It Must be January!
I should start by saying I don’t come to this side that often. There’s that horrible winding road from Redruth to Helston, and that’s before the last section down to and beyond the village of Gunwalloe. Why can you always be sure you’re going to meet a tractor flailing its appendages about like a Tyrannosaurus Rex in an irritable mood and towing an enormous trailer full of winter beet on a blind bend just where the lines in the middle of the road disappear? Why put yourself through all of this when your beloved north coast is three miles away from the end of the drive?
Of course I should have waited a few more days. I nearly cheated and altered course for Gwithian as usual, but the voice inside my head told me to persevere as I followed the signs for that wearisome drag down to Helston. It might have been Thursday, and the bank holidays might have all now passed, but the schools were still out and so were quite a lot of people. Not that they were at the beach when I arrived - no, they were busy clogging up the road, queuing in the opposite direction as I crept the last handful of miles down to the village, past the Halzephron Inn and finally towards the National Trust car park. The van barely made it out of third gear once I’d left the main road.
My archive tells me this was only the fourth time I’d ever been to Dollar Cove with the camera. Which came as no surprise. Neither did the fact that every other visit had been during the first two weeks of January. In fact when I look at my past exploits in this part of Cornwall, pickings are pretty slim; decent images almost non-existent. One solitary outing at Mullion; one at Kennack Sands, and another at Lizard Point. Even the hotspots of Kynance Cove and Porthleven share no more than half a dozen episodes between them. Don’t ask about my old home town of Falmouth. I may have grown up and raised my own family there, but as far as photography goes, we’re total strangers. I’ve never come close to getting a shot that didn’t look like one of the bland blue postcards outside the tourist shops on Church Street. Of course, living where I do, the drama laden north coast is going to be the obvious choice, but I really do need to head in this direction a bit more often because all of these places deserve some love. I was convinced that I hadn’t ever taken a decent shot here at Dollar Cove before too. But in fact I surprised myself by finding an image from seven years ago that I really liked a lot. It’s just a shame I wasn’t yet in the habit of keeping my raw files, because the edit is dismally dark and does the moment no justice whatsoever. I could have had another go at that composition this time around if only I’d been paying attention as I studied the tide times. Low tide, not high tide was at 1pm, so when I expected it to be going out, it was coming back in and fast, sloshing energetically around my wellies and the base of my tripod. I suppose the careless oversight tells a tale in itself. I’ve never made that mistake at Godrevy.
The reason I regard this, and most of the other spots around the south coast as winter locations is of course because of where the sun sets. And it helps that this beach is west facing. It seemed that a number of other photographers agreed. There were four or five of us getting in each other’s way. At one point I became aware of a presence standing just behind me. A dog had just charged into the sea and I assumed this was the owner. But I was wrong. “That’s a nice looking composition,” said a voice. I was pointing the camera at a group of rocks as the waves broke over them. “Can I take a look?” Before I knew it she was examining my camera. “What have you got? I’ve got an R5!” Sometimes I feel as if I’m being left behind with my antediluvian set up, you know. While so many others have been arming themselves with mirrorless gear, my two additions to the vault over the last twelve months have been extremely modest, purchased second hand for lightweight travel adventures and moving backwards in time rather than making any technological advances. I’ll just have to manage until I find a spare few thousand down the back of the sofa. As you do. Her husband smiled quietly. His job was to carry her gear. She moved further down the beach and started shaking her camera at the sea. ICM; it’s the new garlic bread.
By now I had moved from the right hand side of the beach, almost completely to the opposite end, changing lenses to close in on the subject. A long super highway of clouds floated towards Gunwalloe from the direction of Loe Bar, softly colouring the sky with pastels as I tried to catch the bigger waves smashing over the group of rocks in the frame. Stupidly I’d left the remote cable in the other bag, and with the light falling I could see that most of my images were blurred. There was nothing for it but to use the two second delay and hope my timing wasn’t off.
If nothing else, I now feel as if I understand what works here. Or at least what works for me. Forget the wider view, stick on a long lens, point your camera at the rocks and wait for a wave. I might try again soon. Once I’ve summoned up the courage for another battle with tractors on blind bends that is. You never know, I may even try coming in February, just for the sheer hell of it.
For now, I’m going to leave you all to enjoy January and wish you happy adventures. I’m not at all sure whether I’ll be able to hop onto the Wifi where we’re headed, but if I’m able, I’ll tune in now and again to see what you’ve been up to. Back soon!
It Must be January!
I should start by saying I don’t come to this side that often. There’s that horrible winding road from Redruth to Helston, and that’s before the last section down to and beyond the village of Gunwalloe. Why can you always be sure you’re going to meet a tractor flailing its appendages about like a Tyrannosaurus Rex in an irritable mood and towing an enormous trailer full of winter beet on a blind bend just where the lines in the middle of the road disappear? Why put yourself through all of this when your beloved north coast is three miles away from the end of the drive?
Of course I should have waited a few more days. I nearly cheated and altered course for Gwithian as usual, but the voice inside my head told me to persevere as I followed the signs for that wearisome drag down to Helston. It might have been Thursday, and the bank holidays might have all now passed, but the schools were still out and so were quite a lot of people. Not that they were at the beach when I arrived - no, they were busy clogging up the road, queuing in the opposite direction as I crept the last handful of miles down to the village, past the Halzephron Inn and finally towards the National Trust car park. The van barely made it out of third gear once I’d left the main road.
My archive tells me this was only the fourth time I’d ever been to Dollar Cove with the camera. Which came as no surprise. Neither did the fact that every other visit had been during the first two weeks of January. In fact when I look at my past exploits in this part of Cornwall, pickings are pretty slim; decent images almost non-existent. One solitary outing at Mullion; one at Kennack Sands, and another at Lizard Point. Even the hotspots of Kynance Cove and Porthleven share no more than half a dozen episodes between them. Don’t ask about my old home town of Falmouth. I may have grown up and raised my own family there, but as far as photography goes, we’re total strangers. I’ve never come close to getting a shot that didn’t look like one of the bland blue postcards outside the tourist shops on Church Street. Of course, living where I do, the drama laden north coast is going to be the obvious choice, but I really do need to head in this direction a bit more often because all of these places deserve some love. I was convinced that I hadn’t ever taken a decent shot here at Dollar Cove before too. But in fact I surprised myself by finding an image from seven years ago that I really liked a lot. It’s just a shame I wasn’t yet in the habit of keeping my raw files, because the edit is dismally dark and does the moment no justice whatsoever. I could have had another go at that composition this time around if only I’d been paying attention as I studied the tide times. Low tide, not high tide was at 1pm, so when I expected it to be going out, it was coming back in and fast, sloshing energetically around my wellies and the base of my tripod. I suppose the careless oversight tells a tale in itself. I’ve never made that mistake at Godrevy.
The reason I regard this, and most of the other spots around the south coast as winter locations is of course because of where the sun sets. And it helps that this beach is west facing. It seemed that a number of other photographers agreed. There were four or five of us getting in each other’s way. At one point I became aware of a presence standing just behind me. A dog had just charged into the sea and I assumed this was the owner. But I was wrong. “That’s a nice looking composition,” said a voice. I was pointing the camera at a group of rocks as the waves broke over them. “Can I take a look?” Before I knew it she was examining my camera. “What have you got? I’ve got an R5!” Sometimes I feel as if I’m being left behind with my antediluvian set up, you know. While so many others have been arming themselves with mirrorless gear, my two additions to the vault over the last twelve months have been extremely modest, purchased second hand for lightweight travel adventures and moving backwards in time rather than making any technological advances. I’ll just have to manage until I find a spare few thousand down the back of the sofa. As you do. Her husband smiled quietly. His job was to carry her gear. She moved further down the beach and started shaking her camera at the sea. ICM; it’s the new garlic bread.
By now I had moved from the right hand side of the beach, almost completely to the opposite end, changing lenses to close in on the subject. A long super highway of clouds floated towards Gunwalloe from the direction of Loe Bar, softly colouring the sky with pastels as I tried to catch the bigger waves smashing over the group of rocks in the frame. Stupidly I’d left the remote cable in the other bag, and with the light falling I could see that most of my images were blurred. There was nothing for it but to use the two second delay and hope my timing wasn’t off.
If nothing else, I now feel as if I understand what works here. Or at least what works for me. Forget the wider view, stick on a long lens, point your camera at the rocks and wait for a wave. I might try again soon. Once I’ve summoned up the courage for another battle with tractors on blind bends that is. You never know, I may even try coming in February, just for the sheer hell of it.
For now, I’m going to leave you all to enjoy January and wish you happy adventures. I’m not at all sure whether I’ll be able to hop onto the Wifi where we’re headed, but if I’m able, I’ll tune in now and again to see what you’ve been up to. Back soon!