I raced to the sea - the sunlight was intense but dropping. I used my iPhone Sun Calculator to work out the Azimuth for the sunset over Anglesey and knew exactly which part of the coast I would need to get to, to find the setting sun over the water. It was a good 40 minutes away. I had also used the tide calculator to see how much beach would be left uncovered and I knew the balance between tide and time would be a close call.
Invisible Company © Glyn Davies 2010
The first early season bugs splatted against the dirty windscreen and I wore shades for the first time in 2010. I was eager to get there, though I sort of knew that the tide was probably going to be too high and the sea too calm. I parked up, donned my wellies and trudged off down the lane, hopeful, excited and elated, simply by being out on the coast and getting some time out.
The tide was .............. high! Not high enough to drown the caves but high enough to eliminate sand patterns. Hmmm. The light at 6.30 ish was surprisingly bright and high in the sky so I didn't even get the contrast and colours I wanted. I decided instead to enjoy the spring warmth, watch the gentle wavelets and observe the rising tide. I wandered as far out around the headland as I could, scrambling over rocks until I found a fantastic cave, with light at the rear! I ducked down and entered the cave. I discovered another tunnel at 45º joining it at the back, effectively forming a giant torch. I was surprised at the both the intensity of the light, but also the warmth of the light when seen in isolation from the rest of the sky and open landscape. It was very theatrical.
Two Holes and Hidden Treasure © Glyn Davies 2010
I could see the waves now starting to spank the cave entrance so I made my exit and scrambled back across the rocks. The sea had now covered much more of the beach, and some previously isolated colourful boulders were now being licked by the gentle ripples. I looked around because I could hear people talking but there was no one there. I moved across the beach shooting a couple of frames of the boulders and the voices were getting louder. I was expecting to see a small group of people appearing in the valley at any moment to ruin my peace.
Softest Drowning © Glyn Davies 2010
The people never did appear, not because they had diverted or turned back, but because they never existed. As I drew closer to the left hand side of the beach the talkers revealed themselves. A fast flowing stream was carving it's way down the beach and some small boulders were caught in a white water trap, endlessly rolling round and round, air trapping, gurgling currents holding the stones in deep flowing conversation. I laughed at my sensitivity/stupidity and recorded a small piece for you to hear. Don't listen to the higher pitched surface noise, listen to the deeper background noise (remember this was shot on an iPhone, hardly the best audio equipment, but can you hear what I mean ? In the fading light of dusk on a deserted beach, you may also have heard the endless chatter behind you ?
YouTube Video - The Chatterers © Glyn Davies 2010
Now I knew I would be undisturbed, I continued to enjoy the stream, it's voice and the sound of the small waves surforming the shoreline. As the sun fizzled on the horizon I sat at the stream-side, unscrewed my Thermos flask and drank several cups of hot sugared coffee, absorbing the warmth and sweetness of everything about me. I left the silhouettes behind me, to be gently cleansed by deepening soft waters, and headed back up the track.
Dancing Daffs © Glyn Davies 2010
Spring Daffodils sprung from the gate-side hedgerow, half hiding from the advancing darkness, half wanting to play in the warm dusk, like the new born lambs in the fields either side. I took joy in their gentle dance and the pretty faces amongst the thorns. The lane took their colour and beauty right up to the door of a cottage a little way yonder, the tungsten lamplight balanced by the sunny fire in the windows of the first floor windows. An occasional bleat from a lost lamb, and the chirp of a hedge sparrow were the last sounds I heard as I reached the van - I took a last look at the dwindling embers in the sky and closed it all out.
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