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  • Close to Base
  • Cross Limpets
  • A Welcome Difference
  • 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.
    GD001365.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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.
    GD002384.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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!
    GD002626.jpg
  • Ostriches dotted the rolling landscape on the Garden Route in South Africa. The hills were massive, but the low swirling cloud made them appear even bigger. I kept pinching myself to keep things real as everything just seemed so ‘surreal’ – ostriches as numerous and widespread as sheep in Wales!<br />
<br />
What I have noticed is that the heat haze, which was visible to the human eye, is particularly obvious when shooting on the 100-400mm Fuji on the XT2. The heat haze seems magnified creating a rather painterly effect when viewing the image in close up.
    GD002164.jpg
  • Looking towards Albania from the Mount Pantokrator Monastery on Corfu's highest peak. The light was very soft and the sun watery but a warm glow spread across the hills, more and more intensely as the sun set. The whole time I was there, I couldn't get over how close Albania seemed, here in the UK there is - the UK! But in Corfu I was fascinated by 'notions' of borders, that by sailing a yacht in the sunshine across a short stretch of water from where tourists are swimming that I end up in another country for which I would need to let them know I'd 'arrived'- quite bizarre! I guess it comes from living on a very big island where we can't see much other land anywhere!<br />
<br />
Available as signed, unlimited fine-art rag paper prints, from the largest A1 prints to the smallest A4.
    GD000843.jpg
  • From a series of images quietly developing throughout this ever-extending forced lockdown. Most of the local walks I’ve been limited to recently, have brought me up close to some wonderful trees and enchanting woodlands. Since moving to this area around 30 years ago, I’ve been slightly disappointed by the lack of big woodlands around here, but the lockdown has made me realise that although limited, there really are some beautiful tree subjects around and about. In this woodland, bordering the banks of the Afon Menai, even a tall, dead tree caught my eye, dominating a clearing of its own making, retaining form and even beauty in its angular skeletal limbs. Decades after forays into woodland projects in the Cornwall of my teen years, I have found increasing enjoyment from getting close to trees once more.
    GD002479.jpg
  • I have to be honest, I normally steer well clear of Trearddur, normally populated by hundreds of beachgoers, jet-skis, power boats, 4x4s on the sand, boat trailers and sailing dinghies. The small bay is surrounded on all sides by a hotchpotch of architecture, some interesting, some ghastly, but either way is not a place of peace, tranquility and natural landscape that I normally seek for my imagery.<br />
.<br />
However, during this lockdown I was able to witness a little bit of history, for even on this beautiful blue-sky day there were only a dozen people on the whole beach, and most kept close to the promenade. For the short period of time I was there, looking to create new images for a loyal customer, I had a small sense of how lovely the bay itself actually is, without the crowds. Long foamy pulses of Irish Sea waves pushed themselves up the broad sandy shore, licking their way around the stumps of petrified forest that I'd never seen before and never knew existed.<br />
.<br />
In the distance a dog walker wandered into the burning light and the call of oystercatchers could be heard over the sound of the waves. The virgin sand was mostly unspoiled by footprints and if it were not for the urban skyline I could have imagined myself on an ancient beach, nothing more than a stretch of coastline where the beautiful predictability of high & low tide were all that mattered in the world.
    GD002609.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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.
    GD002216.jpg
  • I have to be honest, I normally steer well clear of Trearddur, normally populated by hundreds of beachgoers, jet-skis, power boats, 4x4s on the sand, boat trailers and sailing dinghies. The small bay is surrounded on all sides by a hotchpotch of architecture, some interesting, some ghastly, but either way is not a place of peace, tranquility and natural landscape that I normally seek for my imagery.  <br />
<br />
However, during this lockdown I was able to witness a little bit of history, for even on this beautiful blue-sky day there were only a dozen people on the whole beach, and most kept close to the promenade. For the short period of time I was there, looking to create new images for a loyal customer, I had a small sense of how lovely the bay itself actually is, without the crowds. Long foamy pulses of Irish Sea waves pushed themselves up the broad sandy shore, licking their way around the stumps of petrified forest that I'd never seen before and never knew existed.<br />
<br />
 In the distance a dog walker wandered into the burning light and the call of oystercatchers could be heard over the sound of the waves. The virgin sand was mostly unspoiled by footprints and if it were not for the urban skyline I could have imagined myself on an ancient beach, nothing more than a stretch of coastline where the beautiful predictability of high & low tide were all that mattered in the world.
    GD002607.jpg
  • The sea was at summer temperatures, but a sharp cool wind raced offshore, cooling the wet skin rapidly. She had spent several hours in the water now, laying on her back in deep tidal pools, swimming in the ocean and now exhausted just enjoying the feelings of a river beneath her as it flowed from coastal valley to open sea. <br />
<br />
This woman studies the ocean and the creatures within, she knows about it and experiences it up close and intimately. She loves the ocean and of course as we all are back in time, she is from the ocean.
    From the Ocean
  • I lost a wonderful & dear close friend today. I needed to make a picture to remember this day, and his life. A Caernarfon lad, born & bred, this image from Ynys Môn where he lived, across the beautiful Afon Menai to the mountains of Eryri he loved. I shot this image with tears in my eyes & they won't seem to dry up.
    GD002876.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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.
    GD002670.jpg
  • The sunlight was intense, an all encompassing blanket of dry heat, but here in the bushes a gentle breeze rustled the foliage of wispy trees, creating a coolness in the shade. I was warned about this place, and that I needed to tread carefully to avoid all manner of crawling insects and venomous creatures that thrive in this secluded habitat. Every leaf and even the dead twigs on the ground could all be a hiding place for them.<br />
<br />
So as I beat my way along the overgrown path I was taken-aback by what I stumbled across, lying curled up in a patch of sunlight, pale, delicate skin pressed close against the rough ground and sharp leaf litter. There was no obvious movement, just a slight flex of the muscles upon feeling the vibration of my footsteps. I didn’t know how to proceed as I certainly didn’t want to create any disturbance, and I had no idea what the response would be if woken, so I decided to back-track and find a new way around. I became acutely aware that I really did need to watch every step I took in this African scrubland, as you never know what surprises are at each turn. <br />
<br />
From Glyn Davies’s ongoing book and exhibition project Landscape Figures
    Step Carefully on the Path
  • There was a torrent of water in the narrow river powering down the dark valley. The sound was just audible from a distance, but up close it was noisy and relentless, yet at the same time captivating, mesmerising even.<br />
<br />
I had seen the woman from the mountain ridge, swimming upriver from the valley below, like a salmon to its breeding ground. Every so often she was forced to stand, in order to navigate her way through the waterfalls that interspersed her ascent to the river’s source.<br />
<br />
By the time I reached the valley floor she had temporarily left the water to stretch her lean muscles after such a magnificent effort. The air was warm and her wet skin started to dry in the gentle breeze. When the midges began to surround her, she re-entered the river, squeezed her naked body through large black boulders and in a moment, had slipped into a deep pool. The last I saw of her was no more than an undulating flash of pale skin under the dark water and then she was gone.
    Drying Out in the Dark Valley
  • There was a torrent of water in the narrow river powering down the dark valley. The sound was just audible from a distance, but up close it was noisy and relentless, yet at the same time captivating, mesmerising even.<br />
<br />
I had seen the woman from the mountain ridge, swimming upriver from the valley below, like a salmon to its breeding ground. Every so often she was forced to stand, in order to navigate her way through the waterfalls that interspersed her ascent to the river’s source.<br />
<br />
By the time I reached the valley floor she had temporarily left the water to stretch her lean muscles after such a magnificent effort. The air was warm and her wet skin started to dry in the gentle breeze. When the midges began to surround her, she re-entered the river, squeezed her naked body through large black boulders and in a moment, had slipped into a deep pool. The last I saw of her was no more than an undulating flash of pale skin under the dark water and then she was gone.
    The Caress of Air & Water
  • I have to be honest, I normally steer well clear of Trearddur, normally populated by hundreds of beachgoers, jet-skis, power boats, 4x4s on the sand, boat trailers and sailing dinghies. The small bay is surrounded on all sides by a hotchpotch of architecture, some interesting, some ghastly, but either way is not a place of peace, tranquility and natural landscape that I normally seek for my imagery.<br />
.<br />
However, during this lockdown I was able to witness a little bit of history, for even on this beautiful blue-sky day there were only a dozen people on the whole beach, and most kept close to the promenade. For the short period of time I was there, looking to create new images for a loyal customer, I had a small sense of how lovely the bay itself actually is, without the crowds. Long foamy pulses of Irish Sea waves pushed themselves up the broad sandy shore, licking their way around the stumps of petrified forest that I'd never seen before and never knew existed.<br />
.<br />
In the distance a dog walker wandered into the burning light and the call of oystercatchers could be heard over the sound of the waves. The virgin sand was mostly unspoiled by footprints and if it were not for the urban skyline I could have imagined myself on an ancient beach, nothing more than a stretch of coastline where the beautiful predictability of high & low tide were all that mattered in the world.
    GD002608.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001737.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001736.jpg
  • Old Polpeor Lifeboat Station, Britain’s most Southerly point<br />
<br />
I’ve visited this desolate (and derelict looking) place since I was a kid. My parents loved the Lizard peninsula and we would often go there at weekends. This is the Polpeor lifeboat station, built in 1914 and finally closed in 1961 so I’ve never been fortunate enough to have witnessed it being used to house an actual lifeboat.<br />
<br />
What I have witnessed over the last 4 decades is it’s use by local fishermen to house their kit but I noticed this last visit a few weeks ago that the ramp has now completely broken up and it’s really only the shed itself that remains standing.<br />
<br />
The curved boat ramp in the foreground is still used regularly by small local fishing boats as it keeps them free of the worst of the heavy seas and weather.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless you can’t visit this place without becoming vividly aware of it’s important maritime history and the treacherous coastline in which it nestles. Even on the bleakest days I am drawn to this location and it transfers me instantly back to my Cornish childhood.
    GD002218.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001733.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001735.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001734.jpg
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