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  • Cramped streets and a tapestry of clean air inspired, lichen-covered rooftops in the once fishing village, now holiday home resort of Mousehole, (pronounced Mouzel) This village in Mediaeval times was a busier fishing port than either Penzance or Newlyn! Though its a great shame the town has been dominated by tourism, the architecture & character of the place, through it's architecture, remains beautiful, unique and history rich.
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  • A Jon Boat for hunting & fishing - seen in Marsaxlokk Harbour, Malta
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  • Almost the whole fishing fleet had left the harbour leaving this semi derelict old trawler alone at the bleak quayside in the empty fishing harbour of Newlyn in Penwith, Cornwall
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  • Fixed line shore fishing net, Traeth Bychan, East Anglesey, Wales.
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  • Newlyn harbour in winter. between heavy rain showers. The whole fishing fleet seemed to be in this still active Cornish fishing harbour. Penlee Lifeboat a Severn-class 17-36 "Ivan Ellen" (on station 2003) is moored alongside the pontoon.
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  • As a village, and cove, I can romanticise about this place. It feels Cornish, and its strong links with the sea, fishing boats, pilot gigs, lifeboats and shipwrecks (of which a recent one lies just around the corner) all help to re-enforce this romantacism. However, although swamped by visitors in the summer, and now largely dominated by holiday homes, this place is still actively involved with all these activities and for me therefore, Sennen will always be what I've loved best about the life and culture of Cornwall.
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  • Cramped streets and a tapestry of clean air inspired, lichen-covered rooftops in the once fishing village, now holiday home resort of Mousehole, (pronounced Mouzel) This village in Mediaeval times was a busier fishing port than either Penzance or Newlyn! Though its a great shame the town has been dominated by tourism, the architecture & character of the place, through it's architecture, remains beautiful, unique and history rich.
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  • Ynys Gorad Goch - an island in the middle of the Menai Strait which has used weirs to trap fish on the outging tide for many centuries. The earliest known document relating to Ynys Gorad Goch is dated 1590.<br />
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At this time the island and its fishery was leased by the then Bishop of Bangor to a Thomas Fletcher of Treborth. He had to pay ‘Three pounds and besides one Barell full of hearinges at the tyme of the hearing fishinge’.<br />
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A later map refers to this as ‘Bishop’s Island’. There is a Bishop’s Room in part of the house which is an observation room, and above the centre window is a carving of a mitre, and below it, the inscription ‘I.R. 1808’
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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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  • The pretty coastal centre of the fishing, now tourist village of Moelfre, East Anglesey at dusk.
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  • Nominated for 11th International B&W Spider Awards<br />
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One of two fishing boats which have been left to deteriorate in the Dulas Estuary in East Anglesey. As the estuary is relatively well protected from the open sea, the wrecks have hardly moved in many years, but are very gradually looking more broken
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  • One of two fishing boats which have been left to deteriorate in the Dulas Estuary in East Anglesey. As the estuary is relatively well protected from the open sea, the wrecks have hardly moved in many years, but are very gradually looking more broken
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  • Old Polpeor Lifeboat Station, Britain’s most Southerly point<br />
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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 />
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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 />
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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 />
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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.
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  • End of the day at Newlyn fishing harbour in Cornwall. The moon, HPS lights and dusk iluminate the normally bustling but now quiet industrial scene.
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  • Even in the worst weather, there is always something to raise the spirits in the once fishing town, now tourist town of St Ives
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  • I'd been swimming here this afternoon, where two huge seals patrolled the length of the beach looking for fish. The sea was warm and looked beautful, but whilst chatting to a fascinating, multi talented angler / film cameraman on the quayside, he confirmed my own worries about our emptying sea, not helped by destructive overfishing over years.
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  • Nominated in 10th (2017) International Colour Awards (Architecture category) <br />
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Now disused by the #RNLI the old Lizard Lifeboat House still stands, now houses the gear of the Lizard fishermen. It is gradually looking more dilapidated each time I visit but it will always stand as a reminder to me, at Britain’s most Southerly point, of a place from which the bravest men risked their lives to save the lives of hundreds and hundreds of floundering souls at this notorious peninsula. <br />
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To me, the red is not just the gunwale of a boat, but blood, an artery - a lifeline for the sailors against the darkness of their situation.
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  • Vila Franca do Campo off season, deserted and lonely, dark and windswept. The sound of an occasional dog bark was heard over the sound of the relentless waves and an old man shuffled along an otherwise empty street.
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  • I really was IN this maritime play as powerful sets rolled in from the Atlantic. Just around the corner from these cliffs nestles the awesome and atmospheric open air theatre of The Minack. Here, audiences sit on stone seats hewn into the granite cliff to watch performances with the ocean as a background sound.
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  • A Jersey registered trawler heads for Liverpool Bay across a flat calm Irish Sea, close to the Skerries lighthouse.
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  • It only takes a few minutes of keen observation to start to really see the huge variation of colour tone & texture on the sea surface, revealing the endless current movements just beneath the surface.
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  • Peaceful evening at Llyn Alaw as the sun sets over this tranquil lake
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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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  • After a dreary afternoon of drizzle under grey skies we walked back from Mousehole to Newlyn harbour. For literally no more than five minutes of that, the sun broke the blanket behind us cast a pink glow across the coast. A near full moon was already rising in the now delicate blue sky and wisps of cloud softened the light. <br />
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I haven’t often seen the harbour looking so busy but it offered a wonderfully rich foreground to contrast with the watercolour view.
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  • A Hole Boat
  • Beginning of a new day at Afon Menai. Morning light splashes over the beautiful suspension bridge and the sleeping town of Menai Bridge. Always something wonderful about early morning and the promise of hope and things to come.
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  • Like a gigantic scene of carnage, this chaotic boat jumble was captivating nevertheless - a myriad of colours, shapes and forms. When the sea and weather prove favourable this confusing jigsaw puzzle slowly unravels revealing an invisible order amongst the abstract explosion.
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  • Blue Fender
  • Boat Pile
  • First light from the East over Penzance harbour in Mount's Bay, South West Cornwall.
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  • Whitby Harbour on a blustery cold day
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  • I do love silence, well, silence from human noise at least. This evening was so quiet that I could hear the almost imperceptible sound of the rising tide creeping up the shoreline, spilling into tiny ripples in the sand banks and flooding into small sand pools. As often here on the Afon Menai, I could hear the isolated sounds of two waders, a solitary Oystercatcher flitting over the surface of the strait, and a Curlew feeding on the rapidly disappearing shoreline.<br />
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It was yet another dull summer day, wind, rain and eventually a heavy, deadening mizzle, and yet there was also a delicate beauty about the subtly changing scene. The grey sky-blanket wasn't really solid, but an ever-morphing backdrop of monochromatic tones, more like a vaporous dance of silks on a washing line.<br />
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Once again I sheltered under a huge brolly, a dark, warm cove of protection from the elements racing in from the open sea to the West. The landscape became a view, separated from me until I lowered the brolly and felt the full effect of wind-blown rain on my face, smacking me back to reality. It was hard to believe such a pastel scene could exist within the wintry elements all about.
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  • Green Fender
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  • Green Rope
  • This is a pilot cutter which although looks old, was actually only launched in 1997. These classic gaff rigged boats are an instant visual reminder of the beauty of maritime history, as much as the hardship. In the background squats King Henry VIII's St Mawes Castle (1540 AD) so we have layers of history in this shot
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  • I couldn't get over the sheer numbers of gulls that were diving into the sea as huge waves crashed over the reefs at Trearddur Bay. They didn't seem perturbed when engulfed in spray or emerging from the surf. I can only assume that the fish were quite bemused by the ocean above and were easy picking for the gulls
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  • "She was in that state between deep sleep and first opening of the eyes. She was resting in a remote cove and the early morning sunlight spilled over the headland and across her figure. Even for a mermaid the warm sunshine is always welcome and she could feel its life giving energy as she stirred"
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  • En route to an afternoon in the Welsh hills, I stopped off to check the state of the snow, and just loved the light over the Strait, and in particular the way it highlighted Ynys Gorad Goch. Having just absorbed the view for a few minutes, it changed my mind from walking Drosgl, to walking Moel Eilio and Foel Goch instead ! :-)
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  • En route to an afternoon in the Welsh hills, I stopped off to check the state of the snow, and just loved the light over the Strait, and in particular the way it highlighted Ynys Gorad Goch. Having just absorbed the view for a few minutes, it changed my mind from walking Drosgl, to walking Moel Eilio and Foel Goch instead ! :-)
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  • "She was in that state between deep sleep and first opening of the eyes. She was resting in a remote cove and the early morning sunlight spilled over the headland and across her figure. Even for a mermaid the warm sunshine is always welcome and she could feel its life giving energy as she stirred"
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  • "She was confused. She’d fallen into a deep sleep in a remote cove but as the morning sun broke over the shadowy headland she realised she was now in the open and clearly visible.<br />
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When she saw me huddled against the nearby rocks hiding from the biting Northerly wind, she froze and then scowled at me. She hadn’t been exposed to a man before but I talked reassuringly to her, and she soon came to understand that I posed no threat.<br />
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For maybe twenty minutes she alternated between swimming around the pool and pulling herself up onto the boulders to talk with me. She seemed to enjoy conversation. She loved her newfound confidence in being open in front of a man and she didn’t shy away as I asked her questions. I studied her as she studied me and we had an understanding of the fascination in each other.<br />
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As waves started crashing in on the advancing tide, she swam to the far end of the pool. She studied me intently one last time and with a flick of her powerful tail she leapt the rock barrier into the ocean and she was gone. I knew though that as our paths had now crossed, this wouldn’t be our only encounter with each other, and I was right"
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  • Nominee in Nude / B&W Spider Awards 2017<br />
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She was confused. She’d fallen into a deep sleep in a remote cove but as the morning sun broke over the shadowy headland she realised she was now in the open and clearly visible. <br />
<br />
When she saw me huddled against the nearby rocks hiding from the biting Northerly wind, she froze and then scowled at me. She hadn’t been exposed to a man before but I talked reassuringly to her, and she soon came to understand that I posed no threat. <br />
<br />
For maybe twenty minutes she alternated between swimming around the pool and pulling herself up onto the boulders to talk with me. She seemed to enjoy conversation. She loved her newfound confidence in being open in front of a man and she didn’t shy away as I asked her questions. I studied her as she studied me and we had an understanding of the fascination in each other. <br />
  <br />
As waves started crashing in on the advancing tide, she swam to the far end of the pool. She studied me intently one last time and with a flick of her powerful tail she leapt the rock barrier into the ocean and she was gone.  I knew though that as our paths had now crossed, this wouldn’t be our only encounter with each other, and I was right.
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  • Cape Cornwall
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  • 3 Edition A1 - 5 Edition A2<br />
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Crisp afternoon sunlight spills across remnants of ancient stones in a lost valley. This valley and escarpment was once home to a thriving quarrying community, and long before that a handful of fishing folk, and long, LONG before that, it was home of exiled Brythonic leader Vortigern, who betrayed Britain to the Saxons.
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  • A sudden and MASSIVE squall passed over the small ex fishing cove of Moelfre but clear brilliant low sunshine continued throughout. It was like an enormous explosion rising into the sky.
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  • Classic Cornish winter weather. One minute we were blanketed in thick sea fog, then drizzle, then showers and then intense sunlight before repeating all over again. <br />
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Wolf Rock lighthouse stands 14 miles off the Cornish Coast and is a crucial navigational mark before ships either head for America or round to port to find sheltered anchorage in Penzance or Falmouth. <br />
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We sat on the cliff edge, warm but our outer clothing dripping with rainwater. At one point we were bathed in sunshine but drenched with rain at the same time. <br />
The horizon was busy with shipping and the inshore waters were dotted with tiny fishing boats.
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  • In the middle of a near barren Namib Desert, looking like a fishing net with floats entwined, bitter Tsamma melons (Citrullus ecirrhosus) or Namib tsamma, a species of perennial desert vine can be found growing in the baked earth.<br />
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It is a gourd, and can be found in Namibia and South Africa, but particularly the Namib Desert.<br />
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It can be a vital source of water and when cooked can be eaten. There are sweeter varieties.
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  • At the end of the day, when the crowds have gone, it is easier to imagine how old this place is. Long before the fishing nets, round house and life-boats, these sands and granite cliffs witnessed the dramatic beauty of the ever changing skies and seas. Everything else is just so temporary, so I like the imagination this place stimulates.
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  • These ancient cobbles seem to have existed for hundreds of years at this North Yorkshire fishing village, and can be seen in all the old postcards and vintage photographs of the area. At night, long shadows from fences surrounding historical public houses stretch out across the cobbles towards the darkness and the moonlit landscape beyond.
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  • The architecture of this town has a very colonial influence. First mapped by the Portuguese, in 1883 Germany aristocrat Adolf Lüderitz purchased some of the original harbour area and surrounding land and developed the town as a fishing and trading post. In 1909 diamonds were found in nearby Kolmanskop and Lüderitz gained rapid prosperity. Since then however diamonds have mostly been found elsewhere and so the town went into decline. It’s still an incredible place to visit as so little of the town has changed at all since the early twentieth century.
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  • These ancient cobbles seem to have existed for hundreds of years at this North Yorkshire fishing village, and can be seen in all the old postcards and vintage photographs of the area. It was strange to see this historical architectural construction being pummelled by the North Sea, and to imagine how many people in times gone by had stood and watched the sea perform its powers of erosion
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  • Ever since a kid I have loved Cape Cornwall and the vast sense of space you experience from the hill-top. Waves that would swamp a small fishing boat seem relatively harmless from this height but the fact they have travelled hundreds of miles of ocean is still quite intimidating.
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  • A sudden and MASSIVE squall passed over the small ex fishing cove of Moelfre but clear brilliant low sunshine continued throughout. It was like an enormous explosion rising into the sky.
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  • In seas with diminishing fish stocks, these small Azorzian boats still probably find more than most, stuck in the mid Atlantic, but today, with the seas rough and bad weather moving in, the whole town had gone quiet and no fishermen were to be seen.
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  • At this rocky point lay dozens of sleepy seals, young and old, enjoying the evening sunlight and soaking up the warm rays. The fish are bountiful here and I watched two of the seals play with fish before devouring them. This pup was so chilled that I was within a few feet of him before he even raised an eyebrow. I’d loved to have seen the Southern Right Whales this bay is famous for, but sadly we were there in the wrong season.
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  • These Cape Fur Seals were fascinating, beautiful creatures, with very cute seal pups! However, the smell was overpowering from the smell of fish, excrement, urine and death. There were many dead seal pups, which looked to have been crushed by the sheer weight of adult Cape Fur Seals as they charge around the colony. <br />
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Sadly and unbelievably, Namibia permits the mass clubbing of 80,000 seal pups and 6000 adult bulls, over a four-month period every year. This is for fur and blubber but they claim it’s to protect fish stocks! Full details here:  http://www.harpseals.org/about_the_hunt/cape_fur_seal_alert.php<br />
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I was completely captivated by this incredible seal colony, but I was left dumbstruck by the barbaric slaughter that is permitted here each year. Fortunately South Africa have now banned all such clubbing, but it remains here in Namibia
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  • So strange. Beaumaris in June. Normally bustling with visitors, dotted with promenaders, yachts gliding across the Afon Menai and dozens of families crabbing from the pier and eating fish & chips, dive bombed by frenzied seagulls, but not this year.<br />
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There was a gentle, quiet, serenity. Hardly a soul out and about. An old couple sat reading in their car and a man on a bike exercised his dog but really, the only thing happening was nature and the weather, and both were beautiful. I could see Curlew and Oystercatcher on the shore digging for sustenance in the mud bank. Swallows darted overhead and groups of Herring Gulls fished for natural rather than fast food. The tide ebbed and the clouds swirled and shifted rapidly across the being sky. This was pandemic time but for the planet it was a breath of fresh air.
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  • So strange. Beaumaris in June. Normally bustling with visitors, dotted with promenaders, yachts gliding across the Afon Menai and dozens of families crabbing from the pier and eating fish & chips, dive bombed by frenzied seagulls, but not this year.<br />
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There was a gentle, quiet, serenity. Hardly a soul out and about. An old couple sat reading in their car and a man on a bike exercised his dog but really, the only thing happening was nature and the weather, and both were beautiful. I could see Curlew and Oystercatcher on the shore digging for sustenance in the mud bank. Swallows darted overhead and groups of Herring Gulls fished for natural rather than fast food. The tide ebbed and the clouds swirled and shifted rapidly across the being sky. This was pandemic time but for the planet it was a breath of fresh air.
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  • Ynys Gorad Goch - an island in the middle of the Menai Strait, used for trapping fish for many centuries. Now in private ownership.
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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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  • On such an arid, black island, it was quite a surprise to find such a lush green lagoon, here on the West Coast of Lanzarote at Club La Santa, the health resort for elite international athletes. <br />
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As the tide slowly crept in, the tiny creeks and channels were full of crabs and small fish, changing positions and locations as the water level rose. The banks looked green because of an abundance of succulent plants that seemed to thrive in this salt water lagoon.
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  • Ynys Gorad Goch - an island in the middle of the Menai Strait, used for trapping fish for many centuries. Now in private ownership.
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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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  • Even as little kids, we would walk the two miles or so from our home on Penmere Hill to this spectacular and popular rocky point of Pendennis Head, just below the famous Henry Eighth Castle. Just below the car park where the ice cream vans prey, there are steep rocks which lead down to very deep gullies. At low tide some of the biggest are exposed and you can look down into deep bottomless chasms of seawater where you can often see huge fish below you. The swell could suddenly raise the water level to swamp your feet and although it used to scare us as kids, it was totally compelling!
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  • Shot whilst I was being filmed for the ITV Series “The Strait” in which I am one of the featured characters. We had been up in the Welsh mountains beforehand, hoping to get some views from the summits back across Anglesey. We raced down to the Foryd Estuary on the Menai Strait just as the sun was setting. The wind was fierce and bitter, and I have allowed the file colour to remain blue rather than correcting everything, as I prefer the colour symbolism of the blue tones. It looks like the conditions that I felt at the time.
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  • The huge brittle cliffs at Cape St Vincent at the most South Westerly point of Portiugal, jutting straight out into the Atlantic Ocean. If you look carefully you can see tiny figures of fishermen who actually fish from the top of the cliffs!
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  • In the distance a thousand terns screech over the Skerries Lighthouse, but standing here on a headland above a dark cove there was nothing but silence, well apart from the delicate lapping of almost imperceptible waves on the shore, and the breath of two dolphins gracefully hunting for fish n the tranquil waters. There was a soul around, perfect solitude.
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  • It was mid-winter and I found myself wandering in dark, ancient mountains. Amongst ice-cold waterfalls, with snow clinging to patches of nearby riverbank knelt a woman hunting for fish. However when I studied her more closely, I noticed that she was actually looking at her own reflection in the water, gently tracing the outlines of her face with her fingertips on the mirrored surface.<br />
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So delicate, tiny and primitive looking in her surroundings, but through the simple act of recognising one’s self, one’s existence, she was utterly connected to her hostile environment.
    Against All Odds
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  • Morning snorkel around Porthleven beach and onto the reef beneath the town quay. Minutes earlier a huge seal slowly swam past, disinterested in me but focussed on the fish that sheltered in the gullies of the reef.
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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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  • At high tide this is a vast stretch of wind-chopped sea. Small flocks of oystercatchers and turnstones skim across its surface as they wait for the spoils of low water and terns screech in the open sky before plunging into schools of small fish.<br />
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But now the estuary is empty, just acres of wet sand and silt remain. In the middle of this huge open space a woman lies recumbent in the afternoon sunshine. The last rivulets of brine silently flow past her beautiful wet body, every inch of her skin delicately textured with raised goosebumps. The sunlight and gentle breeze warmed her flesh and her salty skin became smooth.<br />
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That evening on my return journey, the tide was high once again. A lonely curlew gave its distinctive call as it flew inland to nest, and in the darkening gloom of dusk I saw movement out on the water. I focussed hard on the smooth curves amongst the small waves, and I saw a dark tail appear above the surface before the shape disappeared altogether. I can only assume it was a seal.
    Revealed at Low Tide
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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