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  • Pen yr Helgi Du is a mountain peak in the eastern part of the Carneddau in Snowdonia, North Wales. It lies on the south-eastern flanks of Carnedd Llewelyn,<br />
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Sheets of torrential rain swept across these ancient Welsh hills after a beautiful, sunlit morning on the summits.
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  • Short sunbursts during extensive periods of rain and dark skies over the Irish Sea seen from Holy Island. Even the brightest patches were heavy rain.
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  • Available as A3 & A4 prints only<br />
<br />
There was torrential rain in the valley that afternoon, so heavy I didn't even risk taking the camera out of the car. Everything was dark and eerie and rivers and streams had appeared out of the blue. I shot from the car window whilst the rain hammered the roof and this soft, watery image really captures some of the feelings I experienced at that moment.
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  • Lockdown South Africa - Day 11<br />
<br />
Today it just pi**ed it down all day, never seen such rain over here, and it reflected my general mood and lowness. After the heaviest rain eased I went out into the garden for fresh air, no real hope or intension of taking pictures. This gorgeous, sumptuous hibiscus tree looked beautiful even in the rain, but is is gently losing its flowers. I fear I won’t see my captivating, flitting Sunbird much longer, with its long proboscis beak, vibrant emerald back and blood red bib.
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  • In the approaching dark of heavy rain clouds and a biting cold wind, the beautiful and enticing ridge-walk from Pen yr Helgi Du received an unexpected burst of sunlight along its length.<br />
<br />
We debated all the way to its steep northern ascent, but then the heavens opened and we realised we had been very wise to ignore the siren’s call as we headed down to the dark lake in torrential, skin-soaking rain. Even the Gore-Tex rainwear failed in these conditions and we still only just made the van before complete darkness.<br />
<br />
What has always struck me when looking at this photograph, is just how skin-like the hillside appears, like the hide of a huge animal. When you think of just how thin the ‘living surface’ above mountains of solid rock actually is then, effectively, it is just a ‘skin’ which will be affected by the weather and which will change appearance and colour constantly over time.
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
Stunning rainbows formed behind me as late evening sunset burned through sheets of rain moving across the mountains. It was so tempting to concentrate on the back-lit rain in front of me, but when this was going on behind my back I couldn’t resist a snap :-)
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  • Sitting in the cafe at Land's End, the rain beating on the windows outside, us warm and cosy, the perfect living room, oh were that the case! Sunshine, blasts out, intense clarity, back to rain, back to home, back to reality
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  • Summer 2020, week after week of dreary wet weather in North Wales, occasionally positivity injected with a day or so of sunshine. <br />
<br />
We sat on the front at Dinas Dinlle watching dozens of holiday makers desperately trying to make the most of their staycation in the gloom. As a grandfather near the shore and a young Dad near the top of the shingle beach vainly tried to make damp kites fly for their hopeful kids, a squall of heavy rain slowly moved across the mountains of Yr Eifl - curtains of rain softening the ancient hills of the Hammer Tribes behind.
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  • The rain was relentless, falling in vast sheets across the sombre Welsh hillsides, soaking the landscape and everything upon it. I’d just descended from the gale-blown summits where I’d not seen a soul, but I was more than happy in my wet solitude. I could hear a hidden river tumbling through dark rocks in the valley below.<br />
<br />
The wind drove the rain through the back of my waterproofs as I trudged down the tiny path back to habitation. It was near silent, no calls of birds or bleating of sheep, just the drumming of the downpour on my hood. <br />
<br />
I loved it all. Amidst these huge Welsh mountains that one-minute seemed imposing and soft like a watercolour the next, I felt alive in this huge valley, a tiny, isolated figure moving through an ancient glaciated landscape. These are times and conditions when you feel humbled by the elements and connected to the earth.
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  • Heavy rain showers and icy winds blow across Llanddwyn Island towards Llanddwyn Beach and the Anglesey mainland. The water surface in the sand pools shows the effects of the wind by the ripples on the surface.
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  • Dramatic sunlight against ominous dark skies threatening very heavy rain moving over the Isle of Anglesey. The beach in the foreground is the vast Red Wharf Bay (Traeth Coch) which at low tide reveals a pattern of sand cusps in the wet sand which reflects the bright sunshine. <br />
<br />
<br />
Following a specific location request from one of my customers, I found myself (almost) lost outside Llangoed on a warm late summer's afternoon. The sunshine back-lit the leaves of lush overgrown lanes as Cara Dillon sang to me in the front of the van. The hedgerows literally brushed past me as I ventured into narrower and narrower pathways, crows giving buzzards a temporary reprieve as they laughed at my black VW squeezing it's way out towards the bay.<br />
<br />
The shallow beach at extreme low tide creates huge cusps of sand and water, resembling textile designs from the 1960s! The vicious and burning intensity of the light on the retina was not from the sun itself but from it's reflection on the wet sand. Although I tried to compose using peripheral vision I still was left temporarily blinded after shooting some frames.<br />
<br />
Of course the contrast between the sunlit sand and the dry areas surrounding, meant the contrast was of the scale. To me, this was wonderful though, for just as looking towards the light blinded me, I found the fake shadows to be a beautiful and textural contrast, absolutely stunning.
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  • I always get excited when beautiful, dramatic sunlight bursts through the clouds after a dreary day. It's that reminder that good things can sometimes happen no matter how dark times may be and that happiness can be found at the most unusual times.
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  • Sunshine, squalls, showers, dramatic skies reflected in the rippled wet sand of Traeth Lligwy Beach, East Anglesey.
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  • Shot from the side of a Welsh mountain, the sunbursts illuminating an otherwise shadowy Irish Sea was far more vivid and spectacular than from sea level.
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  • Shot from the side of a Welsh mountain, the sunbursts illuminating an otherwise shadowy Irish Sea was far more vivid and spectacular than from sea level.
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  • Nominated in 10th (2017) International Colour Awards (Fine Art category) <br />
<br />
Caught in squally weather, bitterly cold, blown about like a leaf in the wind, at the mercy of the elements and the huge expanse of the open sea - no, not a lonely sailing boat but me, clinging to the cliffs to try and get a shot at that magical moment, when man made and ambient light balance, that perfect window of opportunity which lasts just minutes. I love the softness of colours and contrasts in the gale driven sky behind, and the hint of comfort from the haunted lighthouse. I thought this was a joke until tonight, when as I was taking my last frame something pushed past me, really squeezing past my thigh. I honestly thought it was a dog but there was nothing there. Quite spooked.<br />
<br />
South Stack lighthouse, Holy Island, Anglesey, Ynys Môn. c1809 - Electrified in 1938 - Automated in 1984. 440 steps lead from the 200ft cliff top down to the bridge across the gorge below. We can also see here the RSPB Bird watching tower called Ellin's Tower.
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  • From stormy weather, wind waves and surf crash over rocks into a rockpool at sunset at this rocky point at Porth Tyn Tywyn, Rhosneigr, West Anglesey.
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  • Evening sunlight catching the Cornish flag at the stern of the St Mawes Ferry having crossed the Carric Roads in windy wet weather, forming a rainbow of the St Just in Roseland headland. A sailing yacht makes it's way out past Falmouth Docks into Falmouth Bay.
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  • A Hawk training jet, based at RAF Valley, flies high above the Irish Sea off the coast of Anglesey in changeable weather and dramatic cloudscapes
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  • Tiny drops of sunshine torch-light the dark rolling hills of North Wales' Lleyn Peninsula, and in the middle distance lie the sites of several iron age hill forts.
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  • Prints up to A3 only<br />
<br />
Another swim during terrible weather. I found this sheltered little cove to swim in during the arrival of Storm Franklin. For some reason the sea was now 8.4º, still cold but half a degree warmer than of late.
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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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  • Wind blown rushes behind the beach at Aberffraw at West Anglesey, Wales
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  • Nominated in 2022 International Colour Awards<br />
<br />
Such beauty in such turmoil; drifting curtains of heavy showers backlit by the most wonderful Autumnal sunset. Spray-covered faces; salt-crusted skin, and sea-coasted glass all made for a vivid experience of nature in full flow.
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  • Enjoyed a short walk out to Llanddwyn Island in bitterly cold, showery conditions. The sun made a desperate attempt to illuminate the lighthouse but with the tide rising rapidly we made our way back to the main beach to avoid being cut off. <br />
<br />
In a lovely turn of photographic fate, a colourful burst of dusky sunlight caught the towering clouds, which were then reflected on the smooth, lapping waves. <br />
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It’s so easy to be trapped by obvious sunsets, when the subtle washes behind you are in fact far more mesmerising.
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  • Herring Gulls soaring on dramatic thermals above the cliffs on Anglesey’s North Coast.
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  • Wind blown rushes behind the beach at Aberffraw at West Anglesey, Wales
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  • Caught in squally weather, bitterly cold, blown about like a leaf in the wind, at the mercy of the elements and the huge expanse of the open sea - no, not a lonely sailing boat but me, clinging to the cliffs to try and get a shot at that magical moment, when man made and ambient light balance, that perfect window of opportunity which lasts just minutes. I love the softness of colours and contrasts in the gale driven sky behind, and the hint of comfort from the haunted lighthouse. I thought this was a joke until tonight, when as I was taking my last frame something pushed past me, really squeezing past my thigh. I honestly thought it was a dog but there was nothing there. Quite spooked.<br />
<br />
South Stack lighthouse, Holy Island, Anglesey, Ynys Môn. c1809 - Electrified in 1938 - Automated in 1984. 440 steps lead from the 200ft cliff top down to the bridge across the gorge below. We can also see here the RSPB Bird watching tower called Ellin's Tower.
    GD001065.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
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  • Available as unlimited A3 & A4 prints only
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  • Things will change after this weekend. the strange peace and quiet we’ve been enjoying, one of very few positives from this lockdown, will soon end. There has been an absence of noise; an absence of traffic jams; an absence of machines, from powerboats & jet-skis to cars & trail bikes. There has been a blissful near-absence of human activity and noticeably less litter in nature. From Monday however, when everyone in the UK can move around Wales again, this calm, this peace, this relatively unspoiled beauty will change dramatically. It’s been a gentle period that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I will always remember seeing & hearing nature without human figures everywhere. I think we’ve had a glimpse at a time long past, when things were simpler and quieter & for some, more meditative. I do wish this peace would never change, but as I head for a holiday again I also recognise that it’s nothing more than a passing dream.
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  • I arrived at the beach in pouring rain but decided to head out anyway, brolly in hand. Thankfully the rain stopped suddenly and large breaks appeared in the huge blankets of grey cloud. The low sun painted colour onto the clouds behind me and I felt uplifted by brighter conditions. And then the first drops of rain fixed themselves to my lens and within less than a minute the heavens opened once again. I sheltered under the brolly for a short while, revelling in the elements around me before battling a squall back to the van.
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  • Even as I stood under my huge brolly, with the rain lashing at my back, the wind eddied rain drops onto my lens regardless. This is one of the most popular bucket & spade beaches on Ynys Môn hence my usually giving it an extremely wide berth, but today, even without continued lockdown, the rain kept most people away. I actually loved the view; I loved the minimalist simplicity of it all; the vast stretch of water, the ship in the distance waiting for pilotage to Liverpool; the gusts of wind ruffling the surface of the Irish Sea, and the misty distant island headlands. For the first time in years, I felt connected to this beach, a place I could relate to and allow my mind to wander in. In the silent downpour I felt peace.
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  • At the waterhole most of the animals seem to be acutely aware of the presence of other creatures even as they forage, eat and drink. Today however, as the giraffe nibbled at the succulent leaves in the tall trees, a dramatic storm was building behind. There was soon the rumble of thunder and shortly afterwards gigantic fork lightening cracked through the dark skies and punched any tall object below.
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  • I left the comfort of the van and stepped into a gale. The skies were grey and overcast and there were already spots of rain on my jacket. <br />
<br />
The sand whipped off the dunes and stung my face but I was so happy to just be outdoors and have fresh air in my lungs. I arrived at the shore on a rapidly dropping tide and the beach was pristine, no footprints from man or dog, just perfect geometrical shapes created by the force of the tide. <br />
<br />
The breeze rippled the surface of a large pool but the water was was like a luke warm bath, sensuous and comforting. Small jellyfish slowed drifted past me as the pool drained to the Irish Sea. <br />
<br />
As the clouds scudded overhead, small pathes of blue sky made an appearance and illuminated the whole scene for perhaps just a few minutes at a time and the light was iridescent on the sea’s green surface, glittering on the ruffled pool. Within moments I was being pelted by a rain shower and my camera lens became covered in rain and salt spray, creating a most ghostly light on my images.
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  • Retreating off the summit as huge sheets of rain swept across the peninsula, a most beautiful rounded granite boulder stood proud against the dark stunted vegetation all round. The wind ruffled the grasses as drops of rain started spitting in my face and then the stone sphere glistened under a torrential downpour, just one of millions in it's own process of shaping and growing older.
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  • UNESCO World Heritage Site<br />
<br />
No this isn’t filtered, this was shot in torrential rain that was back-lit by intense evening sunshine setting over the Irish Sea. I’d been checking out the climbing routes in the Dinorwic Quarries, waiting for the sun to come out from banks of heavy cloud, when I noticed a glow on the crags behind me. I rounded the corner and the sky was on fire. A first few drops of rain dappled the slate slabs around me so I hurried to the edge of the levels and rapidly set up my camera before the heavens opened up on top of me. I grabbed perhaps 10 frames in total as the sheets of rain moved across the hillsides. I also saw and managed to grab a shot of a most glorious rainbow behind me.
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  • "I left the comfort of the van and stepped into a gale. The skies were grey and overcast and there were already spots of rain on my jacket.<br />
<br />
The sand whipped off the dunes and stung my face but I was so happy to just be outdoors and have fresh air in my lungs. I arrived at the shore on a rapidly dropping tide and the beach was pristine, no footprints from man or dog, just perfect geometrical shapes created by the force of the tide.<br />
<br />
The breeze rippled the surface of a large pool but the water was like a lukewarm bath, sensuous and comforting. Small jellyfish slowly drifted past me as the pool drained to the Irish Sea.<br />
<br />
As the clouds scudded overhead, small patches of blue sky made an appearance and illuminated the whole scene for perhaps just a few minutes at a time. The light was iridescent on the sea’s green surface and glittered on the ruffled pool. Within moments I was being pelted by a rain shower and my camera lens became covered in rain and salt spray, creating a most ghostly light on my images"
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  • SUN (Shot Up North) Awards 2015<br />
1 of my 4 winning entries <br />
<br />
Selected Print for the IN:SIGHT (Washington Green) New Artists Competition 2015<br />
<br />
International MONO Awards 2014 - Honourable Mention <br />
<br />
"Alone on a mountain top, surrounded by swirling cloud and the threat of heavy rain, a healthy young woman, soft and curvaceous, cowers from the elements in a rough, sharp, rocky outcrop. She is vulnerable, tiny and organic, but she also looks strong, inquisitive, almost daring - what if she were to face the weather, to leave her scant shelter? To stand naked on a wind blown summit, wrapped in vapour and then rain, is liberating in the extreme - a time to feel utterly exposed yet totally connected at the same moment, never feeling more at one with the great outdoors" 
    The Fear
  • A Boxing day walk, alone, in the weather and the howling winds. Amazing, elemental, the antithesis to Christmas, natural, wild, empty, unpackaged. I stood three times in the middle of a semi-drowned estuary, sheltering behind my huge (braced) umbrella whilst squalls pounded the nylon and winds flipped the edges of the material like a machine gun. So noisy was the wind that it was hard to tell whether the rain had stopped! I headed for the dunes and a brief few moments of sunshine trying to break through the cloud cover, but soon it was dark, and I had to meander my way back across the dunes to the car park, tripping frequently over rabbit holes and clumps of thick grass.
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  • Ominous rain clouds & wild weather on my journey to the coast last night, but even in the wind & downpours the sea was warm. I felt utterly connected to the elements & I smiled even at the  horizontal rain pricking my back as I tried to dry myself. As Summer fades to memory and Autumn gales replace gentle breezes, immersing myself in the ocean late into the year is becoming a test for me.
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  • After weeks of appalling weather, wind and rain, it was such a relief to have a dry-ish day. We headed for the coast and literally just caught the last moments of a giant hole in the clouds where we glimpsed the blue sky above. A gentle shimmering of sunlight reflected off the calm sea, but it was like the eye of a storm as banks of deeper grey cloud moved in from the West and the rain started all over again.
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  • Half an hour of amazing swirling cloud, showers and atmospheric drama last night over the Irish Sea from South Stack. I make a point of avoiding photographing the lighthouse, but I do love the sea from here. Actually the wonderfully curved curtains of rain only lasted a few minutes before becoming more regular sheets of rain.
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  • The most incredible skies just before torrential rain on a deserted beach. I had my brolly at the ready and continued to shoot even as the rain started. Love being immersed in nature ike this.
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  • The story goes that someone tried to drive his 4x4 across this vast lake bed, and was never seen again’ <br />
<br />
A hundred million years ago this huge basin in the Etosha National Park was a lake, fed by the Kunene River in Angola, but 16,000 years ago, due to tectonic plate movement the river was diverted West to the Atlantic and gradually the lake dried up leaving this vast lake bed. At 4800 km² this saltpan, the largest in Africa, can be seen from space.<br />
<br />
I’d wanted to see this surreal landscape for a long time, and surprising though it may seem to others, this appealed to me even more than seeing the wildlife in the park! There is this deep need within me to experience vast empty spaces; it’s all part of that humbling vulnerability that I seek. I wanted to feel minute, isolated and insignificant in every possible term. It was difficult of course with anyone else around but fortunately I had a sense of it with just Jani and her two cousins around. We drove out onto the lake (on an ‘official’ stick marked track) and stepped into the baking heat. There was simply nothing ahead of us, almost 50kms to the far side and almost 60 kms to the left and right – it was vast indeed.<br />
<br />
The earth was soft and crumbly rather than rock hard. I can imagine in rain it would get very soft indeed. I’ve read that in prolonged heavy rain the whole lake bed floods up to 10cm deep creating an incredible mirror –like surface which attracts thousands of migrating flamingos.
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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 />
.<br />
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 />
.<br />
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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  • A hundred million years ago this huge basin in the Etosha National Park was a lake, fed by the Kunene River in Angola, but 16,000 years ago, due to tectonic plate movement the river was diverted West to the Atlantic and gradually the lake dried up leaving this vast lake bed. At 4800 km² this saltpan, the largest in Africa, can be seen from space.<br />
<br />
I’d wanted to see this surreal landscape for a long time, and surprising though it may seem to others, this appealed to me even more than seeing the wildlife in the park! There is this deep need within me to experience vast empty spaces; it’s all part of that humbling vulnerability that I seek. I wanted to feel minute, isolated and insignificant in every possible term. It was difficult of course with anyone else around but fortunately I had a sense of it with just Jani and her two cousins around. We drove out onto the lake (on an ‘official’ stick marked track) and stepped into the baking heat. There was simply nothing ahead of us, almost 50kms to the far side and almost 60 kms to the left and right – it was vast indeed.<br />
<br />
The earth was soft and crumbly rather than rock hard. I can imagine in rain it would get very soft indeed. I’ve read that in prolonged heavy rain the whole lake bed floods up to 10cm deep creating an incredible mirror –like surface which attracts thousands of migrating flamingos.
    GD002259.jpg
  • A hundred million years ago this huge basin in the Etosha National Park was a lake, fed by the Kunene River in Angola, but 16,000 years ago, due to tectonic plate movement the river was diverted West to the Atlantic and gradually the lake dried up leaving this vast lake bed. At 4800 km² this saltpan, the largest in Africa, can be seen from space.<br />
<br />
I’d wanted to see this surreal landscape for a long time, and surprising though it may seem to others, this appealed to me even more than seeing the wildlife in the park! There is this deep need within me to experience vast empty spaces; it’s all part of that humbling vulnerability that I seek. I wanted to feel minute, isolated and insignificant in every possible term. It was difficult of course with anyone else around but fortunately I had a sense of it with just Jani and her two cousins around. We drove out onto the lake (on an ‘official’ stick marked track) and stepped into the baking heat. There was simply nothing ahead of us, almost 50kms to the far side and almost 60 kms to the left and right – it was vast indeed.<br />
<br />
The earth was soft and crumbly rather than rock hard. I can imagine in rain it would get very soft indeed. I’ve read that in prolonged heavy rain the whole lake bed floods up to 10cm deep creating an incredible mirror –like surface which attracts thousands of migrating flamingos.
    GD002260.jpg
  • A Boxing day walk, alone, in the weather and the howling winds. Amazing, elemental, the antithesis to Christmas, natural, wild, empty, unpackaged. I stood three times in the middle of a semi-drowned estuary, sheltering behind my huge (braced) umbrella whilst squalls pounded the nylon and winds flipped the edges of the material like a machine gun. So noisy was the wind that it was hard to tell whether the rain had stopped! I headed for the dunes and a brief few moments of sunshine trying to break through the cloud cover, but soon it was dark, and I had to meander my way back across the dunes to the car park, tripping frequently over rabbit holes and clumps of thick grass.
    GD001360.jpg
  • The rain was relentless, coming down in sheets across the sombre Welsh hillsides, soaking the landscape and everything upon it. I’d just walked for hours on the deserted gale-blown mountaintops, alone but strangely happy in my solitude. The river in the valley was swollen, fed by the downpour but tumbled excitedly towards the sea beyond.<br />
<br />
The steadfast skeletal trees transfixed me. Their bare branches were almost still in the breeze and their water-drop laden twigs stretched out like a delta. These skeletal figures were in a sort of suspended animation, hidden life pulsing through the outstretched limbs but waiting to burst out in the spring, months from now.<br />
<br />
I didn’t really want to leave but my waterproofs were now beginning to fail after almost four hours of penetrating bad weather. I could hear the rain on my jacket hood and tiny beads of water now ran down my skin. It seemed that if I moved I’d ruin the silent connection between me and the trees, but I did, and it didn’t.
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  • The mountains of South Africa have blown me away. I have never seen so many mountain peaks in one place. These very steep-sided and dramatic peaks could be seen out of our car window for the two solid days of driving East to West through the country. In fact the mountains in this image are much smaller than many others we saw on our journey. It’s a complete guess, but over nearly 20 hours of driving there must have been literally 1000s of summits and I can’t begin to imagine where a mountaineer would begin to start choosing which to climb in this vast area. <br />
<br />
Even more strange is that the clouds you see here form the edge of a gigantic cloud blanket that created pouring rain on the far, coastal side of these hills. We drove in bright sunshine all day until we crossed the range through a gorge and then drove in rain for the next 3 hours!
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  • The orange glow of the street lights in Rhosneigr light up low cloud in this blue landscape. Bright patches in the rain clouds are reflected in the wet sands of Broad Beach in the foreground.
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  • Christmas Day 2011 - instead of pigging out on Christmas dinners and excesses of booze, I did a two hour cliff walk on North Anglesey, and battled with massive buffeting gusts of wind blowing off the Irish Sea, and sea spray sweeping over the headlands. I found a partly sheltered cove in which to eat cheese sarnies and a mince pie, washed down with hot coffee. Amazingly the rain held off for the whole walk which was fortunate but I also saw some of the only glimpses of sunshine in North Wales that day, which backlit the huge seas crashing against the Anglesey cliffs.
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  • 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
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  • 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
  • From a short series of images taken after a very wet rainy day. I had gone to the beach anyway and started walking in the drizzle just to get fresh air. I played with my iPhone taking numerous fun pictures with some on-board software but as I was playing, the skies broke a little, and holes of daylight swept past, briefly and teasingly but the effect on the wet sands was awesome. The rain had meant most visitors had stayed away even the dreaded dog walkers and their sand destroying pooches ! I was alone and totally in the zone. After dark I ran through the waves for the sheer hell of it.  Full story will be on my blog at http://www.glynsblog.com  © Glyn Davies 2010 - All rights reserved.
    GD001873.jpg
  • This was a grab shot en route to Cardiff with my Nant show, during appalling weather. At one point on a hilltop near Mid Wales, the clouds briefly parted and the sun burst through to reveal these four guilty sheep :-) The previously drab colours became vivid in the intense sunlight. Within minutes the rain started again and the sheep went back to hurdling :-)
    GD000879.jpg
  • A short walk yesterday evening to catch the last of the light, whilst trying to avoid rain showers. The wind was strong and chilling but the colours behind the rainstorm were wonderfully warm.
    GD002442.jpg
  • A spontaneous fast evening hike up to the summit of Elidir Fawr, grabbing the last of the sunshine before the torrential rain promised for the following day.<br />
<br />
It was clear that the weather was already changing, dark clouds swirling around the peaks, but side-lit by striking evening sunlight. Though July, my hands were really cold in the strong gusting breeze. <br />
<br />
I didn’t see a soul anywhere on the mountain so I was able to revel in the dramatic elemental conditions surrounding me, perfect and humbling solitude that freaks me as much as it excites me.
    GD002316.jpg
  • Huge slabs of rock just underneath the grass and peat inclined steeply. A fast flowing stream cuts down into the joint as it tumbles down towards the wide glaciated Ogwen in the distance. Heavy rain clouds hang over some of Snowdonia's highest peaks.
    GD000972.jpg
  • An early morning shoot from the hills of Yr Eifl on North Wales most Western tip, the Lleyn Peninisula. The clouds were stormy looking and threatening rain, but the sunlight between showers was crisp and beautiful and sculptural.
    GD001438.jpg
  • An early morning shoot from the hills of Yr Eifl on North Wales most Western tip, the Lleyn Peninisula. The clouds were stormy looking and threatening rain, but the sunlight between showers was crisp and beautiful and sculptural.
    GD001437.jpg
  • After a demanding, muddy 7 mile walk along the Cornish coast in mid winter, we finally arrived at our destination of Pra Sands on the South coast of Cornwall. Although dark clouds still encompassed us, a dramatic break in the cover allowed an evening sunset to burst through, turning the world shades of pink and purple. <br />
<br />
By the time we had walked the length of the beach to our van the evening had lost all of it’s colour and the rain arrived.
    GD002126.jpg
  • Intense sunshine illuminates wet rocks after heavy rain on the headland at Porth Dafarch, Holy Island, West Anglesey
    GD000687.jpg
  • 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.
    GD001870.jpg
  • Nominated for 11th International B&W Spider Awards<br />
<br />
“The wind blew hard across the rolling landscape but the winter rain drove harder, stabbing the skin of the earth and the flesh of the figure. The sky grew dark and the hills blackened, but a gentle beam of light continued to illuminate the woman, outstretched on the dune. A firm arm of soft sand pressed into her back, supporting her and the new life now growing inside her, positioning her to face the universe”
    Sensual Landscape
  • Christmas Day 2011 - instead of pigging out on Christmas dinners and excesses of booze, I did a two hour cliff walk on North Anglesey, and battled with massive buffeting gusts of wind blowing off the Irish Sea, and sea spray sweeping over the headlands. I found a partly sheltered cove in which to eat cheese sarnies and a mince pie, washed down with hot coffee. Amazingly the rain held off for the whole walk which was fortunate but I also saw some of the only glimpses of sunshine in North Wales that day, which backlit the huge seas crashing against the Anglesey cliffs.
    GD001361.jpg
  • A large sea with a long range swell slammed the seafront at Trearddur Bay at the end of November. Cars parked in the car park were literally covered in wave after huge wave - and pebbles! I shot from within the van for there was also torrential rain and swirling sea spray everywhere. These were some of the biggest wave crashes I'd personally witnessed here at Trearddur, though I'm sure there must be loads more occasions like this.
    GD001353.jpg
  • 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 />
<br />
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 />
<br />
From my book Nant Gwrtheyrn - Y Swyngyfaredd (The Enchantment)<br />
<br />
This book is available for purchase here on www.glyndavies.com
    GD000709.jpg
  • Three glorious days of freak weather at the end of February, thanks to global warming. Although worrying in the extreme for the planet, most of us can’t deny that the sudden summer weather amidst the gloom of winter, was nevertheless uplifting in other ways. Back to heavy rain today.
    GD002389.jpg
  • Arriving at South Stack the cloud cover was much more extensive than I'd expected and as evening drew close, only a distant burn of weak sunset behind miles of rain, made any form of feature. Somehow though, the whole thing felt beautifully balanced because of it.
    GD002390.jpg
  • The days are drawing in and the comforting warmth and brilliant light of summer is gradually being replaced with gales and rain. <br />
<br />
The girl from the forest heads towards the light and pushes through the last trees, finding herself at the shore of a great lake.  The contrast between the stillness and relative silence of the trees is in stark contrast to the heavy weather fetching at speed across the water’s surface. It takes her by surprise, buffeting her tiny figure and she holds onto low branches for support. <br />
<br />
Her hair blows wildly behind her in the wind and she is acutely aware of the rushes caressing her legs and spray from the waves pinpricking her naked flesh, but she revels in these sensations. Her senses are heightened and the place and the moment are a catalyst for her thoughts about her existence and a reminder that the cycle of the seasons is unavoidable and that nature is everything.
    When the Wind Blows
  • 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
    GD001733.jpg
  • The forecast was for mixed weather but thankfully we never ‘quite’ saw rain. Here on the coast of West Penwith a river tumbles down through the boulders to join the Atlantic Ocean. Brief moments of sunshine illuminated the flowing water and everything sparkled. The clouds closed in, the wind increased and the cold intensified but my mood was as bright and alive as the view I was offered.
    GD002125.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
    GD001994.jpg
  • Brilliant sunshine through stormy rainshowers and racing black clouds at the expansive Llanddwyn Beach on West Anglesey. Bitter winds cut throughclothing and rain lashed our faces but amongst it all, there was sheer ecstasy in the beauty of land and sky becoming one for brief moments of time
    GD001992.jpg
  • I had been to photograph the ancient Roman settlement of Din Lligwy in the rain, but this derelict old chapel moved me most. At one time this building would have been part of the fabric and centre of local community but in an age where materialism and self preservation have become the game it was quite disheartening even as an agnostic that so much of our spiritual being has crumbled with the stone, the trees bearing witness to once was.
    GD000493.jpg
  • Three glorious days of freak weather at the end of February, thanks to global warming. Although worrying in the extreme for the planet, most of us can’t deny that the sudden summer weather amidst the gloom of winter, was nevertheless uplifting in other ways. Back to heavy rain today.
    GD002357.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
  • 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
  • A Boxing day walk, alone, in the weather and the howling winds. Amazing, elemental, the antithesis to Christmas, natural, wild, empty, unpackaged. I stood three times in the middle of a semi-drowned estuary, sheltering behind my huge (braced) umbrella whilst squalls pounded the nylon and winds flipped the edges of the material like a machine gun. So noisy was the wind that it was hard to tell whether the rain had stopped! I headed for the dunes and a brief few moments of sunshine trying to break through the cloud cover, but soon it was dark, and I had to meander my way back across the dunes to the car park, tripping frequently over rabbit holes and clumps of thick grass.
    GD001358.jpg
  • Sunset after rain at Porth Dafarch, a narrow cove with a sandy beach, very popular with tourists. As the tide retreats numerous streams from surrounding coutryside cut their way through the soft sands.
    GD000541.jpg
  • It’s that time of year, and although I thoroughly dislike short days, darkness, rain and gloom, Autumn is also the season of warm water, warm gales, warm sunshine and incredible drama. If we could arrange to keep winter for just a month or so, I’d be very happy, but I’m trying to enjoy the most of the last vestiges of what was summer.
    GD002532.jpg
  • Nominee in 10th Annual Black & White Spider Awards<br />
<br />
SUN (Shot Up North) Awards 2015<br />
1 of my 4 winning entries <br />
<br />
A winning entry in the MOMA Wales Tabernacle Art Competition 2015<br />
<br />
International MONO Awards 2014 - Honourable Mention <br />
<br />
Selected Print for the IN:SIGHT (Washington Green) New Artists Competition 2015<br />
<br />
_______________________________________<br />
<br />
On a rocky mountain summit a young woman was about to fly. It was the first time she'd been up a mountain and the first time she'd truly 'felt' her world. Before taking off she revealed more.<br />
<br />
She said that being naked made her feel truly connected to landscape. To be able to feel wind and rain, warmth and cold; to feel stone beneath your feet and wind in your hair. The truth of existence.
    First Flight
  • Just a few days to go until Wales finds some sort of normality before the next national lockdown! The weather seems to be reflecting my / our moods at present, one minute dark clouds, rain and even hail, but the next, glorious sunshine and even a hint of warmth on your wet face. Shallow pools seemed deep and menacing but upon the surface glowed patches of clean sunlight. These rippling islands of gentle light reminded me that the sun will keep on rising and falling despite everything, and that life goes on, with or without us.
    GD002551.jpg
  • Volcanic landscape, Fuerteventura, Canaries. <br />
<br />
We rarely see any bad weather on this arid island but on this evening, black clouds rolled overhead and the first spots of rain steamed off the hot car windscreen
    GD001516.jpg
  • Storm Barra brought 66 mph gales onto the west coast of the tiny Ynys Mon (Isle of Anglesey) today.  The winds made it near impossible to walk, but strangely, the waves didn't look gigantic as they do in Cornwall, but they were huge for North Wales. <br />
<br />
Every now and then, holes appeared in the sky and brightness illuminated the stormy seas below. I shot just three frames before unwrapping two lobster pots & a huge length of rope that had wrapped itself around a small sea stack (using just my penknife to cut the ropes & massive brute force to lift the pots from the wave battered rocks). I returned to the van in darkness & still hammered by torrential rain.
    GD002700.jpg
  • GD001487.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
  • It’s that time of year, and although I thoroughly dislike short days, darkness, rain and gloom, Autumn is also the season of warm water, warm gales, warm sunshine and incredible drama. If we could arrange to keep winter for just a month or so, I’d be very happy, but I’m trying to enjoy the most of the last vestiges of what was summer.
    GD002536.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
  • Unbelievable dusk burn of sunlight after a dreadful, rain flooded day. These conditions lasted such a short time but in that time I enjoyed such wonderful serenity. It was so quiet that I could hear the sound of the Afon Menai flowing by; I heard a lone Oystercatcher calling across the water but couldn't hear a large flock of gulls lazily winging across the Menai Strait, backdropped by a watercolour tapestry of weather.
    GD002490.jpg
  • A short walk yesterday evening to catch the last of the light, whilst trying to avoid rain showers. The wind was strong and chilling but the colours behind the rainstorm were wonderfully warm.
    GD002443.jpg
  • Lockdown South Africa - Day 11 <br />
Massive drop in temperature today as summer ends. Torrential rain and howling winds so Gerard lit the indoor wood burning stove for the first time. It’s a solid cast iron beast but looks so wonderfully industrial. I loved the whole practical functionality of it, and of course raw flame, an element I’ve always been obsessed with.<br />
<br />
Lifting off one of the circular lids allowed a genie of fire to erupt and morph before my eyes. A burning hot couple briefly danced for me and I was lost in their embrace.
    AOP-32-GD002458.jpg
  • In a landscape that seems so barren, pockets of life form a sort of vegetated oasis. Where there are trickles of water during rain, shrubs grow. Where shrubs grow tress seem to grow, and where trees grow dozens of Weaver Birds flit in and out of huge nests that they have built in the branches. The tree of life is such a cliché but this dead tree really was enabling bird life at least, to survive in these harsh conditions.
    GD002280.jpg
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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