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  • Dropping below the cloud base above Snowdonia, a gigantic ball of sun slowly, teasingly appeared below a huge bank of cloud over the Irish Sea. The horizon turned orange and then deep red.<br />
<br />
It was calm, silent and perfect as I stood with my lover on a freezing mountainside, marvelling at just how incredible being alive can actually be.
    GD002010.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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.
    GD002122.jpg
  • Deserted beach on Anglesey, shot during lockdown. It was just wonderful to be so alone on this beach, not a soul in sight. I only heard the occasional Oystercatcher and the constant gentle splashing of waves on the shore. This was another moment where I could consider without any distraction, my place & purpose on this planet
    GD002644.jpg
  • Boulders in sky reflection form small islands in a huge mirror-flat beach pool at Penmaenmawr, Gwynedd, North Wales. The Great Orme at Llandudno is illuminated in sunshine in the distance and the small island of Puffin Island can be seen far left.
    GD001504.jpg
  • Incredible sunset and dramatic clouds over the Irish Sea from Porth Nobla, near Rhosneigr, West Anglesey<br />
<br />
© Glyn Davies - All rights reserved.
    GD001933.jpg
  • Incredible sunset and dramatic clouds over the Irish Sea from Porth Nobla, near Rhosneigr, West Anglesey<br />
<br />
© Glyn Davies - All rights reserved.
    GD001906.jpg
  • GD001474.jpg
  • Late afternoon sunlight at South Stack lighthouse, North West Anglesey.
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  • Incredible sunset and dramatic clouds over the Irish Sea from Porth Nobla, near Rhosneigr, West Anglesey<br />
<br />
© Glyn Davies - All rights reserved.
    GD001907.jpg
  • The river Mersey was flowing very fast out towards the Irish Sea, the sounds of wind waves slopping against the dockside. Clouds were shooting across the sky in the opposite direction and the gulls were playing in the visual turmoil of it all. I love the Mersey.
    GD002022.jpg
  • Incredible sunset and dramatic clouds over the Irish Sea from Porth Nobla, near Rhosneigr, West Anglesey<br />
<br />
© Glyn Davies - All rights reserved.
    GD001908.jpg
  • Life seems like an eternal struggle, our sense of peace and security is nothing more than a fragile veneer that can be shattered by others in an instant. I am always looking for the light beyond the darkness but sometimes the darkness is so pervasive, so heavy, that even the eternal light struggles to shine through. What I have discovered recently is that the most important light is not on the horizon but comes from within my partner. Even on my darkest days and at the scariest moments her light is bright, and she finds my love as bright. That deep compassion to be there for someone else, that sense of togetherness and working as a team against all odds, is truly a light in the dark, and helps us both to find the horizon.
    From Within
  • An ocean swell only shows it's energy as it reaches the shoreline and wraps around a swimming platform on the shore of Playa Blanca in Lanzarote in the Canary Islands. The aquamarine sea is crystal clear and you can see the reef beneath. Lobos Island and Fuerteventura can be see on on the horizon.
    GD001789.jpg
  • SNIP from BLOG: "The sun briefly popped out splattering fire everywhere, and then turned to a hot red glow on the horizon, quenched after 15 minutes by a cold blue sea. Banks of clouds reared overhead and all light intensity disappeared. I walked at a fast pace back along the beach, much closer to the sand dunes this time, as the advancing tide had drowned the sand bars.".
    GD000901.jpg
  • Nominee in the 'Nature' category of the 2019, International 14th Black & White Spider Awards <br />
<br />
"In brilliant sunlight over a Cornish beach, the changing weather brought huge towering cumulonimbus clouds across the horizon. The rapidly changing and convecting clouds were accompanied by the operatic melodies of a Gilbert & Sullivan Opera, Ruddigore, being rehearsed at the nearby cliff top open air theatre - quite surreal !"
    GD001493.jpg
  • Clouds built over the horizon but in the last of the sun they looked beautifully dramatic, textural and crisp. In fact there was so much texture in front of me that it was hard to find the minimalist simplicity I've been drawn to recently. For maybe ten minutes the world turned pink, the hue washed over the sky and infused in the gentle waves, even the wet sand threw it back skyward. I stood in the sea, in my walking boots, wave after wave lapping at my shins but amazingly my feet stayed as warm as the sunset colours. I studied the waves smoothing and cleansing the beach before me, back to perfection.
    GD001169.jpg
  • I arrived at the beach at the very last minute, after a long day in the gallery and a desperate need for fresh air. The sunshine on the trees and hedgerows as I swept by in my van was an intoxicating promise of things to come but even as I neared the coast I could see a band of broken cloud on the horizon and a chance of broken promises.<br />
<br />
I took a couple of frames from the sand dunes before  jogging down to the water’s edge where huge sand pools had formed. There wasn’t a drop of wind and the water surface was like a mirror. I managed about 3 subtly different frames before the sun dropped behind a layer of dark cloud and the intensity had gone for the night. <br />
<br />
I count myself lucky nevertheless
    GD002108.jpg
  • I arrived at the beach at the very last minute, after a long day in the gallery and a desperate need for fresh air. The sunshine on the trees and hedgerows as I swept by in my van was an intoxicating promise of things to come but even as I neared the coast I could see a band of broken cloud on the horizon and a chance of broken promises.<br />
<br />
This is one of a couple of frames from the sand dunes before jogging down to the water’s edge where huge sand pools had formed. I only managed about 3 subtly different frames before the sun dropped behind a layer of dark cloud and the intensity had gone for the night. I count myself lucky nevertheless
    GD002107.jpg
  • An outcrop of headland just onto the North end of the vast sandy Aberffraw beach. The sunset reflects off large tidal pools left on the main beach. The mountains of the Llyn Peninsula can just be made out on the horizon.
    GD000535.jpg
  • A flock of birds were amongst the first signs of life as a new day began over the old town of Penzance in South West Cornwall. On the horizon a huge carrier ship sits in the bay. Increasing sunlight slowly increased the contrast on the calm sea beyond the old buildings of this busy working harbour
    GD001985.jpg
  • SNIP from BLOG: "The sun briefly popped out splattering fire everywhere, and then turned to a hot red glow on the horizon, quenched after 15 minutes by a cold blue sea. Banks of clouds reared overhead and all light intensity disappeared. I walked at a fast pace back along the beach, much closer to the sand dunes this time, as the advancing tide had drowned the sand bars.".
    GD000898.jpg
  • No A1 prints left. A2 and smaller only<br />
<br />
"Clouds built over the horizon but in the last of the sun they looked beautifully dramatic, textural and crisp. In fact there was so much texture in front of me that it was hard to find the minimalist simplicity I've been drawn to recently. For maybe ten minutes the world turned pink, the hue washed over the sky and infused in the gentle waves, even the wet sand threw it back skyward. I stood in the sea, in my walking boots, wave after wave lapping at my shins but amazingly my feet stayed as warm as the sunset colours. I studied the waves smoothing and cleansing the beach before me, back to perfection.<br />
<br />
The expanse of Llanddwyn beach and the peak of Holyhead Mountain can be seen in the background"
    GD001171.jpg
  • A last minute decision to head for the North Anglesey coast didn't deliver quite the drama that I'd hoped for, or the waves. Nevertheless the gentle, moody, subtle light and smooth, delicate ripples on the ocean offered some wonderful opportunities nevertheless. I wore my wetsuit whilst taking these images but after half an hour of near zero physical activity in the sea, waiting for the sunset, the chill set in as soon as the sun sank over the horizon.
    GD002758.jpg
  • Clouds built over the horizon but in the last of the sun they looked beautifully dramatic, textural and crisp. In fact there was so much texture in front of me that it was hard to find the minimalist simplicity I've been drawn to recently. For maybe ten minutes the world turned pink, the hue washed over the sky and infused in the gentle waves, even the wet sand threw it back skyward. I stood in the sea, in my walking boots, wave after wave lapping at my shins but amazingly my feet stayed as warm as the sunset colours. I studied the waves smoothing and cleansing the beach before me, back to perfection.
    GD001170.jpg
  • A line of fluffy grey clouds puffed along the horizon like a Thomas the Tank Steam Train. I loved the way the clouds were echoed by the warm tufts of orange grass around the shallow blue lake on this exposed Welsh mountain top. <br />
<br />
© Glyn Davies 2010 - All rights reserved
    GD001037.jpg
  • A gentle evening light; it didn’t last long.<br />
<br />
A weather front advanced across the horizon and the brilliance of the sunshine subdued and cooled. An army of figures marched the trek from car park to lighthouse, a pilgrimage for many.<br />
<br />
For me however the sheer wonder of Llanddwyn is not the manmade structure on the island of lovers, but the incredible beauty of the natural; the huge wind-formed dunes covered in swaying marram grass, back-dropped by the skyline of wonderful Welsh mountains. <br />
<br />
The lighthouse is an objective but the dunes are true beauty.
    GD002115.jpg
  • As Storm Imogen makes her first appearance, and dark clouds build on the the horizon, I find myself fascinated by the sheer variety of beautiful coloured stones lying just beneath the surface of the sand pools before an incoming tide. The weather created dreary conditions but every so often gentle glimmers of light illuminated this wet world, a world that has seen rain for almost three months solid. It was so lovely to find such intriguing beauty in such inclement weather
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  • Ferry leaving for Barcelona from Ciutadella in Western Menorca at sunset, Mallorca island can be seen at the far left on the horizon
    GD001901.jpg
  • SNIP from BLOG: "The sun briefly popped out splattering fire everywhere, and then turned to a hot red glow on the horizon, quenched after 15 minutes by a cold blue sea. Banks of clouds reared overhead and all light intensity disappeared. I walked at a fast pace back along the beach, much closer to the sand dunes this time, as the advancing tide had drowned the sand bars.".
    GD000897.jpg
  • A last minute decision to head for the North Anglesey coast didn't deliver quite the drama that I'd hoped for, or the waves. Nevertheless the gentle, moody, subtle light and smooth, delicate ripples on the ocean offered some wonderful opportunities nevertheless. I wore my wetsuit whilst taking these images but after half an hour of near zero physical activity in the sea, waiting for the sunset, the chill set in as soon as the sun sank over the horizon.
    GD002757.jpg
  • Almost a dirt track, this red dusty road cuts through dry grass covered hillsides near Figueira near the Algarve coast. Dark clouds loom on the horizon from approaching stormy weather
    GD001930.jpg
  • Dusk in the West, at Aberdesach on the Northern edge of the Llyn Peninsula in North Wales, facing out to the Irish Sea. The mountains of Gyrn Goch, Yr Eifl and Garn For are in the background. <br />
<br />
Clouds built over the horizon but in the last of the sun they looked beautifully dramatic, textural and crisp. In fact there was so much texture in front of me that it was hard to find the minimalist simplicity I've been drawn to recently. For maybe ten minutes the world turned pink, the hue washed over the sky and infused in the gentle waves, even the wet sand threw it back skyward. I stood in the sea, in my walking boots, wave after wave lapping at my shins but amazingly my feet stayed as warm as the sunset colours. I studied the waves smoothing and cleansing the beach before me, back to perfection.
    GD001172.jpg
  • Dawn appears over the horizon from Penzance harbour - Scillonian ferry in dry dock
    GD001983.jpg
  • I have always been fascinated by huge stretches of beach, open to the full force of the ocean and prevailing winds, that sense of escape, the distant horizon, the idea of travel and voyage, and also being at the edge of two worlds, the one we survive on and the one we are simply not designed to be in, the sea! The board-walks that sometimes spring up on these beaches have always intrigued me, that facilitation to freedom, the path to stand on the edge of the unknown. I love the way that winter storms often shift beaches and wash away our puny efforts, but I also like the empathy about the need to be on the edge, which for some can only happen through the use of these devices. The hole which has appeared in these huge timbers speaks about this process.
    GD001316.jpg
  • Explosion after explosion of huge waves battering the West Anglesey coast in early October. Rhoscolyn Beacon on the horizon disappeared and re-appeared after each strike on the reef. The light was so soft and gentle but the sea created a dynamic and noisy contrast.
    GD002841.jpg
  • It was wonderful, just floating in the warm sea at dusk, not another soul in the water, watching the last moments of light intensity before the sun disappeared over the horizon.
    GD002814.jpg
  • On a baking hot day we drove into the sunset across the rugged high cliff tops of West Portugal. Jani sat in the van to call her Mam whilst I wandered down to the rocky cove. As I walked out to the low tide mark, i realised the beach was absolutely massive, miles long to the North and pure sea washed sand. The cliffs looked even higher when looking back at them. The day as usual had been clear blue cloudless sky, so it was an extra bonus to see delicate clouds gently sliding Southwards across the horizon. I had the whole beach to myself and was in seventh Heaven. <br />
<br />
However, when i turned to walk back to the car I noticed a young man curled up against the cliffs, clutching a beer bottle and looking most melancholy. I know that when I go into my dark patches, the beach becomes my salvation, my escape and my remedy - I empathised with this guy who had come miles to see the sunset on this spectacular and deserted coast.
    GD002205.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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.
    GD002565.jpg
  • Another of those awful, dreary, wet grey days with hours and hours of rain, then suddenly at the end of the day, a gentle orange glow built on the horizon, a sign of magic for distant strangers.  We stuck it in a high gear and made for the brightening sky, sunshine gradually warming the interior of the van through the salt-smeared windscreen. <br />
<br />
On arrival, the wind was really strong and the sand was lifting and blowing across the beach. I headed for the shoreline where the breeze tried to do the same with sheet water. The sand was soaking and it reflected the scudding painted clouds on its surface. This was  another of my open-air theatre moments were scenes were changing by the second. I watched it until my feet sank and the sun disappeared, leaving nothing but happiness in the dark.
    GD002533.jpg
  • Brilliant sunshine and gale force winds made for an incredible light over the cove of Porth Trecastell.<br />
<br />
As I stood on the cliff top and looked towards the horizon, I had the illusion of low flying over the long wind-blown Marram Grass and the sand of the cove beyond. <br />
<br />
I felt uplifted in so many ways. This was a place I’ve swam and surfed and taken the kids swimming. My life is racing on at such a pace, history left in my wake and yet, the place remains fundamentally unchanged, and will create many more memories for so many more people in the future after my own lights have dimmed. A very special place.
    GD002225.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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.
    GD002204.jpg
  • 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.
    GD002827.jpg
  • Such darkness, so many worries, so much choppy water, but always glimmers of wonder & positivity. As hope disappears over the horizon and we think all is lost, it's only a short time before the magnificent sun of promise appears again, reminding us that life goes on.
    GD002731.jpg
  • I’d made a mistake today. I’d been to the coast for a walk and I was excited by the dark skies over the mainland and the sunshine over the sea. I completed a sunny walk but I didn’t take one pic as nothing tickled my photo fancy. The sun started to disappear as it often does, behind a huge bank of cloud over the horizon, so I decided to drive home to see my good lady. As I drove, the light became more and more intense and in the rear view mirror a huge ball of fire burned through the vapour and then it started to rain heavily. A massive full rainbow blazed across the dark sky ahead of me and by the time I found a place to stop, it was already disappearing but I did grab this one shot from the roadside, just for the memory!
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  • Nominated image in the 13th Black & White Spider Awards 2018<br />
<br />
The early morning light shimmered off the wet sands of the estuary. Noisy waders skimmed over the wide flats in the hunt for feeding grounds. Dark clouds brewed ominously on the horizon behind us and gathered slowly over the mountain peaks.<br />
.<br />
The woman had walked towards me from the distant sand dunes, aware that the tide was rising rapidly, flooding the expanse of the bay behind her. She stood at the water’s edge, long grasses puncturing the the smooth mirror rising around her. She felt the first chill of the breeze from the weather front and clasped herself, yet the sea was still warm after summer rays. She gently, though purposefully stirred the water with her feet, crossing one leg in front of the other as she did so, enjoying the sensation of liquid resistance against her skin. I studied the ripples flowing away from her, small waves of her spiritual energy connecting with me and the shoreline. As the tide rose to her thighs the mud softened beneath her. Under now darkening skies she continued on her journey, passing me by and heading for the sheltered woodland behind me.<br />
<br />
Taken whilst being filmed for the ITV series ‘The Strait’ being broadcast from 5th January 2018
    Gently Stirring the Tide
  • Shot from a mountain summit at sunset. At this time of year the sun blazes across the Menai Strait, the stretch of water that separates the Isle of Anglesey from the mainland. <br />
<br />
The wind was bitterly cold even in July, but sheltered behind the summit cairn the sun did offer some warmth as I excitedly watched the rapidly changing light created by fast moving swirling clouds above me. <br />
<br />
I remained on the summit until the sun dropped behind a huge bank of cloud on the horizon, and I walked down alone in the gathering dusk.
    GD002212.jpg
  • The air was warm but the sea was cool. A weak sunburst gently broke through the gloom on the horizon. There was hardly a drop of wind over the calm green sea so the wave surfaces were smooth and glassy. <br />
<br />
There were a handful of motionless, statue-like figures at the water’s edge, small posts of resistance against the incoming tide, but one woman stood out. She was beautiful; lightly tanned skin; petite but womanly figure; long, wet, bedraggled hair and clearly the most youthful of shoreline sculptures. Her head was tilted backwards so she could neither see behind her, nor me watching. I noticed an almost imperceptible tremble in her limbs as the wave energy approached her. Involuntarily her figure lifted as she rose to her feet whilst the wave wrapped higher around her legs, from calves, to thighs to buttocks - her arms tensed, balancing herself but also in defiance of the coolness of the water engulfing her body. As the wave fizzled on the sandy shoreline her body relaxed once more, before repeating the process. We often fear what we can’t see, but so often the unexpected can bring delight, excitement and the thrill of the new; of being alive and connected to the earth and water.<br />
<br />
From my "Landscape Figures" project
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  • On a high narrow pinnacle, hundreds of feet above the sea, backed by even larger towering cliffs behind, appears the tiny, fragile figure of a woman. Even though the wind is gusting, buffeting her, she stands resolutely facing the ocean. She is at the most westerly point of land and without assistance can go no further. She has reached a human boundary; the sea is not our domain. Cries of seagulls echo warnings in the nearby zawn.<br />
<br />
The sharp lichen thriving in the clean sea air covers every inch of the gritty platform on which she stands. She feels it digging into the soles of her feet as she ponders the vast expanse of water before her. Beyond that on the distant horizon, her Avalon, from where dreams have appeared to her in powerful waves.
    Light at Lands End
  • Even though I've flown there myself, so I know they are real, the sudden appearance of these stunningly beautiful and seemingly huge set of islands on the horizon, still takes my breath away to this day. I can utterly and totally understand why ancient people saw these islands as Lyonesse, mythical, magical and tantalisingly close, yet within such a short space of time, and from lower elevations, they disappear as quickly as they appear..
    GD001266.jpg
  • As the light of day sinks over the horizon our own lights take over the task of guiding our way. We all need a lighthouse sometimes.
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  • A completely unexpected bright end to an awful day. The rain was forecast to last all day and night but as we fought the gale back to Sennen Cove the bright horizon turned to blazing sunshine. As always though, the transition zone was blindingly beautiful.
    GD002646.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
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
    GD002616.jpg
  • It was strange seeing sunbursts on the horizon, even catching the distant hills, as a huge snowcloud came in from behind. The gentlest fall of snowflakes landed on my camera as the ambient light dropped rapidly. Gradually the snow softened the rays of weak sunshine until it all but disappeared. It looked wonderful in reallife but was altogether just too grey for a photo.
    GD002593.jpg
  • I’ve always loved the sea from above, from planes for sure, but even from mountain tops. A constantly morphing sheet of textures and pattern, sometimes describing the weather and the clouds above, but sometimes the currents below. Here on the approach to the Conwy Estuary the channels are winding and shallow and accurate navigation is critical. As the last of the sun went behind a huge cloud bank on the horizon, and the world went dark, only a gently illuminated shimmering sea remained clear.
    GD002503.jpg
  • I love it when after leaving home which is covered by cold grey sky, I find myself half an hour later standing on a cliff top with sunshine warming my face. As the afternoon sunshine dropped lower in the sky, it broke below blankets of heavy cloud and blasted the sea and cliffs with intense light, illuminating rock pools and sharpening blades of rock. Getting to the sea has always meant escape to me, a chance of adventure and journey. Looking out towards a sunlit horizon means so much to me, especially hope.
    GD002366.jpg
  • One of those days when I knew that my need for positivity-inducing sunshine was not going to be satiated by the time I reached the coast after a long day in the gallery. <br />
<br />
Layer after layer of blanket cloud had been drawn from the horizon to the sky overhead. I stood alone on the headland, silently studying the surface of the near motionless sea in the vain hope that a porpoise or dolphin would bring a wave of excitement to the watery view.<br />
<br />
Amidst the grey gloom huge beams of sunlight suddenly pierced the cloud cover and spot lit the Irish Sea to help me scan more clearly – a huge searchlight from the universe above.  I never did see any marine life but the light itself, which only lasted a few minutes, made the journey worthwhile.
    GD002238
  • Dark sunset over the Irish Sea, obscured by layer after layer of swirling, bitter cloud. The red burn on the horizon was subdued by vapour in the air.
    GD001583.jpg
  • I sometimes find myself in dark places and it’s easy to close your eyes to shut it all out, but from out of nowhere I usually become aware of the gentlest glow of light. The delicate light is normally enough to see how to move forward. Once I’ve found the path everything seems brighter and the ominous clouds gradually move back to the horizon.<br />
<br />
The large limestone stepping stones of Rhydd Gaer (The Blood Fort) , cross the Afon Braint River south of the village of Dwyran on Anglesey. The river itself leads to the Braint Estuary where it joins the Menai Strait and Caernarfon Bay. There is little agreed information about the history of these historical stones
    GD000818.jpg
  • From a lofty hilltop two hundred or more feet above the sea at North Anglesey, we could smell the sea air. Wave crests were breaking into spindrift and salty spray was funnelled up gullies in the cliffs below to fill our lungs with ocean gale.<br />
<br />
The clouds were changing by the second as they raced overhead, casting wonderfully animated shadows of strange figures on the sea below. Apart from the solid headland of Holyhead Mountain in the distance, the only other constant was the brilliant intensity of spring sunshine, shimmering on the millions of waves fetching across the bay. This was real exposure to the elements and from this high up, standing right at the cliff edge, it felt as though we were flying, carried by thermals almost literally lifting us off our feet.<br />
<br />
On the horizon a ferry noses out of Holyhead Harbour, beginning its three hour voyage upon choppy open waters to Southern Ireland seventy three miles away. I'm with my brother who I haven't walked with for many years, but we used to climb together, sail together and drink together; near inseparable until our late twenties. As we continued our cliff-top ramble, both clutching our walking poles and grumbling about the state of our threadbare knee joints, I realised that the only thing as eternal as the movement of wind, waves and tide, was the love between us brothers, all of us brothers. Although our separate lives are racing by faster than we would like, and that we will become just someone else's memories, these beautiful, wild, universal elements will be there for an eternity, bringing similar humbling joy to others in the future.
    GD002631.jpg
  • 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.
    GD002566.jpg
  • 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.
    GD002511.jpg
  • Generally we didn’t see much in the way of large wildlife as we travelled across the high open roads of Namibia, sometimes Ostrich, sometimes Baboons but here on the Skeleton Coast not much at all.<br />
<br />
As we watched volcanic hills to the right and acres of white sand dunes to the left, slip past us as we motored North along the baking-hot salt roads, I was quite taken aback to see a sudden movement off to our right. There were two Black-backed Jackals, one scampering about, skittish even, but the other almost motionless. We pulled the van over and waited a few moments to see if they’d be bothered by us, but nothing changed. I very gently stepped out of the van and lay on the burning ground so that I could steady the telephoto lens and also include some of the background hills.<br />
Although the active one immediately moved away after I exited the vehicle the other was clearly eating something and confidently remained in place. I was surprised that he’d found anything to eat in the deserted arid landscape, but knowing that they’d even eat spiders an scorpions I suddenly started worrying about what I was lying on! I couldn’t help but see them just as a dog, like a small Alsatian, and I had this urge to call it over and give it a stroke! No chance however, for as soon as I started to move from prone position, it began to walk slowly away. As I lifted the camera to take another pic it shifted further away again. It was clear my Doctor Doolittle dream was just that as soon they were just dots on the dusty horizon.
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  • This was my first trip to South Africa and I was blown away, almost literally, by this vast and exposed Western Cape, with the famous Table Mountain dominating the distant horizon. The white sand was warm but the strong South Westerly wind was actually chilly. It formed ripples across the surface of the soft dunes here at Duynefontein. I’d heard so many horror stories before visiting Africa, about being mugged at gunpoint, bitten by snakes or stung by scorpions that I was super nervous for months beforehand. I can’t say my fears disappeared completely, but walking barefoot on the sands in this incredible landscape on my first evening, made me realise that it’s a very big planet, and that with your wits about you, you could actually thoroughly enjoy a new world nevertheless. We are returning to Africa but this time with a lot less nerves and a lot more wisdom about what to expect and what not to do. It is without doubt a captivating country even if you have to be constantly aware.
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