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  • Fit blonde woman starting the famous and difficut hiking trail down the Masca Barranco Gorge in Tenerife which leads from the high mountain village of Masca down to the Atlantic Ocean at Masca Beach.
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  • Fit blonde woman tying shoelace during the decent of the famous and difficut hiking trail down the Masca Barranco Gorge in Teneriffe. This trail leads from the high mountain village of Masca down to the Atlantic Ocean at Masca Beach.
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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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  • 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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  • If I knew I was dying, this would be an ideal place to go. On a grassy terrace high above the beach, looking South West over the Irish Sea, it brought back memories from so many places I’ve lived and visited, from Cornwall to the Azores, Scotland to the Canaries. The huge cliffs, steep drops and open expanse of the ocean would be a fitting place to finally close my eyes for the last time. I can only hope the poor sheep took similar uplifting thoughts with her!<br />
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A sheep skeleton lying on grass in bright afternoon Winter sunshine and rain showers over the Irish Sea and a rocky hillside on the hill top  above Nant Gwrtheyrn valley on the Northern Coast of the Llyn Peninsula, North Wales<br />
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From my book Nant Gwrtheyrn - Y Swyngyfaredd (The Enchantment)<br />
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This book is available for purchase here on www.glyndavies.com
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  • Patterns caused by wind blowing different weight sands across the vast wind swept beach of Morfa Dyffryn near Barmouth, Mid Wales. <br />
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We turned North and immediately felt the full brunt of the Northerly gale in our faces. Progress was not difficult but was definitely slow. The wind was so strong that sheets of sand were lifted off the beach and blown towards us like swirling fog around our feet. A dog in the distance jumps for a stick and travels 20 feet before landing ! It sorted "men from the boys" as they say, and I noticed a few beach visitors start in this direction then turn back very quickly, but Carol and I were on a mission to get to the far point and the estuary beyond, and it was maybe two miles of beach walk against this headwind. I was blown away [pun intended] by the patterns and tones caused by the sheets of wind-driven sand over the shore, it really was like looking down at the earth whilst flying through low cloud but anything taller than one foot or so remained clear and static, betraying the impression!
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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