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Despite having more than thirty years in the dark world of accountancy behind me, making stuff up doesn't come naturally. There are those who say I'm far too honest for the profession I chose, but sometimes it's so easy to tell a lie - even for me. For example, this photograph is a complete work of fiction.
No I haven't dropped in a fake sky - even if I knew how to, that wouldn't interest me at all - besides which I'd have gone for a bright pink one with a rolling thunderhead chasing over the bay behind Carter's Rocks. Ok yes I've done a focus stack and used a long exposure on the background and a fast one on the dunes - don't inspect the join too closely by the way or it'll probably spoil it for us both - but that's not what I'm referring to either.
The reason this image isn't telling the whole truth is that the apparent sense of tranquility overlooks the fact that the beach and the dunes were packed with visitors. I'll confess it was an unusually pleasant afternoon for the time of the year, but it may as well have been high summer for the number of people wandering int and out of my compositions. I know they have just as much right to be here as I do. I suppose that's what the pandemic has done -more people are heading out into the open spaces because Primark isn't open. The fresh air and scenery is going to make a huge difference to their health and wellbeing. It's just that I'm used to coming here when I don't have to queue to cross the narrow wooden bridge over the river that flows along the back of the dunes.
I had to reverse past a dozen VW campers twice to let other cars along the road before I could even get into the car park, which in itself was as full as I've ever seen it. This was the last Sunday in November - the time of the year in Britain when autumn finally slips away into winter. Normally on a late November weekend there might be just ten or twelve cars in a car park designed for hundreds of them as I arrive in time for a sunset shoot, and at that point at least half of them appear to be on the verge of going home. It's the reason why I don't even try to come here in the middle of the summer. I'm quite happy to go elsewhere and let our summer visitors enjoy the place without me staring gloomily at them from behind a tripod.
Still; what a lovely afternoon it was. Later on the sky turned to a glowing pink, vivid reflections bouncing off the wet sand as high tide coincided with sunset. I might share another photo of those moments if I can only decide which one to use. Wonderful light and running seas inevitably mean there are at least a hundred images to sift through by the time I download them onto my computer.
An hour earlier things seemed less certain, the sun rapidly dipping below the Penhale headland to the west with the shadows racing across the dunes towards us. Not long after I'd taken my shots on this spot the foreground grasses had faded to near darkness. I've always shot at low tide here before - it's a fantastic location when the beach is huge and empty - but in the knowledge that the shoreline would be much closer to the dunes for this visit, I'd had the composition you see before you in mind all morning.
As I descended the dunes to the water's edge for the second part of the session, I happened upon a fellow photographer who'd perched his tripod above the scene in the hopes that something was going to happen. I confessed that I thought the best light was probably already behind us, only to be proved wrong yet again by the display that was to follow in the next hour. But that's another story.
Now that Primark is open again, what's going to be really interesting is to see how busy our beauty spots are this weekend. I'll keep you posted........
"you don't belong here" is all I remember them saying. We didn't stay long. I'd like to thank my buddy Craig for allowing me to use his prime for this shot.
In the woods, an old defence line from the 17th century meanders through the hills and valleys next to my home place in southwestern Germany. This Eppinger lines reached from Weißenstein (Pforzheim) over Sternenfels, Eppingen, right to Neckargmünd with a total length of 86 kilometers. This construction was built during the War of the Palatinate Succession (pfälzischer Erbfolgekrieg) in which the French King Louis XIV (called the Sun King) claimed the heritage of Elisabeth Charlotte, Princess of the Palatinate. Today, a nice hiking trail follows the line and reconstructed lookout towers can be visited.
April 2020 | Niefern-Öschelbronn
© Max Angelsburger Photography
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Music recommendation: Space Ambient Mix 21 - Planetary Suite, Silent Cosmos by Sonus Lab | www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSBDVY0i0xw
Lacnau September 2017 No.06
Just back from my holiday in France near Bordeaux. What a lovely place to relax :-)
Fuji X-T2 with XF 56mm
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The Golden Temple, located in the city of Amritsar in the state of Punjab,is a place of great beauty and sublime peacefulness.
Those of you who are kind enough to follow my exploits on a regular basis may remember a tale of near disaster at St Agnes Head in April last year. On that evening events conspired to very nearly lose me an expensive wide angle lens over an Atlantic clifftop when my camera bag decided upon a little adventure of its own and raced off down a steep slope towards oblivion without warning. You can read the story in these pages. I can't, because it still gives me occasional sleepless nights, but suffice to say the lens stopped short of the point of disaster and survived to face another day. In fact I'd only recently decided to purchase it as part of a plan to upgrade to a full frame setup before heading to Iceland three months later.
I knew from YouTube research and the tales of one Mads Peter Iversen, a rather wonderful landscape photographer from Denmark whom I follow almost religiously, that there was a secret beach where you could escape the chaos of Reynisfjara. When you arrive here, you might just find a place to park among the coaches that have disgorged their passengers onto the beach in huge numbers. Iceland may be huge and empty, but there are pockets where you may as well be in Morrisons when the pies have just been reduced to half price. Reynisfjara is one of those pockets, visitors inevitably drawn to its beauty and into our compositions on day trips from Reykjavik.
The secret beach is really only secret because it's camouflaged by a cluster of large rocks to the eastern end of Reynisfjara. It's not always accessible, so you need to pick your moment and keep a close eye on the tide and conditions, but if you can find it, you might just have it to yourself. We did. The first thing you find is that it's a surprisingly tricky place to shoot the Reynisdrangar sea stacks from. The cluster of smaller rocks in the foreground are a challenge to keep contained within the frame and avoid any edge patrol issues. Setting up takes up planning and concentration and can leave a middle aged man who struggles with multitasking vulnerable, something I soon learned to my cost. As I turned my back to fetch the lens cloth from my bag, the tripod succumbed to the shifting shingle under the weight of a heavy Canon DSLR and wide angle lens and toppled over. It was one of those moments that happens in an almost dreamlike manner, the ensemble falling in what seems like slow motion, but the only thing moving even more ponderously is one's own reaction.
Fortunately, (if that's the word for it) all that was damaged was my beloved and much used six stop filter, which shattered and buckled under the fall and wedded itself almost permanently to the thread of the lens. That was bad enough but at least the the lens was still functioning. At least it was until a month later, when 2000 miles further south in Majorca I stood on a very green slipway to photograph a white fishing boat on clear water. But instead of pressing the shutter I described a pirouette which isn't going to earn me a place in "Strictly Come Dancing" any time soon and landed on my elbow, before sliding helplessly on my back towards 4 feet of seawater. Luckily once more I stopped before landing in the water, staring in dazed confusion at a camera that had taken a bump on the concrete as I went down, while a woman shrieked from a balcony above that I was injured. I hadn't noticed. Two Majorcan fishermen nearby interrupted their peaceful lunch and patched up the elbow that was bleeding away as if I'd severed a major artery, yet all I worried about was whether the camera was intact. It's not like I haven't lived by the sea my entire life after all. There's a reason why a slipway is so called, yet lost in the moment I appeared to have forgotten that.
Three calamities all with the same lens. I wonder sometimes whether it's cursed. It used to auto focus almost instantly, whereas now it takes several days, if at all. I really should send it off to be repaired. There won't be a third photograph in this series. The white boat image never really justified the means in the first place if I'm honest.
Happy Friday all.
Rented jeeps from Rocky Mountain Jeep Rentals in Salida, CO and explored the mountains. Taken with an iPhone 15 Pro Max.
A lone rhino stands in the arid Namibian landscape, a symbol of resilience and strength. As one of Africa’s most endangered giants, this magnificent creature roams the desert, embodying the beauty and fragility of the wild.
Moremi | Botswana
Always nice to see any of these birds. There are less and less and they are listed globally as ‘Vulnerable’.
If you want to help, try consider to share your sightings at ground-hornbill.org.za/
I almost missed it. Too long lingering up on top of the cliffs at Carn Gloose for a composition that was never going to work ended in a mad dash to get to the position I'd intended to be in when the light was doing what I'd hoped it would. Five minutes later and I might have been waiting until the spring before having another crack at it.
I've noticed that one or two of the YouTube photographers I follow were taking snaps on their phones of compositions they'd spotted and making a note to return when the conditions would complete the image. After all, timing is everything. I'd spotted this view as I'd returned to my car on an earlier visit at the end of May to shoot another nearby cottage that I still haven't shared here - although there's a story to that one so I'll get around to it if I could stop producing new material for five minutes.
Dutifully I followed the advice of my influencers and popped a snapshot into a folder entitled "compositions" on my phone before checking the Photo Pills app to find out when the sun would be setting between the cottage and the Brisons. Late September - so either 19 or 26 September to be precise as there's not quite enough time to get here after work as the nights close in. On 19 September there was no sunset to speak of, added to which the place was being rented by some late holidaymakers who were thoughtlessly enjoying their surroundings and unnecessarily populating the shot.
So yesterday I returned, caught between here and Porth Nanven, which sits on the other side of the headland to the south. Such was my indecision that I found myself parking directly between the two on top of the cliff, where I spent some quiet time in the car listening to the Saturday afternoon football commentary on the radio and washing down a hastily assembled banana sandwich with a thermos full of coffee. I then retired to a sunny spot on the rocks overlooking the enormous buttresses of granite that lead down to the sea below, where a lone kestrel hunted and hovered as my only company. The granite crops are known as castles here, although some of them are so enormous, enduring and grand that they remind me of gothic cathedrals. Far out to sea beyond the Brisons I could clearly make out the Isles of Scilly, almost thirty miles away. I've never been, but Lee's wife briefly worked there - she once described the islands to me as two thousand alcoholics clinging to some rocks. Sounds like fun.
Seduced by all of this, and the radio commentator's drooling enthusiasm at the ability of Everton's new star James Rodriguez to thread a forty yard pass through a very narrow defensive gap found me up on top too long, when the shot I'd come for was so clearly on the cards. Three hours after arriving I decided the shot I was attempting wasn't going to work and that if I didn't get on with it I was going to miss the one I'd planned several months earlier.
At least it wasn't going to take me long to set up when I got there, but the idle dawdling turned the last act into a bit of a dash. Even though our visitors were still there I decided it was now or never and threw on the ten stop to add to the drama. When I say "threw on," it wasn't quite as straightforward as it should have been. If a couple of weeks ago you read "Tales of an Old Dog," where I related the various misadventures of my wide angle lens you may be aware that it only takes a filter with some gentle persuasion - followed by some rather more urgent brute force. At least the lens is getting used again - it's the only one that would have worked here.
I have to say I'm quite happy with this one. I've never had a problem with going to somewhere to stand before scenes that a million other photographers have already pointed their cameras at - I do that all the time. After all, why wouldn't you shoot Buachaille Etive Mor, or the Ogwen Valley, or Skogafoss if you're in those locations. Of course you would - you could hardly ignore the beauty of them. But the reason why I'm quite pleased about this shot is that I'm not certain whether anyone else has spotted it before. Maybe I saw it first.
So that final comment will no doubt result in half of you reaching for your phones to call your lawyers before sending me links to your own shots of this peaceful scene. I'll get me coat then.
I'm not really looking to sell my work but this one has generated some interest, so I've put it on my Picfair page for download or print if anyone is interested.
dom-haughton.picfair.com/pics/012149653-the-cottage-at-th...
SNOW AT THE BEACH - LOFOTEN February 2018
It is so cold in Germany now we are back...it should snow :-)
Going to Haukland beach...what a beautiful place!
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An aerial view of Namibia's breathtaking dunes, shaped by time and wind into fluid, golden formations. This mesmerizing landscape captures the raw beauty of the desert, where endless sand waves create an almost surreal masterpiece of nature.
I suppose a lot of people would say they live on the edge, especially recently with lockdown and the feeling of being marginalised from family, friends and loved ones. Then again, some of us prefer life that way; the world near enough to step into it when we need to, but the sanctuary of self imposed isolation being our natural home for most of the time. If you're a clump of sea thrift clinging to the Edge of Eternity on the headland of Cape Cornwall, then I guess you don't have a choice. This one could have picked far worse places to live.
This was where we first came to after we were told by the Government that it was ok to roam within reason once more. I brought my partner Ali here, who despite being born and bred within an hour's drive had never stood on this spot before. On such a clear day as this we could see the distant outlines of the Scilly Isles, 28 miles from the mainland, a place that she's been to and I haven't. An old mantra about coals and Newcastle springs to mind. We could also see the lonely Wolf Rock Lighthouse, more than 9 miles southwest of Lands End, and our visit was accompanied by a Black Backed Gull, a pair of Swallows, two Shearwaters racing out to the nearby Brisons and a gang of the noisy Choughs that symbolise the area on the nearby cliffs. It felt fantastic to stand and gaze at it all once more. A pod of dolphins would have made it perfect, but you can't have everything.
Cape Cornwall sits at the far south western extremity of the British mainland, where wild Atlantic storms batter the coast throughout the winter, and much of the autumn and spring besides. From here it's just a handful of miles to Lands End, the most South Westerly point of the mainland (although the Lizard is further South and Ardnamurchan Point in Scotland is further West). It seems almost impossible to believe how dangerous this environment can be on a calm day like this.
I'm not recommending this, but if you were to jump into the sea and start swimming directly west, you wouldn't reach land for more than 2100 miles. You'd need to be the strongest swimmer in history to finally arrive just north of a small town appealingly called Fleur de Lys on the island of Newfoundland. I've had to put the anorak on to discover this, and gazed fleetingly at pictures of the place our Canadian North Atlantic cousins call home. It looks rather beautiful, and not unlike Cornwall. Maybe we'll go and see it for ourselves one day.
So here's to you who live on the edge, whether or not by choice. This one's for you.
Above the frozen forest near Austervefsen in Trofors, Nordland, a sea of fog drifts like a soft veil, hiding the valleys below. To the east, Skinnfjellet and Nerlifjellet rise under a crisp blue sky, their snow-dusted peaks catching the first light of day. This aerial view captures the serene interplay of winter silence and rugged Norwegian wilderness—a timeless moment where earth meets sky in quiet harmony.
Fun Fact
Trofors is the administrative center of Grane municipality in Nordland and lies along the river Vefsna, a popular destination for salmon fishing. The surrounding mountains, including Skinnfjellet and Nerlifjellet, are part of the scenic Helgeland region, known for its dramatic landscapes and untouched nature.