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  • Stormy weather and incoming waves on the huge long beach at Dinas Dinlle, North Wales. The mountains of Yr Eifl can be seen on the Llyn Peninsula in the far distance.
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  • Dinas Dinlle is a vast beach beyond Caernarfon in Gwynedd North Wales. It is backed by an ancient hill fort which is gradually being eroded away by each high tide. As the tide retreats it leaves a huge expanse of sand, rocks and pools
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  • A lobster pot is washed ashore by slow powerful waves at sunset at Dinas Dinlle beach near Caernarfon, North Wales.
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  • Dinas Dinlle is a vast beach beyond Caernarfon in Gwynedd North Wales. It is backed by an ancient hill fort which is gradually being eroded away by each high tide. As the tide retreats it leaves a huge expanse of sand, rocks and pools
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  • In body-bending gales on Wales’ North coast, I topped out on the summit of this ancient hill-fort to peruse the fast-changing light and incoing tide at Dinas Dinlle. I had to physically lean onto the tripod to keep the camera as still as possible to make the exposure. <br />
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The sun disappeared behind a hige cloud bank an the intensity reduced dramatically seconds after this image.
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  • Dinas Dinlle is a vast beach beyond Caernarfon Airport. As the tide retreats it leaves a huge inviting expanse of sand, to be enjoyed by everyone and everything from walkers to oystercatchers, until the tide once again makes its long journey back towards the cliffs.
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  • Gale driven waves and foam pile onto Dinas Dinlle shingle beach at sunset, on the North coast of the Llyn Peninsula in North Wales. The large rocks in the image are sea defence measures to stop storm surges pushing the tide over the shingle bar onto the low lying farmland behind.
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  • Dinas Dinlle is a vast beach beyond Caernarfon in Gwynedd North Wales. It is backed by an ancient hill fort which is gradually being eroded away by each high tide. As the tide retreats it leaves a huge expanse of sand, rocks and pools
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  • The surf of the Irish Sea endlessly batters the coast at Dinas Dinlle, and numerous coastal defence measures have been tried, but the ocean is relentless and man's efforts seem destined to fail here.
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  • Beautiful evening light on the crumbling cliffs of the hill fort at Dinas Dinlle, North Wales. Only around half of this hill fort remains after years of constant erosion from the Irish Sea
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  • Dinas Dinlle is a vast beach beyond Caernarfon in Gwynedd North Wales. It is backed by an ancient hill fort which is gradually being eroded away by each high tide. As the tide retreats it leaves a huge expanse of sand, rocks and pools
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  • Summer 2020, week after week of dreary wet weather in North Wales, occasionally positivity injected with a day or so of sunshine. <br />
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We sat on the front at Dinas Dinlle watching dozens of holiday makers desperately trying to make the most of their staycation in the gloom. As a grandfather near the shore and a young Dad near the top of the shingle beach vainly tried to make damp kites fly for their hopeful kids, a squall of heavy rain slowly moved across the mountains of Yr Eifl - curtains of rain softening the ancient hills of the Hammer Tribes behind.
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  • I'd headed for Dinas Dinlle simply because I thought my Mum & Dad might be going there, but the car park was empty. I geared up and sat for a short while looking at the amazing sight before me, the salt spray covering the windscreen and the van being rocked by the gales, almost 100 mph they said today in the UK. Jeremy Vine was on the radio chatting with those trapped by the gales, but the sunlight here was intesne and positive, the wind fely like a heart beat and pull of the outdoors was greater than the force used to seal the van door closed. ..As I sat there, a small black car turned up, and there was my Dad, smiling at me through the front window, Mum waving at me lovingly fron the passenger seat. Dad and I went for a walk together whilst Mum sheltered in the car. I was intent on taking pictures, and my Dad was doing his best to be close but not too close. I watched him as he huddled over the debris washed up on the high tide mark, beachcoming like he'd always done with us as kids, and I felt very very sad. My Dad is getting older, mid 70s now, and he struggles more with things he'd once have taken in his stride...He said he was going to head back to have a coffee with Mum, and I said I'd take a few more shots then join them, but as I watched his slightly unstable retreat back towards the car, blown sideways by the wind, I couldn't take any more images, and I made my way back to join them. The cafe was shut. They made their way home whilst I stayed for the last of the light on this stormy beach. It was a day where I was being torn apart, emotionally, physically and spiritually. ..I called in on them on the way home, and chatted for hours. It's funny isn't it, that even the most stunning things on the planet, pale into significance when you consider real love, and real loss.
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  • Sunset and clouds over Garn For and Yr Eifl, mountains on the Llyn Peninsula, North Wales. Surf rolls in over the vast shallow beach of Dinas Dinlle in the foreground
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  • I've been enjoying evenings with my parents lately, when I collect them from their house and we disappear on evening jaunts in my van, usually to the seaside to eat fish & chips and watch the sunset. These evenings have become very important to me as I watch Mum & Dad getting older, and I recognise more than ever that our time is finite, and that people we take for granted (in a nice way) simply won't be there forever. <br />
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As Dad hunted on the shingle beach for wood for his sculptures, my Mum and I were captivated by the simple beauty of light and pattern in the wet sand and sky in front of us. These sorts of landscape pictures are generally too easy to take and very obvious, but this image means more to me than landscape, it was about sharing a vision with my lovely and precious Mum.
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  • The endless cycle of high and low tides is reassuring in that some things never change, a perpetual familiarity.
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  • As the cliché goes, "Looks can be deceptive" and so it was today.  Fluffy white clouds floating across a lush blue sky and brilliant sunshine reflecting off a calm sea, but what the image doesn't show is the biting Northerly wind and the stinging cold ocean. At 6º this was the coldest sea I've swum in, a whole degree colder than any time last winter. My fingers went numb so quickly but thankfully my wetsuit socks prevented my toes from doing the same. I was still happy to be in the sea despite the conditions but 7 minutes was more than enough.
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  • It’s that time of year, and although I thoroughly dislike short days, darkness, rain and gloom, Autumn is also the season of warm water, warm gales, warm sunshine and incredible drama. If we could arrange to keep winter for just a month or so, I’d be very happy, but I’m trying to enjoy the most of the last vestiges of what was summer.
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  • What a difference a season makes. In the summer this beach is busy with tourists, swimming, kayaking and paddle boarding on the water; families eating fish & chips on the sea front and dozens of walkers perambulating along the seafront, but in Winter, it feels vast, empty and exposed. The full force of the wind howls onto this beach from the Irish Sea and the mountains behind seem darker, higher and more ominous. The ancient hill fort s gradually being eroded away, now less than half the size of the original, and hardly surprising when you watch the waves relentless attacking the base.   <br />
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The wind was so strong that the sea became a conveyer of fast, foamy white waves that pushed far up the beach on every landfall. My feet got soaked as the water wrapped around my legs time after time but it was all part of the amazing experience of feeling connected to winter as much as the landscape itself.
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  • Amazingly, after doing a quick walk to Llanddwyn Island this afternoon before Jani started another night shift on a busy Covid ITU ward, I did an absolute blast up Moel Eilio straight after to catch elusive sunshine promised for hours earlier. <br />
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I went from van to peak & back in 1hr 15 and lost 50 litres of perspiration doing so, only to see the huge ball of sunshine drop below the clouds before dropping further behind a massive band of cloud on the horizon! <br />
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It was just wonderful to be alone on the summit as sunset disappeared and a bitter dusk drew around me. I refused to use my headtorch on the way down, revelling instead in my night vision under a half moon
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  • It's been maybe a year since I last took my Mum & Dad out for a fish & chip evening at the seaside, and I know we all feel we are missing the connection as time flies by and equally is getting shorter. So the other night we made rapid last minute arrangements and a very happy Mum & Dad climbed (almost literally) into my van and off we went. <br />
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The breeze was strong and deceptively cool outside the warm sunlit cab, so with the smell of salt & vinegar pervading the air, and later clothes, we sat and chatted to each other about life & love and family. After washing it down with a nice cup of flask coffee I felt it was daft not to go and check out the lowering sun as it began to set over the impressive wet beach. I left my folks in the comfort of the vehicle and wandered along the huge expanse of flat sand, textile-patterned with watery layers from the retreating tide. <br />
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I am so into my rock climbing these days that I find so much less time to take photos, combined with an increasing awareness that I simply don't want to shoot stuff I've shot so many times before. There was something so sublimely beautiful about the colours, reflections and intensity of light this evening though, that I found myself genuinely enjoying the looking and lining up of simple compositions in the vast emptiness.  I had no tripod for a change and I was able to move fluidly and easily to benefit from the rapidly changing conditions, before all too soon the sun moved behind a huge cloudbank rolling in as it often does, from the Irish Sea. <br />
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I returned to the van happy that I'd taken some pictures for a change, but also aware that I'd missed maybe half an hour of the company of my lovely parents. I'm finding that time is harder than ever to allocate to the things I want to see and do in life, but that maybe small moments of lots of things are more important than long periods of narrow obsession. Actually I don't think there's much choice anymore as the hourglass is more than half empty.
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  • The apparent calm belies real danger in this narrow stretch of water. The multi coloured pebbles and stones have been brought down from nearby mountain ranges by glaciers, and are contstantly swept back and forth by vicious tidal currents in this lonely area. The gentleness of Abermenai point is very deceptive when you consider the number of ships and boats that have been tided in these dangerous currents and wrecked on sand bars in very shallow waters.
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  • A narrow sheep track meanders across the centre of the summit of an ancient hill fort on the Llyn Peninsula in North Wales. The sea is gradually eroding away at this historic monument and only half of the original site now remains
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  • It’s that time of year, and although I thoroughly dislike short days, darkness, rain and gloom, Autumn is also the season of warm water, warm gales, warm sunshine and incredible drama. If we could arrange to keep winter for just a month or so, I’d be very happy, but I’m trying to enjoy the most of the last vestiges of what was summer.
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