Heavy Showers & A Light Bath

Sensuality in Darkness © Glyn Davies 2010

I was fired up on Monday. Clear skies and bright sunlight glossed the distant hills and even bungalows in the street seemed sharp and glowing. The day before I'd been to Betws y Coed and finally bought myself an ultra lightweight Goretex mountain jacket. My Musto jacket is great on boats and for small walks but it just doesn't breathe like a mountain kag. I was almost disappointed that the weather was so nice.

I spent the morning doing a reccy at Bangor University ready for a corporate shoot next week, loads of labs, science equipment and hi-tec gear, all plenty to get my teeth stuck into. I finished at lunchtime, made a flask and threw all my mountain gear in the van. It seemed dark over the hill. Within two miles of leaving home rain was lashing the windscreen and wipers were set to kill. I continued with optimism that bright spells might make the day. I changed direction away from the mountains and headed for Anglesey's West Coast.

The car park was almost empty. The rain eased but spat constantly. My virgin Berghaus jacket was waiting for me in the back of the van. I geared up, sheltered under the raised tailgate. For the first time since Spring I donned my over-trousers and pulled my Berghaus over my warm hoodie. On auto-pilot I reached for a thin pair of gloves and for the first time EVER in my landscape photography mode, I grabbed my umbrella !




The tripod felt cold in my hand as I set off and I stopped within yards to put my gloves on. October. The rain was now persistent and getting heavier but it felt so good to be out. The intensity of rain on my back was now chilling my legs, even through over-trousers but my new kag was keeping me dry and warm as toast inside. I erected the brolly, pulled my hood down and enjoyed the sound of the rain beating on the black canopy.


I crossed maybe half a mile of grass cemented sand dunes until I reached the large estuary, shimmering at low tide even in the rain. It seemed huge and in the distance the mountains were barely visible under sheets of precipitation. I stepped out onto the silty estuary and the wind increased. I balanced my backpack on my forearm whilst steadying the brolly and somehow managed to get the camera out and clip it into the tripod, all under brolly dryness. I ventured further out until the shower was so heavy that I could neither see where I was going or risk getting the camera soaked. The tidal estuary meant I was standing in perhaps 2" of water but I knew the sea was going out. I just stood there under the brolly in the centre of the estuary, and let the wind and rain attack me. The relative shelter of the brolly seemed like camping and I felt safe and protected. I even managed a couple of images whilst cowering there. It felt very elemental and very isolating and it was weird not seeing a soul around for miles.

Movement Stiffened © Glyn Davies 2010

Easement - under the darkness of the brolly I noticed the ambient light change, a brightness. The rain eased and I set off again towards the far dunes. As I reached them the sunshine splashed across the estuary and curlews called to each other. My feet walked across succulents and I was in sunshine. I managed to collapse the brolly in the strong wind but not before it inverted snapping three 'arms'. It was now useless but I had to carry it anyway.

Floating Water © Glyn Davies 2010

I climbed up a huge dune and ahead of me was a bright sunlit sea and the dark distant mountains of the the Lleyn Peninsula. I felt privileged to be there and to be able to witness the intense beauty of sunlight blasting across wind blown Marram grasses, snaking in a never ending dream scape. The skies beyond, above the mountains of Eryri were really dark, almost black, and sheets of heavy showers could be discerned curtaining the high peaks. I was equally fascinated by the bright sparkling sea as I was the wet, sculpted and unspoilt sand dunes. My concentration was torn and the lens pointed rapidly East and West.


A spectacular and crystal clear rainbow swelled over the dunes against a black sky and the colour permeated the grassy dunes. I had to wipe the filter regularly as raindrops tried to prevent me bottling the magic. I drank hot sweet coffee and munched three Penguin biscuits before the Northern sky looked menacing all over again. The tide was now creeping in and the estuary behind me was filling slowly. I decided to make my way back across the wet bay and towards a gathering dusk.

Small Lives © Glyn Davies 2010

The bird calls were now widespread and people-less though it was, I no longer felt alone. The sun set rapidly but before disappearing it backlit an amazing cloud filled sky and an intense complicated sunset played out before me. I was mesmerised by it and images were endless and consequently pointless.

As I watched, it had already become dusk. I could hardly find the path back across the green carpeted dunes to the car park. I walked through deadly silent copses, figures unseen, hidden in the depths waiting to surprise me, shrubs became crouched creatures and the birds fell silent. The estuary drowned behind me.

All words and images in this post are strictly copyrighted to © Glyn Davies 2010
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