to that image - writing this tale has reminded me of a tool that wasn’t in the armoury until recently.
The only thing was, the light didn’t look like it was going to play ball today, so whatever this was going to be, it wasn’t going to be a repeat performance. Even so, we crept over boulders and back along the dirt road to the headland at the edge of town, where Ali pulled out her kindle and I headed off towards the beach with the camera. In the absence of a warm glow on the horizon, maybe a moody flow on the foreground would fill the void. I wandered along the clifftop towards the beach, passing the usual array of ancient motorhomes from various corners of Europe, certain that at least one of them hadn’t budged an inch since our visit here last year. Down by the water, I felt at least that I was in familiar territory. Chasing receding streaks of white foam back down towards the sea isn’t exactly a leap from what I’m often playing at ten miles down the road from home, and for once, I stopped as soon as I knew I had a shot in the bag and moved onto something else.
“That looks just like the cappuccino I’m having,” was the response from one of my clearly not too occupied correspondents as she viewed the image over her morning coffee. By now, I was missing cappuccino - I’d moved onto black coffee for the duration of the holiday for practical reasons - so it wasn’t at all difficult to see it for myself. I’ve got one of those milk frothing gizmos at home now, and after years of trying, I’ve finally got my home brews just how I like them, chocolate sprinkles et al. Although I don’t usually take mine on the rocks; not unless it’s summer, and today didn’t feel like summer at all.
It wasn’t the end of the rain, although this was as gloomy as it got during our stay. Most sunset hours at the coast would be spent trying to balance out vicious dynamic ranges, and this was perhaps the only time before sunset that the histogram didn’t have a tantrum on the back of the camera. If I said I’d taken this at home in Cornwall, nobody would have batted an eyelid. But while it was reassuring to shoot a moody dark sky, we were here for warm afternoons on the beach. So thank goodness the sun was shining the next morning.