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Snowdonia

348 images Created 5 Dec 2009

This is a constantly updating gallery of photographic images for prints of Snowdonia & the National Park in North Wales. The latest landscapes will be seen first, but as this beautiful peninsula has so much variation of land and seascapes, from hills & mountains to cliffs and sandy beaches it really is worth checking the earliest images so find images of areas you love, from Snowdon & the Carneddau to Llanberis to Caernarfon, Blaenau and Harlech - Though I am also including some of my Ll?n images as well

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  • Milleniums of aerial erosion reveal the very rock of our planet, eons old. Transient, fleeting clouds shift overhead but individually have no real effect on the incredible resilience of the permanent earth below.
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  • On an otherwise blue sky day, an unusual solitary cloud appeared above the freedom of the mountains. Shortly the cloud intensified and grew much larger, but thankfully it never rained.
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  • Unique memories hide in this Snowdonia woodland, but they were instantly recalled as the last wintry rays of daylight illuminated a network of wooden neural pathways
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  • As I approached the edge of the vast fog bank, the early morning sunshine burned orange over Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) and the mountains of Eryri. I had to pull over at the road-side to grab this image.
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  • Such wonderful contrasts in Winter landscape, bright sunshine against snow covered mountains, cool blue seas against warm toned dunes. In winter everythiung just feels so much more real, vital, timeless. Perhaps the non existent crowds, the sound of the ocean and the wind numbing your face, heighten the reality.
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  • These huge, ancient mountains offer some opportunity for spiritual nourishment from nature & landscape, but almost without exception it's near impossible to find real peace & tranquility here, from high planes and wasp-like drones; the scream of motorbikes racing up the mountain passes; even just outdoor adventurers, chatting, laughing, shouting and calling to each other, to the endless background hum of cars winding their way around the valley lanes.  <br />
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So during lockdown it was an incredible treat, a unique lifetime experience to find myself utterly alone in this magnificent landscape. No planes in the sky, not one vehicle on the road, empty lay-bys and no other sound of human voices. What I did hear, vividly & acutely, were the sounds of the wind in the trees & grasses, the chirping of birds and the trickling of water in tiny brooks. I've rarely felt as close to being at one with the planet. There are few things I will miss about lockdown, but the privilege of finding true solitude in normally busier landscapes, is definitely one of them.
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  • From my series of images documenting the changing character of the vast derelict slate quarries near Llanberis & Dinorwic as nature & modern life reclaim this huge industrially scarred mountain-scape. The quarries closed in 1969 but the sheer scale of the industry is still apparent, and without doubt there are visual & spiritual echoes of the Welsh workmen who risked life & limb working there. It seems only right that these incredible, surreal and industrially transformed landscapes have now been given UNESCO World Heritage status.
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  • Nominated in 2022 International Colour Awards<br />
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It was one of those dreary days in North Wales; the clouds hadn't lifted once and light drizzle dampened you from every angle. I happened upon this mountain lake where a father & son (I think from listening to them) were fly fishing from their little boat. I stood in silence in this tranquil Welsh scene, mesmerised by their action of casting lines out over the surface, a skill indeed. After a short while I found myself smiling though, as just beyond the ripples of movement from the boat and beyond the furthest reach of their bait, I noticed several large fish safely jumping for midges. Clever Welsh fish.
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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. <br />
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There was a spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • Up to 10 x 10" on A3 prints only<br />
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Wonderful abstract patterns of historical slate steps in the Dinorwic Quarry, slowly being reclaimed by nature.
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  • I keep on returning to this magical, enchanted little copse of tangled ancient woodland deep in Snowdonia. It often seems to catch the afternoon & evening light and in the Spring before the trees enter full bloom, the wonderful shapes of trunks & branches are really apparent.
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  • From my series of images documenting the changing character of the vast derelict slate quarries near Llanberis & Dinorwic as nature & modern life reclaim this huge industrially scarred mountain-scape. The quarries closed in 1969 but the sheer scale of the industry is still apparent, and without doubt there are visual & spiritual echoes of the workmen who risked life & limb working there.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • Shooting into sunshine bursting through broken cloud created an incredible contrast. The shiny slate reflected almost as much light as the lake & sea, so everything else seemed dark in comparison. I've chosen not to lighten the shadows, but to enjoy the contrast instead.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • After a disheartening post-lockdown open-day at the gallery, when not one customer came in, I happily closed the door and after a big hug from Jani before she started her latest ITU shift, I decided to go for a last minute walk into the hills. <br />
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I was literally alone on the hill and the light was promisingly dramatic. I reached the summit and started shooting some frames as the light changed by the minute. It was just before sundown when I heard voices and the first of two young couples arrived. There followed a short performance of selfie taking by both couples - on the style, over the style, against the sunset, away from the sunset, on the wall, off the wall, close up shots, distant shots, but I didn't see these couples just sitting (or standing) and just quietly absorbing the absolute beauty of the world around them. <br />
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It was genuinely great to see young loving couples out in the big landscape, it can be such a romantic activity for lovers, but it would be nice to think they loved the natural beauty of the light, land and sounds of nature, as much as the selfie taking. I know this is sign of the times here, and perhaps I'm just too old school!
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  • The most wonderful, dramatic evening light catching unexpected snowfall on Wales' highest peak of Yr Wyddfa. A few days before I was walking the beaches in shorts & a T-Shirt!
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
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After what we thought was the beginning of summer, a shock blast from the Arctic soon snapped us back to reality that we've only just left winter. However from a photographer's perspective, the four-seasons-in-one-day weather we have at the moment, means an abundance of opportunity for striking and dramatically elemental image making.
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  • An early start today to photograph Eryri under cool morning sunshine. The forecast was warm & sunny, but when you factored in the biting Easterly gale, I was so grateful that I'd thrown in an extra jacket before leaving home. <br />
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I arrived at an empty car park and enjoyed the whole mountain to myself, until my return journey. I was getting so buffeted by the gusts of wind that even my tripod wasn't helping much. I sheltered behind a derelict building at one point to try and increase my chances of sharp images! <br />
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Initially I was disappointed by the haze, but actually, backlit by the morning sun, I began to love the softness that the haze created. In this image, you see Yr Wyddfa (or Snowdon if you really must, but never 'Mount' Snowdon!) with it's foothills of Foel Gron, Foel Goch & Moel Cynghorion, beautifully tonally layered in the fore & mid ground. The mist has helped to visually separate the lower peaks.
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  • Icy cold water from snow-capped summits, flows down through small but spectacularly sculpted gorges, to the comparatively warm Irish Sea waiting below
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  • A perfectly still, quiet, windless day in Snowdonia. The sunshine was slowly moving around the hillock, below which this tree grew slightly isolated from everything else around. The low light separated the tree from the shadowy background in the theatrical way I'm always looking for.
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  • Even from the Isle of Anglesey the clouds over the mountains looked amazing, so I headed for the foothills. Strangely the effects looked better from Ynys Môn than the hills themselves but for a short while, magical moments of light offered themselves up here on the peaks. A huge dark cloud gathered over Garnedd Elidir and remained there even even after I crossed the summit ridge. <br />
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In the background you can see Yr Wyddfa, the highest mountain in Wales & England, amazingly cloud free on its summit, even though much higher than Garnedd Elidir. <br />
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I'd been reading numerous articles about women being anxious about men in the mountains, so it was interesting that bar one man, all my fellow walkers were confident, happy, friendly women, young & old, nothing like the worried women I'd read about in articles. I was pleased that none of these women saw me as a threat in our shared wonderful landscape.
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
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At dusk, the last shreds of evening sun illuminated a low wall desperately trying to hold back a mountain-sized flood of waste slate. It seemed curiously futile but in the beautiful light I also saw how the rough structure has done it's job for decades, against all odds
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  • A pandemic-induced re-wilding, at least in terms of peace, tranquility and a lushening landscape. Footpaths have healed and the sounds of nature were now more audible than the usual screaming of motorbikes racing up the pass.  This landscape is heavily influenced by man of course, but a vivid new sense of nature pervades the whole atmosphere of the place now.
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  • The roads were quiet, the forest track deserted and the hillsides empty. The morning rays of sunlight were slowly being extinguished by a deepening cloud cover and the winds were picking up. By the time I reached the ridge a howling gale was bending even the thickest fir trees. The summits were now hidden by a cloud of racing drizzle and were completely uninspiring. <br />
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My heavy heart seemed to struggle to feed movement to my legs and every step felt tiring. As I left the hillsides I meandered around a lake and for only time that afternoon, glimmers of light glowed through thinning cloud, reflecting off the deep black lake, reminding me that at some point we will see light again.
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  • Sheltering from the howling gale I found myself fascinated by the snake-like vein in my rock windbreak. When there's not a soul about and the landscape feels empty, I find myself looking more intently at the things closer to me, rather than the bigger views. I've never rationalised why I do this, but I think there's a sense being 'shared' with the immediate environment, that for a brief time when you are there, the features are like those of companions. I honestly talk to inanimate objects sometimes, as if I know them and appreciate them for simply being there, showing themselves to me. <br />
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This isn't just pandemic madness, I've always done this! The landscape often speaks to me, as I do to it.
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  • When every day is a ground hog day of generally dreary repetition, the only thing that ever gives me uplift is the light & the weather. One of the main reasons we bought our modest house was the panoramic view of the whole Snowdonia mountain range - we do have rooftops of houses in front of us but the mountains themselves are basically in clear sight. <br />
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On this morning, a warm orange light was seeping under the bedroom door from the next room, so I jumped up to see what was happening. This frame was shot handheld through our bathroom window! It's not my sharpest image ever but I don't care, it just brings back such positive thoughts from that morning, and there few and far of them these days!
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  • Garnedd Elidir & the Carneddau<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site <br />
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Watching an Attenborough documentary as I write this, and it's clear that the damage we cause is everywhere and it's increasing. It's so much easier to focus on the beauty, to pretend everything is OK, but we are such a destructive, consuming species. <br />
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I was thinking too, about the mental damage going on through lockdown, in so many ways, but for many, through wrongly being denied access to nature and what healing power it has left to give us. So many of us have chosen to live a much more economically challenged life to be closer to nature and landscape, for me at least because being out in nature is the only true means of me maintaining spiritual and mental balance. The governments say they are doing this to keep people safe, but the mental damage they are causing is considerable and very real. I don't think there has been much wisdom or foresight applied by those in suits, to how to keep people safe mentally without any undue risks to health in other ways. This damage is real for me, and will last my lifetime. There was zero need to ban so many sensible and regular outdoor folk from doing their covid safe activities, it was easier for ministers to make blanket rules but to the detriment of many people's well-being.
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  • Just the momentary interplay of light and shadow when a huge hole appears in the middle distance. With the impressive surge pool in the bottom left of this image, it's an illusion of one-upmanship in this stunning wintry mountainscape.
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  • Yr Wyddfa is Wales' highest mountain. I didn't think I'd see the summit at all today as it continued to hide behind higher cloud,  but the moment I started to descend my own hill Yr Wyddfa decided to completely reveal it's magnificence. Never been happy about buildings for the masses on her peak but in this late evening light it did offer a sense of scale and man's tenacity.
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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. I stood for a few minutes, now completely alone, and then the light intensified and the whole landscape was bathed in the most glorious colours. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) appeared after two hours of waiting, so I trudged back up through thick snow to the summit of my own little hill and became quite ecstatic about everything that was happening. I was smiling from ear to ear, not even knowing where to look as it was all so beautiful, and then tears started rolling down my cheeks and I began to cry! I believe it was both the spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. I stood for a few minutes, now completely alone, and then the light intensified and the whole landscape was bathed in the most glorious colours. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) appeared after two hours of waiting, so I trudged back up through thick snow to the summit of my own little hill and became quite ecstatic about everything that was happening. I was smiling from ear to ear, not even knowing where to look as it was all so beautiful, and then tears started rolling down my cheeks and I began to cry! I believe it was both the spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. I stood for a few minutes, now completely alone, and then the light intensified and the whole landscape was bathed in the most glorious colours. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) appeared after two hours of waiting, so I trudged back up through thick snow to the summit of my own little hill and became quite ecstatic about everything that was happening. I was smiling from ear to ear, not even knowing where to look as it was all so beautiful, and then tears started rolling down my cheeks and I began to cry! I believe it was both the spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • Normally I avoid taking pictures of the mountains when they only have light patchy snow, as I always think it looks 'messy' but this evening, in the last of the sunlight before dusk, there was something subtly beautiful about it all, so I relented and made an image before a very muddy, squelchy, flooded walk home.
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  • After more than an hour on the freezing summit, I slowly made my way down in deep snow, each leg sinking in to thigh level! I crouched in the snow whilst bitter winds ripped my face, waiting for a promised light to change the whole character of the atmosphere surrounding Wales highest mountain. I never quite saw the summit itself but the light did produce a beauty that was awe-inspiring
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  • I’ve always been impressed by this distinctive dry stone wall that literally divides a mountain in half. It seems overkill for whatever purpose, and is an unmissable mad-made structure over this gorgeous, windswept rounded hillside.
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  • Isn’t the planet just magnificent! From mountains of sand to mountains of rock, Earth’s natural processes are just incredible, and what they create are beautiful.
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  • There’s a lot of truth in the suggestion that mountains can actually look far more majestic from below, than from the summits themselves. <br />
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It was a beautiful day today on Anglesey, blue sky & sunshine - photographically a little boring even if the sunshine warmed my heart. At the end of day however the colours began to change and the mountain clouds started to disperse. It was a game of patience and hope, hope that the last of the sunshine would synchronise with the summit of Yr Wyddfa appearing through the clouds. I was delighted to make two exposures where the magic happened.
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  • In one giant brushstroke of glorious sunset, the Carneddau foothills were revealed as only a painter could imagine them.
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  • Absolutely magical light this evening, cinematographic almost. I couldn’t get over the numbers of gulls and crows circling in the air above me. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) was teasing me tonight, almost revealing the peak before re-cloaking itself, but with colours like this it was breathtaking anyway.
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  • Freezing cold conditions in a a strong winter breeze, but the light changed as rapidly as the cloud conditions. As the day drew to an end, the light became even more subtly beautiful. I spent an hour and half waiting in these bitter conditions for the light to evolve, and it was worth the cold.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • In the darkest of times, needles of sunlight pierce blankets of blue winter, illuminating theatrical interplays on the earth below. Tiny little figures show the enormous scale of this mountainous stage,. You don't see these wondrous moments until they are floodlit by the universe above.
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  • Gentle snow-covered hillsides in evening light, criss-crossed by the tracks of keen local walkers so familiar with the routes even in deep snow. What I've always been awed by, is the way white snow reflects all the magical colours of an ever-changing sky. It's as if there's no such thing as white snow, only white light. It's the only time the earth ever really truly blends with the element above.
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  • Yr Elen looking magnificent and imposing in the winter vapours. In the summer it’s just an interesting bump preceding the bigger summit of Carnedd Llewelyn behind, but in these conditions it looked like a sunlit stairway to a snowy heaven. <br />
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Over the last few years I have consciously avoided the snow, and hated the idea of going into cold, knackering snow blanketed mountains, but this year I’ve thoroughly enjoyed safe ventures into the low foothills from where I can observe the big peaks. This looks positively alpine but I was only on a low hill, zooming in on the bigger peaks with my telephoto lenses. It was a sense of being a part of it all without facing any real danger. I think next winter, post pandemic, I will be grabbing a mountaineering buddy and heading into the bigger peaks, that’s for sure.
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  • It was so strange, but in the whiteout the only structure that stood out on these open, snowy mountain-tops was this long dry stone wall with a stile. When you peaked over the top there was literally nothing else to see, just snow and no horizon, no view at all, unless white fog is a view anyway. I started smiling about its ambiguity in these surreal conditions.
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  • From below, surrounded by hundreds of sledgers & skiers creating a cacophony of noisy laughs & screams, the summits were in swirling low cloud, never showing themselves. <br />
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As I trudged higher the snow became thicker and the chaos of the crowds diminished. I followed deep snowy footprints & drops of bright red blood from an injured dog, marking the route of previous ascensionists. The snow dumbs sounds; no birds sang, or sheep bleated. I could hear my own heart as the silence & snow deepened more. <br />
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I was surprised nevertheless by the numbers of small parties descending the hill, and I was troubled (as always) that I was being trailed by others, a super fit elderly couple with a tiny day sack, and a backpacking single guy. I stopped for a drink to let them pass and I watched them disappear into the thick fog. Finally, I was alone, and I laboured step by step in deep snow until I arrived at the summit. I could hear occasional walkers chatting in the whiteout, but none appeared alongside me. It was dark up there, and the strengthening wind chilled my fingers through my gloves. I sensed something was happening with the clouds though so persevered in my wait. For about ten minutes the sun made regular bursts through the low cloud, illuminating snow-crusted rock sculptures all around me. It transformed the scene completely & I felt less lonely somehow. <br />
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The horizon darkened and I could see snow clouds approaching. It was getting colder and colder, so I called it a day and retraced my footsteps back down to cloud base. Sleet and then heavy rain pelted me about five minutes from the van. Dozens and dozens of soaked sledging families made a sad retreat off the slopes.  I was delighted with the ten or so images that I made on the summit. I think will make some beautiful prints for the gallery wall.
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  • Imposing and precipitous, dark towers of mountainside were temporarily bathed in gentle afternoon light, warming the cold ramparts and illuminating their weakness. We so need light these days.
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  • It was dreamlike, and I was alone in my dreams. The clouds rose and fell like waves on the ocean, one minute revealing the peaks the next shrouding them. A bitterly cold North Westerly blew the swirling vapours at speed across the slopes, chilling me noticeably at the same time. The scenes changed so quickly that it was hard to believe I was in the same place. I was in awe and utterly captivated by the sheer scale and drama of the situation and it was hard to leave the summit, until the sun went down that is, and the wind dropped and a freezing clammy air enveloped me.
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  • What a fabulous example of a Brocken Spectre this evening, beamed onto the gorgeously curved foothills of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) - I thought I was totally alone on the mountain but clearly I was not :-)
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  • Before another traumatic Welsh lockdown, we decided last minute on an afternoon walk up to Penygadair.
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  • Wonderful moonrise tonight over Tryfan. Been some incredible sky based wonders this last few days here in North Wales - didn't have my long lens with me, but the mid-range in some ways has given more topographical context.
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  • On every horizon, there was walled-cloud, kept low by a huge temperature inversion and yet, from here on the slopes of Garnedd Elidir there was good clarity. One solitary cloud gradually appeared over western Ynys Môn but almost as soon it formed it started to spread southward to join a sea of cloud over the Nantlle Ridge. I was alone on the hill and there was such wonderful silence.
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  • Normally connected to everything, inseparable, a huge cloud inversion temporarily individualises the mountain peaks. They become more like islands distanced by a sea of vapour below. The mountains are suddenly like me, floating in an interspace between the earth and the universe, slightly unreal and utterly magical
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  • Had no idea that a huge sea of cloud would be building as I summited Garnedd Elidir, but it was such an incredible surprise benefit of this last minute evening walk into the hills. <br />
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Though Yr Wyddfa was packed with 1000s of visitors ever day this week, I was completely alone on my summit and was therefore able to let my mind float at cloud height with all this sumptuous vapour. It’s precious enough being alone on the hill tops, but being presented with such spectacular weather phenomenon is such a heightened privilege. <br />
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Strangely, as I left my perch and headed down the scree slopes, the inversion faded, as if it was purely there for me, at a time when I needed it.
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  • Another momentary wonder of light and land, as Carnedd Dafydd captures a rare sunbeam during a dreary, damp evening. Standing on the bank of the Afon Menai was beautiful for it’s sounds, tiny waves slapping pebbles on the shoreline; two Oystercatchers pile-driving the shell-strewn mudflats for rich food on the outgoing tide, and a Curlew calling as it skimmed the sea surface towards Y Felinheli but the light, was dull as dishwater. I was about o head back fro the van when a glimmer of light appeared over the Eryri hills, and within a few seconds a huge beam of sunlight scanned the peaks, illuminating the details and textures with such clarity. I shot just five frames before the sun disappeared completely and drops of rain touched my face.
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  • Last minute blast for a walk and some snaps after yet another dreary June day. Hints of sunshine broke through blankets of mountain cloud so we went for a coastal walk along the Strait. The clouds opened more and more and pools of sunlight illuminated the hillsides. For just a brief moment, literally seconds, the sunset flood lit Castell Penrhyn in the foreground. The castle was built by Lord Penrhyn, from the profits of the slate industry. Impoverished slate quarry workers worked in horrendous, dangerous conditions to facilitate this.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • A throw of darkness covered the Welsh hills whilst wisps of pale clouds swirled and writhed below. Bitter winds whistled across the slopes and summit castellations. I huddled behind an airy dry-stone walls whilst hail pounded my shoulders for almost half an hour, chilling me until my hands went white.<br />
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After such an elemental bombardment I should have been miserable but I wasn't. I felt more alone than in a long time, and as I stared at the grass around my boots I became aware of a warm illumination. I looked up at the hills beyond where wide beams of sunlight gently caressing their surface, burning away the darkness and mist, revealing a myriad of details on this earth's ancient skin.<br />
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Knowing the mountains were near empty, made nature seem even more humbling, more magnificent, more wild, perhaps the best it's ever looked, or so it seemed in my own emotionally pulsing headspace.
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  • I sat above the vast bowl of Cwm Marchlyn just staring at the dark water in the reservoir below. Random gusts from a stiff breeze punched the surface of the lake creating the most wonderful and mesmerising abstract movies. It was impossible to tell where the next impact flower would appear. I was lost in the performance as the wind sang to me through the rocks I was crouched amongst.
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  • Tantalisingly close, indeed just tantalising, but Tryfan remain out of bounds to everyone at present. In a way it was rather a nice thought that the magnificent mountain was devoid of human beings and their noise and chatter and rubbish. It seemed even more awesome because of its desolation and quietness. <br />
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There is talk of reducing numbers in the Snowdonia National Park, long term, and I think this would be a very good thing for nature and the environment. For the moment it was just me and the restricted big peaks in the distance and the most amazing weather play all around me.
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  • I think most of my family, friends & followers of my work have seen how far I’ve been sinking since lockdown started back in Africa in March. I haven’t coped that well with losing access to one of the main cures for my darkness, getting out into the landscape & nature. It’s been a real battle internally and I felt I was losing a grip on what life was about, so many waves of loss, fear and entrapment. <br />
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So with the latest minimal change to Welsh lockdown rules, and the ability to drive five miles to meet friends or get exercise, it’s been euphoric for me. My first walk up a small hill, just to be in the mountains again, was as if it was my first time! My heart literally was pounding with excitement and I found myself grinning constantly as I ascended the hill. I found it remarkable to just watch my feet in their walking shoes, taking steps up rocks and grass covered slopes. The wind was cold and I’d delayed the start of the walk to allow a heavy hail shower to pass over, but when the June sunshine appeared it bathed me in warmth and joy. <br />
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From the summit I was able to see all the major peaks, the Carneddau, Tryfan, the Glyderau, Yr Wyddfa, Garnedd Elidir, and even Yr Eifel on the Llyn. A couple passed me on their way down and after an awkward, socially distanced acknowledgement as is the way these days, I saw no one for the rest of the time in the hills. It was the sort of solitude I yearn for, the solitude of choice not the solitude of jail.   <br />
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Shortly before another heavy hail shower, which lasted almost half an hour, I found myself enchanted by the morphing dark clouds over the Carneddau, even their ominous depth seemed magical and awesome. Quite suddenly an intense beam of warm sunshine split the sombre scene and caressed its way up and over Foel Meirch until it ticked the shrouded summit of Carnedd Dafydd. It was my perfect light, theatrical and dramatic, a play with no characters, just backdrops. <br />
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I sat on the summit, alone and happy in my own thou
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  • Tantalisingly close, legally impossible but the lure of the mountains is powerful and emotional - they are a siren calling through the breeze. That’s all, a ten minute breeze separating me from my spiritual sanctuary.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
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The most incredible sunset over the industrial relics of the Dinorwic slate quarries in Snowdonia. It was so peaceful up there, absolute silence as I studied the clouds gently mutating in the rich sunset over Yr Wyddfa, Wales’ highest mountain.
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  • I’ve always been fascinated by the way nature reclaims so much of what man has altered, constructed or destroyed. Here at the Dinorwic slate quarries, wonderful little copses and patches of woodland have sprung up between the walls, railway tracks and buildings that were part of this huge slate industry. <br />
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On a warm evening with only the sound of a Blackbird’s song to lighten the sounds of or heavy footsteps, it was hard to imagine the noise and industry from just a few decades earlier, as man blasted into mountain.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • Beyond the illusory warmth of foreground moors, stood the frozen twin peaks of Arenig Fawr, briefly illuminated by moments of temperamental winter sunlight.<br />
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I was lured by the mountain’s wonderful structure and ancient beauty, but the buffeting gale was biting into my face so on this day at least, I was glad not to have been on the icy summits.
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  • Intense winds raced across the surface of this mountain lake, as fast moving clouds scudded over Yr Wyddfa’s sharp peaks. It was fabulous to be up there by myself, not a soul in sight. I absolutely adore having the landscape to myself. It provides an opportunity for thought, reflection and a feeling of utter connection to the earth & elements.
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  • Three imposing sharp peaks of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) in the cold glow of winter light.
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  • An overcast and windless day in Snowdonia last week but the rich Autumnal colours glowed beautifully in the near mirror-like surface of the mountain lake. Reflections in lakes are such a cliché so forgive me, I was just rather taken with the scene anyway and couldn't help jumping out of the van to make this image.
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  • Don’t usually mess around with PhotoShop, preferring to keep things as natural as I remember, but in this case I just felt it was a lovely pair for my old shot, “Reflecting on Past Times”
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  • We’d been so engrossed in our rock-climbing that we hadn’t even noticed the full-moon behind us, rising above Crib Goch ridge on Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) <br />
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Had to stop to grab a snap from the roadside, so thankful that I’d left my tripod in the van.
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  • Unbelievably beautiful shapes, colours and textures in a cliff of slate in the Llanberis slate quarries. It was more reminiscent of an oil painting than a disused quarry face.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • Whilst waiting for my rock climbing partner to arrive, I couldn’t resist shooting this amazing morning sunshine illuminating striking cubist-looking slate crags. I saw them as huge landscape sculptures erupting from the dark grey slate waste all around.<br />
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UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
Stunning rainbows formed behind me as late evening sunset burned through sheets of rain moving across the mountains. It was so tempting to concentrate on the back-lit rain in front of me, but when this was going on behind my back I couldn’t resist a snap :-)
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
No this isn’t filtered, this was shot in torrential rain that was back-lit by intense evening sunshine setting over the Irish Sea. I’d been checking out the climbing routes in the Dinorwic Quarries, waiting for the sun to come out from banks of heavy cloud, when I noticed a glow on the crags behind me. I rounded the corner and the sky was on fire. A first few drops of rain dappled the slate slabs around me so I hurried to the edge of the levels and rapidly set up my camera before the heavens opened up on top of me. I grabbed perhaps 10 frames in total as the sheets of rain moved across the hillsides. I also saw and managed to grab a shot of a most glorious rainbow behind me.
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  • Delicate last washes of evening sunshine bathed the West facing mountain landscape. The Marchlyn lake glowed blue against the grass-covered man-made dam. Even though the air was cold, the weak sunshine offered warmth when I sheltered from the wind. I was instantly attracted to these amazing geometric faces of rock in the foreground, perfectly shattered by nature.
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  • A shattered landscape, blasted, gouged and ripped apart by mans material need, lies abstracted in the gorgeous warmth of evening sunlight, the quarrymen long gone. <br />
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Today a different form of quarry workers assault the slate faces, roped up, drilling, clipping, sweating and shouting to each other in the carved out quarry levels. <br />
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The multitude of tough labourers who faced hardship and danger in this industrial landscape are now but echoes in the shadows and deep pits. From the faces of smooth slate in now abandoned quarries, come the sounds of excited chatter and exhilaration as modern day climbers fill the void that has been left.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
The massif of Snowdon tries to hold back an enormous fog bank from the Irish Sea, but clouds and fog spilled over nevertheless. Through short breaks in the fog, brilliant sunlight blasted the quarries on the mountainside opposite, separating and dividing the landscape into multiple layers of tone, colour and shadow. In a manmade industrial landscape like this, the whole scene looked more like something from a Hollywood film set.
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
The massif of Snowdon tries to hold back an enormous fog bank from the Irish Sea, but clouds and fog spilled over nevertheless. Through short breaks in the fog, brilliant sunlight blasted the quarries on the mountainside opposite, separating and dividing the landscape into multiple layers of tone, colour and shadow. In a manmade industrial landscape like this, the whole scene looked more like something from a Hollywood film set.
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  • It was strange to be standing in sunshine one one side of the valley, looking towards the banks of fog rolling over the hillsides opposite.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • It was strange to be standing in sunshine one one side of the valley, looking towards the banks of fog rolling over the hillsides opposite. The bustling town of Llanberis looked so tiny below the crazy swirling weather above.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • Although I stood in brilliant sunshine on my mountain top, clouds billowed over the main Snowdonia peaks, set against an ominous dark sky. Sunlight punched through the swirling vapour illuminating patches of hillside and ocassionally the summits themselves
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  • Another fantastic day walking in the Welsh mountains, this time with my gorgeous lady. It was bitterly cold as we started up the hill, and then when we reached the col the breeze chilled it even further. The sun started to come out from beneath a huge blanket of grey cloud and we enjoyed a hint of warmth on the ascent to the frost covered summit. We didn't hang around at the summit at all, as we knew we'd be in the dark on the final freezing leg back down the Northern bluff to the car park. Couldn't resist however, taking these images as we left the summit and faced the setting sun. Beautiful, wonderful, magical afternoon in real Wales, with Jani
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  • Another fantastic day walking in the Welsh mountains, this time with my gorgeous lady. It was bitterly cold as we started up the hill, and then when we reached the col the breeze chilled it even further. The sun started to come out from beneath a huge blanket of grey cloud and we enjoyed a hint of warmth on the ascent to the frost covered summit. We didn't hang around at the summit at all, as we knew we'd be in the dark on the final freezing leg back down the Northern bluff to the car park. Couldn't resist however, taking these images as we left the summit and faced the setting sun. Beautiful, wonderful, magical afternoon in real Wales, with Jani
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  • On the summit in dark swirling cloud. A delicate sun glimmered through the vapour, illuminating shards of quartz-covered, shattered wet rock.<br />
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I was alone on the summit and it helped create the feeling that this pictorial wonder was my privilege alon
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  • After an unpromising start on a cold grey day, and my hip playing up for the first time in a year, serene sunlight glowed underneath the swirling low cloud shrouding the summits.<br />
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It’s moments like this that make my day, that lify my spirits and paint away the anxiety and anger over the stupidity of human kind. I need the solace that the hills offer those who seek it. I love the solitude as it’s further escape from the nonsense that is current society. Thankfull I didn’t see many fellow walkers, and those I did, bar four, were the grumpiest sods. They never ackowldeged me or my warm greeting, choosing instead to pretend I didn’t exist. Sign of the times. The mountains however welcomed me glady as always, and I felt part of them and utterly connected to them and the elements.
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  • On the summit in dark swirling cloud. A delicate sun glimmered through the vapour, illuminating shards of quartz-covered, shattered wet rock. <br />
<br />
I was alone on the summit and it helped create the feeling that this pictorial wonder was my privilege alone.
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  • A heart pumping ascent; cold air stabbing the lungs; boots slipping on wet rock - why do we do this? The reasons are many, but for me at least it’s that vague hope that a blanket of grey turns to a theatre of dramatic light, an opportunity for me to revel in the ever-changing performance of the weather on the landscape stage. Yes I also know it’s doing me good, keeping me fit, healthy and mentally balanced, but honestly it’s mostly the hope of finding genuine visual excitement in the natural world.<br />
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So much ‘landscape photography’ these days is about creating fake dreams through software, landscapes that bear no resemblance at all to what the human eye saw and it dumbfounds me. There really are amazing, mind-blowing miracles of light and weather to be observed so why do so many accept the con of the social media fakery? Have we truly lost the human ability to see the beauty in the world about us, and can only ever get our fix from fabricating over-processed lies?<br />
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I choose to continue to look for miracles that anyone can see when they stand next to me. Yes I need to know how my camera works and how to reproduce that beauty in file and on paper; yes I have no choice but to minimally & judiciously develop a digital file, but for me, it has to be a celebration of the real world and the magic that actually exists.
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
Just after the fleeting dramatic light a few minutes earlier, bursting through the mizzly blanket above the Welsh hills, a delicate ghostly vapour now enshrouded the deserted quarrymen’s huts high up in the Dinorwic slate quarries.<br />
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It’s strange studying these old industrial workings, where men blasted away half a mountainside around half a century ago, but I’m also grateful that we have access to this place, and an opportunity to stand and reflect on our history and a way of life long gone, in this country at least. If we don’t consider the past, how can we possibly learn how to go forwards?
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
A fleeting burst of light during an overcast, mizzly day in the Welsh mountains.  The light glowed briefly over Llyn Peris before skipping at speed over the levels of the disused Dinorwic slate quarries and then disappearing altogether.<br />
<br />
It’s strange studying these old industrial workings, where men blasted away half a mountainside around half a century ago, but then seeing so many people using the quarried levels for climbing, walking, mountain biking and general sight-seeing. In a way it’s a really positive thing that so much fun has come out of so much destruction, and hardship for the quarrymen of old.
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  • An incredibly gale blasted early morning hike into the Welsh hills. I was literally blown over twice and the tripod was next to useless for photography. The light conditions and cloud effects were not what I’d hoped for but it was strangely beautiful in it’s super-bright blanket of haze, softening the distant hills and making Tryfan stand out in a way I couldn’t have imagined. Nevertheless the quality of light diminished with every passing minute, so I was happy to race back down the mountain to meet up with friends to go rock-climbing on Tryfan Bach!
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  • Wonderful light over the hills and reservoir of Llyn Marchlyn Mawr. At times of hugh demand the water from the reservoir storms the turbines in the HEP power station below generating huge quantities of electricty in just s few seconds. I’ve always found it strange standing next to the small, silent lake, the amount of noise and energy it’s able to create at a moments notice.
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  • Another evening walk into the mountains to catch the dramatic, changeable light. As so often happens though, clouds came down across the evening sun and over the summits. I sat there drinking coffee in what became a waiting game and then suddenly, a pulse of sunshine illuminated the hillsides of the Glyderau mountains, silhouetting the foreground peaks and creating a drama I liked even if it was not what I’d originally envisaged.
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  • A spontaneous fast evening hike up to the summit of Elidir Fawr, grabbing the last of the sunshine before the torrential rain promised for the following day.<br />
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It was clear that the weather was already changing, dark clouds swirling around the peaks, but side-lit by striking evening sunlight. Though July, my hands were really cold in the strong gusting breeze. <br />
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I didn’t see a soul anywhere on the mountain so I was able to revel in the dramatic elemental conditions surrounding me, perfect and humbling solitude that freaks me as much as it excites me.
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  • I left the valley in beautiful warm evening sunshine but by the time I reached the summit it was shrouded in dense, fast-swirling and cold hill fog. I shivered as I sat in the lee of the summit cairn but when the sun burst through I was bathed in warmth and mesmerised by the rapidly unfurling mountain views beyond me. The conditions lasted maybe an hour before the temperatures balanced out and the cloud dispersed leaving totally clear views. I can't help but be impressed by the constantly changing ethereal qualities of the Welsh light and weather.
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  • I left the valley in beautiful warm evening sunshine but by the time I reached the summit it was shrouded in dense, fast-swirling and cold hill fog. I shivered as I sat in the lee of the summit cairn but when the sun burst through I was bathed in warmth and mesmerised by the rapidly unfurling mountain views beyond me. The conditions lasted maybe an hour before the temperatures balanced out and the cloud dispersed leaving totally clear views. I can't help but be impressed by the constantly changing ethereal qualities of the Welsh light and weather.
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  • The rain was relentless, falling in vast sheets across the sombre Welsh hillsides, soaking the landscape and everything upon it. I’d just descended from the gale-blown summits where I’d not seen a soul, but I was more than happy in my wet solitude. I could hear a hidden river tumbling through dark rocks in the valley below.<br />
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The wind drove the rain through the back of my waterproofs as I trudged down the tiny path back to habitation. It was near silent, no calls of birds or bleating of sheep, just the drumming of the downpour on my hood. <br />
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I loved it all. Amidst these huge Welsh mountains that one-minute seemed imposing and soft like a watercolour the next, I felt alive in this huge valley, a tiny, isolated figure moving through an ancient glaciated landscape. These are times and conditions when you feel humbled by the elements and connected to the earth.
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  • The rain was relentless, coming down in sheets across the sombre Welsh hillsides, soaking the landscape and everything upon it. I’d just walked for hours on the deserted gale-blown mountaintops, alone but strangely happy in my solitude. The river in the valley was swollen, fed by the downpour but tumbled excitedly towards the sea beyond.<br />
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The steadfast skeletal trees transfixed me. Their bare branches were almost still in the breeze and their water-drop laden twigs stretched out like a delta. These skeletal figures were in a sort of suspended animation, hidden life pulsing through the outstretched limbs but waiting to burst out in the spring, months from now.<br />
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I didn’t really want to leave but my waterproofs were now beginning to fail after almost four hours of penetrating bad weather. I could hear the rain on my jacket hood and tiny beads of water now ran down my skin. It seemed that if I moved I’d ruin the silent connection between me and the trees, but I did, and it didn’t.
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  • Warm perspiration chilled rapidly as low cloud over the summit of Moel Eilio obscured the evening sun. A gentle breeze forced cold vapour around our necks and up our sleeves. Occasionally we could see brilliant sunshine bouncing off the West coast of Anglesey but up here we were being kept from revelling in the beauty.<br />
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Nevertheless the two of us drank hot coffee and ate chocolate biscuits, just sitting close to each other and loving the surreal magic of the conditions and our joint solitude up here on the mountain top.
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  • The last embers of a burning sunset caught the gable ends of the hillside town of Groeslon on the hillside below the imposing Nantlle Ridge. The clouds were on fire, billowing and swirling, hiding and revealing the majestic hills behind. <br />
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And then within perhaps a minute, a huge fire blanket of cloud on the horizon suffocated the intense flames, and the colours were gone for the night.
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  • Gentle lenticular clouds slowly moved across a clear blue sky above the hazy mountains of Snowdonia. These mountains can look so vast and magnificent in dramatic weather, but in these conditions they seemed no more than small blue dunes, dwarfed by the void above.
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  • I was under the weather. It was 7.30 in the morning and I was out in my van, driving on impulse and letting the will take me to wherever. <br />
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I very rarely go near Llanberis these days even though I used to spend so much time climbing in the quarries. I could almost hear the clipping of karabiners as I basked in the healing warming sunshine. It was so peaceful. Wisps of cloud hung at the valley head and the morning light created a regression of tones from foreground to background, silloueting Dolbadarn Castle, a true castle of the Welsh princes. <br />
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As a child Llanberis was a magical place, and the departure point for several walks up Snowdon with my Dad. The steam trains were always a gripping fascination, their historical looking enginesbelching steam as they prepared fpr the chug up the steep railway to Snowdon’s summit. <br />
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Here today though, alone and thinkimg about my parents, and age, and my pwn past, Llanberis was as beautiful as ever, but so much of my vision was memories of what once was.
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