Wednesday, 17 March 2010
"Inanimate Organism" © Glyn Davies 2010
I have simply increased the contrast in this image of amazing pillow
lavas, for fun, as it was such a dull day.
My God, it’s Monday again, now that’s a sign of age, a week passing in just two days. Sunday had been spent with my Mum in glorious, warm and intense sunlight and even though she was not able to do any major walk, it had been fantastic to just sense those first signs of warmer weather, spring flowers and even summer’s whisper.
Monday morning was spent around the house, in no hurry to go anywhere today. The weather had turned overcast and dullish so I busied myself with some household chores and even a spot of Glyn’s DIY ! My eldest step-lad Richard now has a new roller-blind that creatively rolls the blind more to one side than the other, even though it was drilled and screwed quite level! Nevertheless Brownie Points methinks. The weather improved.
At about 3.00 pm I just desperately needed air to headed for Newborough Beach to try out my new season key for the car park, it worked perfectly so Llanddwyn will get a lot more visits from me this year! Monday afternoon is normally quiet. I drove down the winding forestry lane to the dune car park. There were youths everywhere. Two large mini-bus loads of students running around the place with cameras and clipboards. “Well that’s just stamped on my virgin sand shots” I grumbled to myself like Victor Meldrew. My brain has enough youth left in it at 45, to remember food and drink this time, peach water a scotch egg and biscuits, perfect energy food I convinced myself. I stomped off ahead of the group to get to the shoreline first but after sinking to my ankles across a soft wide sand bank, I turned to see they were all settled in a large group next to the exit, where in fact they stayed for the next 2 hours – I am baffled as to what subject they must have been studying !
"Path to the Light" Llanddwyn Island © Glyn Davies 2010
And so finally I was alone. The going was tough actually, as each footstep sank several inches into the soft wet sand and Llanddwyn Island seemed to be a huge effort away. Fortunately the tide was also extremely low so it cut off the normally long journey around the far corner of the beach to the island. The weather had changed for the worse again. It was not wet but it was as dull as dishwater, not heavy dull, a mid range bright dullness which meant you could see everything but without definition. Sand blended with water blended with rocks, blended with cliffs, blended with sky, watery-grey sky, broken intermittently by tiniest strips of brighter grey, but hey, I was here and I was out of the house, that’s what matters.
The low tide meant I could explore the fascinating and broken South side of the island, stunning pillow lava geology in this rock rich vicinity. Faces of intense emerald green and burgundy red rock stared blankly at me with unsaturated character. The virginal sand was dark and wet but perfect notwithstanding. My feet left a strange winding description of my occasional flutter and I tiptoed around the edge of a huge kelp covered beached rock before staring deeply into a semi transparent gurgling cove. I sat on an irregular lump of wet, sharp, barnacle covered rock and watched the gentlest wave of dark seaweed at the edge of a steep drop into deeper water. To my right, cloaking a huge black outcrop of cliff, orange brown seaweed undulated slowly as a deep sucking sound emanated from a small gully. Almost in-discernibly the sea level dropped, and the pure white sandy seabed revealed her secrets. I was transfixed by the action, the sounds and the smell of this fluid relationship and was a voyeur for maybe 10 minutes or more. I didn’t photograph the intercourse, as it still would not have done it justice, especially in this light. At least HD video would have described the play with noise and movement but as I don’t have a Canon 5D I will be waiting for the new incarnation of the 1DS Mk4 in the hope it may record beautiful moving moments!
I saw a figure with a camera and tripod appear over a grassy hilltop so turned away and he was gone. I was then left alone on this dark island, perfect. I took just one frame at this point, of beautiful pink rock looking grey. I was not sad to be not shooting to be honest, I was just enjoying the solitude and reconnaissance observation. I knew that if the light was better I’d have captured several stunningly descriptive geological formations by now. It was getting colder. I walked up to the lighthouse, just because it was there, a high point. I looked down at the viridian sea perhaps 90 ft below, watched black cormorants skim the lumpy surface and laughed at the shit white stack just out into the bay, covered in shags, cormorants and guillemots. At this point I opened up a Penguin and swallowed it down with peach water faster than a pilchard at the seal sanctuary. There were no seals here today and I was disappointed. I huddled in the lee of the light, donned my hunter’s hat with ear flaps and devoured my scotch egg, devastated that I’d dropped half the yellow yolk in my eagerness!
"Scorched Earth" Llanddwyn Island © Glyn Davies 2010
The gorse fires left black shadows on this soft landscape but
the distant mountain light burned brightly.
Then something happened. The light changed. I noticed a hint of sunshine in the far distance over the Great Orme at Llandudno. I sprinted down from the light and from thinking the day was over, I was becoming excited again. On my way back to the beach, I realised that half the island was in fact black, gorse-burnt swathes of grassland. Amongst the smoky dark cinder-land were veins of pale sandy tracks connecting main footpaths. They looked wonderful in contrast, small defined limbs amongst the ravaged land.
"Afterburn" Llanddwyn © Glyn Davies 2010
The sun briefly popped out splattering fire everywhere, and then turned to a hot red glow on the horizon, quenched after 15 minutes by a cold blue sea. Banks of clouds reared overhead and all light intensity disappeared. I walked at a fast pace back along the beach, much closer to the sand dunes this time, as the advancing tide had drowned the sand bars.
"Blue Quench" Llanddwyn © Glyn Davies 2010
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