Washed Away
“At this rate we’ll probably all get washed away before summer.” Neil’s gloomy assessment as we drove home from Wednesday evening’s five a side session through the rainy streets didn’t seem such a wild exaggeration. By now I’d been back from Fuerteventura for three weeks, and as far as I could recall, only one day had passed when the heavens hadn’t opened for business. Even though we play indoors, my football boots were feeling distinctly damp, just from navigating the puddles along the path from the leisure centre entrance to the car park. At home, the garden looks like a marshland, and the front of the house is surrounded by a moat. Useful if we get besieged by politicians once the election is called I suppose, but other than that it’s really getting a bit much now. More rain forecast for tomorrow, and another named storm as well - even though we're on the other side of Easter now. I keep expecting to find ducks living on the side of what used to be the lawn. Will it ever be dry again, I wonder? Just let South West Water try and bring in another hosepipe ban this summer and see the natives revolting. Or the revolting natives.
At least I made something of that one dry afternoon - heading for the usual spot for the first time in over a month. The van was in need of an outing, and I fancied brewing a cup of tea and sitting down to watch the sea through the opened side door. Sometimes I just like to watch and listen, with a book close at hand, and hopefully some chocolate biscuits hidden in a drawer that haven’t gone over their sell by date. I had a stack of images from my holiday to keep me occupied, and I wasn’t particularly bothered about adding to the archive today. It was only as I made ready with the tea bags, milk and water that I remembered what happens when I don’t take the camera - I’ve still not forgotten the blood red sunset at Porthtowan the previous winter when the bag had been deliberately left at home. Into the overhead cab it went, although I had no real intention of using it. I hadn’t even looked at the tide times, nor had I consulted the weather forecast other than to confirm that it looked as if I’d be staying dry for a change. I’d also failed to check on the battery in the camera - hopefully the spare in the bag was fully charged.
It was high tide in the middle of the afternoon when I flipped over the switch to the reassuring hiss of butane filling the copper pipe that feeds the hob. As the kettle steamed its way to a whistling crescendo, I looked out at a grey sky, thought to myself “black and white,” and promptly settled down with my book. It was only three o’ clock, and there was plenty of time to take a stroll over the dunes and perhaps take some photographs. And then it struck me that I’d taken a couple of sighters on my phone towards the end of last summer before dumping them into a folder called “compositions” for another time. Both of them were taken on a nearly full tide from the rocks below where I was now parked. Perhaps this was the time to give them a try. After my tea, I sauntered down to the beach.
Half an hour later I was back at the van, boiling the kettle again. I’d taken a few shots to keep myself amused, but the spot I needed to get to was out of reach for the time being - at least it was if I didn’t want to wade through two feet of water sloshing through the gulley that separates this group of rocks from the beach when the tide is full. No matter though - I’d go back, have another cuppa, read another chapter and head back down a bit later. Not having to rush anymore is such a simple joy these days. Sometimes you have to stop and remind yourself of these easy wins in life.
And so here I was - looking along a crack in the rocks that I must have passed hundreds of times before and never noticed until last September. The cloud had lifted to reveal a pastel blue sky to offset the orange in the rocks, while the sea rushed in and out of the space below. Little did I know that we’d have two weeks and counting of pouring rain to follow, so it was probably a good job I did grab the camera before setting off towards the ocean that day.
Washed Away
“At this rate we’ll probably all get washed away before summer.” Neil’s gloomy assessment as we drove home from Wednesday evening’s five a side session through the rainy streets didn’t seem such a wild exaggeration. By now I’d been back from Fuerteventura for three weeks, and as far as I could recall, only one day had passed when the heavens hadn’t opened for business. Even though we play indoors, my football boots were feeling distinctly damp, just from navigating the puddles along the path from the leisure centre entrance to the car park. At home, the garden looks like a marshland, and the front of the house is surrounded by a moat. Useful if we get besieged by politicians once the election is called I suppose, but other than that it’s really getting a bit much now. More rain forecast for tomorrow, and another named storm as well - even though we're on the other side of Easter now. I keep expecting to find ducks living on the side of what used to be the lawn. Will it ever be dry again, I wonder? Just let South West Water try and bring in another hosepipe ban this summer and see the natives revolting. Or the revolting natives.
At least I made something of that one dry afternoon - heading for the usual spot for the first time in over a month. The van was in need of an outing, and I fancied brewing a cup of tea and sitting down to watch the sea through the opened side door. Sometimes I just like to watch and listen, with a book close at hand, and hopefully some chocolate biscuits hidden in a drawer that haven’t gone over their sell by date. I had a stack of images from my holiday to keep me occupied, and I wasn’t particularly bothered about adding to the archive today. It was only as I made ready with the tea bags, milk and water that I remembered what happens when I don’t take the camera - I’ve still not forgotten the blood red sunset at Porthtowan the previous winter when the bag had been deliberately left at home. Into the overhead cab it went, although I had no real intention of using it. I hadn’t even looked at the tide times, nor had I consulted the weather forecast other than to confirm that it looked as if I’d be staying dry for a change. I’d also failed to check on the battery in the camera - hopefully the spare in the bag was fully charged.
It was high tide in the middle of the afternoon when I flipped over the switch to the reassuring hiss of butane filling the copper pipe that feeds the hob. As the kettle steamed its way to a whistling crescendo, I looked out at a grey sky, thought to myself “black and white,” and promptly settled down with my book. It was only three o’ clock, and there was plenty of time to take a stroll over the dunes and perhaps take some photographs. And then it struck me that I’d taken a couple of sighters on my phone towards the end of last summer before dumping them into a folder called “compositions” for another time. Both of them were taken on a nearly full tide from the rocks below where I was now parked. Perhaps this was the time to give them a try. After my tea, I sauntered down to the beach.
Half an hour later I was back at the van, boiling the kettle again. I’d taken a few shots to keep myself amused, but the spot I needed to get to was out of reach for the time being - at least it was if I didn’t want to wade through two feet of water sloshing through the gulley that separates this group of rocks from the beach when the tide is full. No matter though - I’d go back, have another cuppa, read another chapter and head back down a bit later. Not having to rush anymore is such a simple joy these days. Sometimes you have to stop and remind yourself of these easy wins in life.
And so here I was - looking along a crack in the rocks that I must have passed hundreds of times before and never noticed until last September. The cloud had lifted to reveal a pastel blue sky to offset the orange in the rocks, while the sea rushed in and out of the space below. Little did I know that we’d have two weeks and counting of pouring rain to follow, so it was probably a good job I did grab the camera before setting off towards the ocean that day.