Six Drop
What I hadn’t realised yet, was quite how much of a headache this was going to turn out to be. Earlier, on the cobbled beach at Cala Barril, I’d experienced one of those moments when everything slows down yet speeds up at the same time. Twice, three times I thought I’d caught it as gravity took its toll and my prized, loved, most often used of the lot of them six stop filter headed towards its fate. And what’s so flipping annoying is that there’s only the tiniest mark on the filter. Really, it’s quite infinitesimal when I look at it. Hard to believe that those two unsightly blotches that look like raindrops have hit the front element can come from such a miniscule blemish. All of this at the very first scene on the very first day of shooting. Folder number one of many to come on this adventure. And of course it was one of those nice magnetic filters that didn’t come out of a Christmas cracker or the bargain shelf on Amazon or eBay. Replacing it was going to be a tedious and expensive exercise. It was still just about usable in the right lighting conditions, but the removal tool was going to be busy in the rare instances in which it came into play.
We’d come to the north coast a couple of days after arriving on the island, once the standard period of settling in on the local beach at our resort under a warm October sun had been observed. It wasn’t a long drive - nowhere really is in Menorca - along the main road to the inland town of Es Mercedal, from where we headed towards the sea on a quiet narrow road flanked by low rounded hills and small pine forests. A long bumpy track led us to a rough parking area where just a handful of cars had been left waiting for their owners to return. Over here, away from the tourist havens of the south, the landscape was wild and untamed, and the tail end of a storm that had crossed the mainland was whipping up a sea that I’m more used to seeing on wintry days at home. It’s an island of contrasts, and if you’re prepared to put in the shoe leather you’ll find some splendid isolation on this sparsely populated northern expanse of empty beaches on a windswept afternoon.
From the car park we walked towards the west, following the long distance trail, the Cami de Cavalls that traces the circumference of the island, slowly making our way towards Cala Pregonda and its unmistakable sea stack that protruded from the shallows like a huge sharkfin. We’d stop here on the way back, but for now we’d keep on walking towards a place where I’d hoped to find another sea stack I’d spotted in the magazine that had been left in our apartment. It turned out that the location tag it had been given, Cala Barril, was a red herring. Half an hour later we stood on the empty stony beach watching the waves race in. An average day for one of my local haunts at home, but a feisty one for this gentle sun kissed Balearic haven. There was no sign of the rocks I’d been led to believe were here (we’ll come to those in another tale of modest disappointment), but this large wall of sandstone, a couple of hundred metres out to sea looked pretty good as the sun pierced its way through a gap in the sky and lit it up against the greens and blues that surrounded it. It’s just a shame that after this episode, my filter choices became a bit more limited and I spent most of the rest of the trip improvising with a three stop and a beaten up polariser that I really should have replaced some time ago.
Despite the irritation caused by damaging the filter that goes everywhere with me, one thing was already abundantly clear. This isn’t a place that’s immediately synonymous with dramatic landscapes such as Iceland, the Faroes, Lofoten or Madeira. But there are images waiting to be found all over the island by those who look for them. Sea stacks, abandoned beaches, quiet coastal inlets, a sea arch, olive groves and huge inland caves. Even a wetland reserve. And lighthouses of course. If you’re in the right place at sunset, the Tramuntana mountains of Majorca come into play too. Above anything else, this island made me wonder about all the other places that go under the tog’s radar. I didn’t come to Menorca expecting a landscape photographer’s paradise. We were here for a holiday - three weeks in the warm sunshine as the mercury began to drop at home. But it’s pretty good you know. You could easily come here on a photography trip if you don’t mind a bit of a walk now and again. And if you bring some spare filters for when one of them makes a sudden bid for freedom on a stony beach.
Six Drop
What I hadn’t realised yet, was quite how much of a headache this was going to turn out to be. Earlier, on the cobbled beach at Cala Barril, I’d experienced one of those moments when everything slows down yet speeds up at the same time. Twice, three times I thought I’d caught it as gravity took its toll and my prized, loved, most often used of the lot of them six stop filter headed towards its fate. And what’s so flipping annoying is that there’s only the tiniest mark on the filter. Really, it’s quite infinitesimal when I look at it. Hard to believe that those two unsightly blotches that look like raindrops have hit the front element can come from such a miniscule blemish. All of this at the very first scene on the very first day of shooting. Folder number one of many to come on this adventure. And of course it was one of those nice magnetic filters that didn’t come out of a Christmas cracker or the bargain shelf on Amazon or eBay. Replacing it was going to be a tedious and expensive exercise. It was still just about usable in the right lighting conditions, but the removal tool was going to be busy in the rare instances in which it came into play.
We’d come to the north coast a couple of days after arriving on the island, once the standard period of settling in on the local beach at our resort under a warm October sun had been observed. It wasn’t a long drive - nowhere really is in Menorca - along the main road to the inland town of Es Mercedal, from where we headed towards the sea on a quiet narrow road flanked by low rounded hills and small pine forests. A long bumpy track led us to a rough parking area where just a handful of cars had been left waiting for their owners to return. Over here, away from the tourist havens of the south, the landscape was wild and untamed, and the tail end of a storm that had crossed the mainland was whipping up a sea that I’m more used to seeing on wintry days at home. It’s an island of contrasts, and if you’re prepared to put in the shoe leather you’ll find some splendid isolation on this sparsely populated northern expanse of empty beaches on a windswept afternoon.
From the car park we walked towards the west, following the long distance trail, the Cami de Cavalls that traces the circumference of the island, slowly making our way towards Cala Pregonda and its unmistakable sea stack that protruded from the shallows like a huge sharkfin. We’d stop here on the way back, but for now we’d keep on walking towards a place where I’d hoped to find another sea stack I’d spotted in the magazine that had been left in our apartment. It turned out that the location tag it had been given, Cala Barril, was a red herring. Half an hour later we stood on the empty stony beach watching the waves race in. An average day for one of my local haunts at home, but a feisty one for this gentle sun kissed Balearic haven. There was no sign of the rocks I’d been led to believe were here (we’ll come to those in another tale of modest disappointment), but this large wall of sandstone, a couple of hundred metres out to sea looked pretty good as the sun pierced its way through a gap in the sky and lit it up against the greens and blues that surrounded it. It’s just a shame that after this episode, my filter choices became a bit more limited and I spent most of the rest of the trip improvising with a three stop and a beaten up polariser that I really should have replaced some time ago.
Despite the irritation caused by damaging the filter that goes everywhere with me, one thing was already abundantly clear. This isn’t a place that’s immediately synonymous with dramatic landscapes such as Iceland, the Faroes, Lofoten or Madeira. But there are images waiting to be found all over the island by those who look for them. Sea stacks, abandoned beaches, quiet coastal inlets, a sea arch, olive groves and huge inland caves. Even a wetland reserve. And lighthouses of course. If you’re in the right place at sunset, the Tramuntana mountains of Majorca come into play too. Above anything else, this island made me wonder about all the other places that go under the tog’s radar. I didn’t come to Menorca expecting a landscape photographer’s paradise. We were here for a holiday - three weeks in the warm sunshine as the mercury began to drop at home. But it’s pretty good you know. You could easily come here on a photography trip if you don’t mind a bit of a walk now and again. And if you bring some spare filters for when one of them makes a sudden bid for freedom on a stony beach.