Bilberries for Breakfast
You know instinctively that some moments are going to stay with you. When it’s the very first morning in a new country it’s probably going to help to keep the time you spent in the sunrise hour in your mind, standing on top of a big lump on the landscape, watching sheets of rain chasing north along the water and over the islands in a softly lit wash of the new day. I’d been dragged here at a far earlier hour than I’m used to, leaving the house at five to drive to the foot of the lofty Havstensklippan. A twenty-five minute uphill stomp with head torches on, dodging treacherous tree roots and wondering why I was wearing jeans instead of walking trousers as we shuffled over a hefty rock on our derrieres. The freshly laundered jeans were supposed to remain untainted so that on the long journey home by air and rail, I might have half a chance of looking and smelling reasonably acceptable. Not much chance of that now, with a spattering of mud on the backside of them.
Onwards, upwards and up to the top where the trees gave way to a glorious easterly panorama. There was no denying that this was a well chosen spot for a sunrise shoot. Across the water, perhaps three of four miles away, the handsome Uddevalla Bridge that we’d crossed to get here stood before a faint orange glow, a hint of what might come as long as clouds didn’t conspire on the horizon. Forty-five minutes before sunrise and time for a slug of life affirming coffee. Thanks to Steve’s son AJ, there was some coffee in the house. It seems he’s the only member of the family who drinks it. I made a note to get some later for the adventures in Norway, and began to plan a composition. Heather in bloom right in front of me and a southerly view straight along the sound. Somewhere down there was Steve’s home. The short drive here had taken us along an anticlockwise semicircle and the map shows me that we were no more than five or six miles from base - by boat that is. My host had found his own patch of heather and began setting up his tripod. “Am I in your shot?” he asked. “No you’re fine, but would you mind just moving your bag to the right a bit please?” Such is the way when you’re not alone. I rattled off a couple of test shots, and then noticed a bigger patch of heather to my right. With a group of three pines in the frame, it had potential. I changed position and continued to wait.
And then things started happening. The sun came up and sent its beams across the water. A squall blew northwards and a rainbow illuminated the heather to the west. I abandoned my compositions and chased all over the headland, catching the golden light as the sun rose beside the bridge, and then barging in on Steve’s one man party to capture the rainbow. Then jumping back to my original position to photograph the rainstorm coming straight towards us, painting everything with gold as it whipped across the water below us. We hid beneath a huge golf umbrella as the shower passed over our heads. The rocks before us were quickly filled with small puddles of reflected light. Worth getting soaked for everytime. At least the jeans had a wash of sorts.
On the way down we approached that big rock from the right hand side this time, clambering around its flank. And what was this? Blueberries? Like in the supermarkets at home, but just growing here? Well, bilberries actually, although I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in a taste test. Breakfast was served and I helped myself to the landscape one last time this morning. From here we returned home via the supermarket. Steve had been given an order for croissants and various accompaniments. We were back home by half past eight, where breakfast of a different kind was placed on the table in front of me. And more coffee. Sherlock the spaniel rested his head on my thigh, only to leave a big trail of slobber on the sorry jeans as a welcome present when it was time to go walkies. It was heartwarming to be accepted by the family menagerie like this, but in just over a week from now, the journey back to Cornwall was going to be a delight for whomever had the misfortune to be sitting next to me.
Bilberries for Breakfast
You know instinctively that some moments are going to stay with you. When it’s the very first morning in a new country it’s probably going to help to keep the time you spent in the sunrise hour in your mind, standing on top of a big lump on the landscape, watching sheets of rain chasing north along the water and over the islands in a softly lit wash of the new day. I’d been dragged here at a far earlier hour than I’m used to, leaving the house at five to drive to the foot of the lofty Havstensklippan. A twenty-five minute uphill stomp with head torches on, dodging treacherous tree roots and wondering why I was wearing jeans instead of walking trousers as we shuffled over a hefty rock on our derrieres. The freshly laundered jeans were supposed to remain untainted so that on the long journey home by air and rail, I might have half a chance of looking and smelling reasonably acceptable. Not much chance of that now, with a spattering of mud on the backside of them.
Onwards, upwards and up to the top where the trees gave way to a glorious easterly panorama. There was no denying that this was a well chosen spot for a sunrise shoot. Across the water, perhaps three of four miles away, the handsome Uddevalla Bridge that we’d crossed to get here stood before a faint orange glow, a hint of what might come as long as clouds didn’t conspire on the horizon. Forty-five minutes before sunrise and time for a slug of life affirming coffee. Thanks to Steve’s son AJ, there was some coffee in the house. It seems he’s the only member of the family who drinks it. I made a note to get some later for the adventures in Norway, and began to plan a composition. Heather in bloom right in front of me and a southerly view straight along the sound. Somewhere down there was Steve’s home. The short drive here had taken us along an anticlockwise semicircle and the map shows me that we were no more than five or six miles from base - by boat that is. My host had found his own patch of heather and began setting up his tripod. “Am I in your shot?” he asked. “No you’re fine, but would you mind just moving your bag to the right a bit please?” Such is the way when you’re not alone. I rattled off a couple of test shots, and then noticed a bigger patch of heather to my right. With a group of three pines in the frame, it had potential. I changed position and continued to wait.
And then things started happening. The sun came up and sent its beams across the water. A squall blew northwards and a rainbow illuminated the heather to the west. I abandoned my compositions and chased all over the headland, catching the golden light as the sun rose beside the bridge, and then barging in on Steve’s one man party to capture the rainbow. Then jumping back to my original position to photograph the rainstorm coming straight towards us, painting everything with gold as it whipped across the water below us. We hid beneath a huge golf umbrella as the shower passed over our heads. The rocks before us were quickly filled with small puddles of reflected light. Worth getting soaked for everytime. At least the jeans had a wash of sorts.
On the way down we approached that big rock from the right hand side this time, clambering around its flank. And what was this? Blueberries? Like in the supermarkets at home, but just growing here? Well, bilberries actually, although I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in a taste test. Breakfast was served and I helped myself to the landscape one last time this morning. From here we returned home via the supermarket. Steve had been given an order for croissants and various accompaniments. We were back home by half past eight, where breakfast of a different kind was placed on the table in front of me. And more coffee. Sherlock the spaniel rested his head on my thigh, only to leave a big trail of slobber on the sorry jeans as a welcome present when it was time to go walkies. It was heartwarming to be accepted by the family menagerie like this, but in just over a week from now, the journey back to Cornwall was going to be a delight for whomever had the misfortune to be sitting next to me.