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  • Just the strangest early morning cloud formations over a tranquil Menai Strait at high tide. Above the darkness of the shadowed hillsides, clouds slowly changed shape and size,creating an incredible if slightly surreal skyscape. <br />
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It was like watching a vast charcoal drawing in the making by invisible hands.
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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 />
<br />
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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  • Another of those wonderful moments when a dreary day gets blown away by strong winds and the sun is allowed to burst through and spread its glory. Wide-eyed and a heart full of joy, I relished everything about this chance event
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  • 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.
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  • Blindingly beautiful evening sunshine bathing the expansive dunes on this West Anglesey beach, with snow-capped mountains catching pulses of light between the scudding clouds above.
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  • After two amazing days of rock climbing in near 20º sunshine here in North Wales, I found myself walking on Llanddwyn Beach after work today, revelling in the unusual weather conditions. If global warming meant more lovely days like this all year round, with no negative impacts, I’d say bring it on!!<br />
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The sea was very calm indeed, but as usual the Malltraeth side offered some small but fast waves, crashing against the evening sunlit cliffs. Dozens & dozens of lemming like figures dotted the dunes, rocks and forest edge, all focussing their beady eyes on the setting sun.
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  • When the magical, and literally 'awesome' moments of sunset mirror in virginal wet sand, it’s quite genuinely hard to beat. Double the beauty, double the drama, double the emotional response. It's just a beach, the sea and a ball of gas, so why is it that we as humans are so drawn to these simple elements when combined?
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  • Shot on my new Sony A7R2. Confident washes of strong wind waves powered up the beach even on the outgoing tide during a darkening dusk.<br />
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The skies looked dramatic, numerous clouds being blown rapidly in a strong breeze. The air was cold enough to warrant a winter coat, but anticipating some tidal shots I wore shorts to the beach. As I stood in the sea to make more images I was surprised at how warm the waves were as they wrapped around my legs.
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  • By the time my student and I had reached the coast I thought we’d lost the light, but as we walked out onto the estuary the sun, which had eased behind a massive cloud bank, gradually dropped further and re-appeared, highlighting waves of higher cloud beyond the darker blanket beneath. It was a superb finish to a very full 14 hour 1-1 workshop.
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  • Crepuscular rays over the dark mountains of the Llyn Peninsula in North Wales
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  • Just the momentary interplay of light and shadow when a huge hole appears in the middle distance. With the impressive surge pool in the bottom left of this image, it's an illusion of one-upmanship in this stunning wintry mountainscape.
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  • So strange. Beaumaris in June. Normally bustling with visitors, dotted with promenaders, yachts gliding across the Afon Menai and dozens of families crabbing from the pier and eating fish & chips, dive bombed by frenzied seagulls, but not this year.<br />
.<br />
There was a gentle, quiet, serenity. Hardly a soul out and about. An old couple sat reading in their car and a man on a bike exercised his dog but really, the only thing happening was nature and the weather, and both were beautiful. I could see Curlew and Oystercatcher on the shore digging for sustenance in the mud bank. Swallows darted overhead and groups of Herring Gulls fished for natural rather than fast food. The tide ebbed and the clouds swirled and shifted rapidly across the being sky. This was pandemic time but for the planet it was a breath of fresh air.
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  • 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.
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  • “In 2010 a young, funny, dynamic, 19-year-old friend of my ex-stepchildren had gone missing at Christmas, apparently having jumped off the Menai Suspension Bridge but no-one really knew for sure; there were no answers and no closure for his devastated family and friends. <br />
<br />
Weeks later in January 2011, I was out walking across this shallow wet estuary at the end of the Menai Strait. I have always gone to the sea for solace and comfort, but after this event, the sea represented something very different – swallowing, concealing. I was thinking about how lucky I was to simply be there, to breathe, to see, to live"<br />
<br />
<br />
5 x A0 Edition<br />
A1 Editions - SOLD OUT <br />
15 x A2 Editions
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  • Landerne Pier, (named after the twinned Brittany town of Landerneau ) just to the North of Doc Fictoria in Caernarfon was completed in 1993. It's frequented by anglers and occasionally is used by boats as a temporary tie up, waiting for the dock to open.<br />
<br />
In busy lives, it's strange that places or people that have been so much a part of our existence, become history quite quickly. Wandering along the Caernarfon waterfront, steeped in architectural & cultural heritage, my own history & memory of this place suddenly seemed so familiar
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  • On an otherwise blue sky day, an unusual solitary cloud appeared above the freedom of the mountains. Shortly the cloud intensified and grew much larger, but thankfully it never rained.
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  • I'd been sea swimming just before dark, in a tiny little cove on an island, and that was by far my priority over taking photos, but as the after drop kicked in and my skin started to tingle as warm blood from my core  seeped outwards, I became aware of an incredible red glow in the sky. I paced up the hillside both to keep warm and also to see the sunset, but the path I was on suddenly inspired me more than the sea beyond.
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  • A last minute break in the day's heavy clouds created some stunning streaks of light in both sky & on land. We headed for Gwithian where I knew low tide would give me some opportunity for wonderful reflections and thankfully it was a wise decision.
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  • What's been so utterly wonderful this last few months, is the trail-free sky. Week after week of nothing but natural clouds and blue skies. Indeed when you do see a plane people actually notice it & comment upon it. It's so strange that something we took for granted, and accepted as part of our 'natural' world, was actually so prevalent, so intrusive within our vistas and of course so polluting. I've been quite elated at seeing so many landscape scenes as they would have been seen a hundred and more years ago, visually unspoiled (if we ignore the plastic pollution on every Anglesey & North Wales beach of course!)
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  • Absolutely taken aback by the level of flooding in these normally bone dry sand dune valleys. The warm early Spring sunshine was clearly inspiring the skylarks as there were dozens of them, singing their little hearts out. It made me happy thinking about the Summer, and I hope they were as happy as I was.
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  • 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.
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  • 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.
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  • Just south of The Three Sisters volcanoes in Western Albuquerque, looking towards the huge Sandia Mountain range of New Mexico. There is so little water in this state, therefore agriculture and arable farming is near impossible, but grasslands seem to abound on the vast open plains. Rattlesnakes however, are quite common, and I was extremely cautious about wandering into these grasslands to find the best foreground for pictures!
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  • Just love it when shapes and patterns come together and create dynamic compositions.  Warm colours during a very cold evening on this West Anglesey beach last week.
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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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  • 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 />
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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 />
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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.
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  • In the distance a thousand terns screech over the Skerries Lighthouse, but standing here on a headland above a dark cove there was nothing but silence, well apart from the delicate lapping of almost imperceptible waves on the shore, and the breath of two dolphins gracefully hunting for fish n the tranquil waters. There was a soul around, perfect solitude.
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  • After a brilliant afternoon of rock climbing with Jani and her daughter, we were all buzzing with excitement. The weather had been dreary most of the day, but after Sioned and her man had sadly boarded the train back to Liverpool, Jani and I didn’t want the day to end. We first went to Trwyn Du to see the famous lighthouse but there were far too many noisy people there to enjoy, so we headed for the expansive bay of Traeth Coch and were lucky enough to see this spectacular view. At this time of year the sun sets much further to the right, illuminating the sand cusps along the vast beach.
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  • This image is from another day trialling the Sony A7R2 with 16-35mm lens. This time I was shooting from the high cliffs of North Anglesey, during an intense sunlit afternoon.  <br />
<br />
Mega impressed with the sharpness and contrast and level of detail. I am also impressed at the minimal flare both with and without filters in front of the lens. <br />
<br />
Less impressed by the canned camera profiles supplied, which when pulled down in ACR are either dull, too high in contrast or too saturated. <br />
<br />
The canned profiles for the Fuji were so damned close to the real scene, and looked acceptable on both the EVF and on the profiled Eizo back at base. <br />
<br />
I’ve been given some custom camera profiles from a fellow pro but they are not being recognised from the library folder I’m placing them in. I’ve heard from a few pros now that Sony colour profiles are just not what they could be.  I’m happy to hear from Sony users who have resolved this issue. <br />
<br />
I have to spend quite a time making adjustments now in Camera Raw AND PhotoShop to get back to what I saw in real life.
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  • Gentle lenticular clouds slowly moved across a clear blue sky above the hazy mountains of Snowdonia. These mountains can look so vast and magnificent in dramatic weather, but in these conditions they seemed no more than small blue dunes, dwarfed by the void above.
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  • The rocks down on the quiet shoreline seemed dark from afar, am isolated hard reef doing it’s best to resist erosion against the Irish Sea. <br />
<br />
Down in amongst them though, they became rich in character and colour. Every peak an unique individual, with different faces and textures and shapes. As I nestled into them they become my security. Small waves would belie their gentle appearance and would suddenly burst over the lower stoney barriers. As the tide advanced each wave reached further and faster up my legs. <br />
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I enjoyed the small acts being played out in different sectors of the image. Little cameos, small and larger characters, but together creating an amazing stage set.
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  • 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
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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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  • Milleniums of aerial erosion reveal the very rock of our planet, eons old. Transient, fleeting clouds shift overhead but individually have no real effect on the incredible resilience of the permanent earth below.
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  • The first bitterly cold day on Anglesey this October, yet the sun burned gold and the sky and water reflected the warm hues. Determined dog walkers paced the beach but on the outgoing tide much of the shoreline remained relatively undisturbed, enable the waders to feed in peace and seagulls to rest their wings.
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  • Incredible November sunlight for a cool morning swim. Even the Cormorants seemed to be enjoying the unexpected warmth.
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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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  • Beautiful, serene, ethereal conditions over Ynys Môn last night, with Mynydd Twr rising out of the sea mist on the North side of the island. Anglesey was once land beneath the Irish Sea, so Holyhead Mountain was momentarily an island once more.
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  • After a disheartening post-lockdown open-day at the gallery, when not one customer came in, I happily closed the door and after a big hug from Jani before she started her latest ITU shift, I decided to go for a last minute walk into the hills. <br />
<br />
I was literally alone on the hill and the light was promisingly dramatic. I reached the summit and started shooting some frames as the light changed by the minute. It was just before sundown when I heard voices and the first of two young couples arrived. There followed a short performance of selfie taking by both couples - on the style, over the style, against the sunset, away from the sunset, on the wall, off the wall, close up shots, distant shots, but I didn't see these couples just sitting (or standing) and just quietly absorbing the absolute beauty of the world around them. <br />
<br />
It was genuinely great to see young loving couples out in the big landscape, it can be such a romantic activity for lovers, but it would be nice to think they loved the natural beauty of the light, land and sounds of nature, as much as the selfie taking. I know this is sign of the times here, and perhaps I'm just too old school!
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  • When every day is a ground hog day of generally dreary repetition, the only thing that ever gives me uplift is the light & the weather. One of the main reasons we bought our modest house was the panoramic view of the whole Snowdonia mountain range - we do have rooftops of houses in front of us but the mountains themselves are basically in clear sight. <br />
<br />
On this morning, a warm orange light was seeping under the bedroom door from the next room, so I jumped up to see what was happening. This frame was shot handheld through our bathroom window! It's not my sharpest image ever but I don't care, it just brings back such positive thoughts from that morning, and there few and far of them these days!
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  • Another momentary wonder of light and land, as Carnedd Dafydd captures a rare sunbeam during a dreary, damp evening. Standing on the bank of the Afon Menai was beautiful for it’s sounds, tiny waves slapping pebbles on the shoreline; two Oystercatchers pile-driving the shell-strewn mudflats for rich food on the outgoing tide, and a Curlew calling as it skimmed the sea surface towards Y Felinheli but the light, was dull as dishwater. I was about o head back fro the van when a glimmer of light appeared over the Eryri hills, and within a few seconds a huge beam of sunlight scanned the peaks, illuminating the details and textures with such clarity. I shot just five frames before the sun disappeared completely and drops of rain touched my face.
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  • So strange. Beaumaris in June. Normally bustling with visitors, dotted with promenaders, yachts gliding across the Afon Menai and dozens of families crabbing from the pier and eating fish & chips, dive bombed by frenzied seagulls, but not this year.<br />
.<br />
There was a gentle, quiet, serenity. Hardly a soul out and about. An old couple sat reading in their car and a man on a bike exercised his dog but really, the only thing happening was nature and the weather, and both were beautiful. I could see Curlew and Oystercatcher on the shore digging for sustenance in the mud bank. Swallows darted overhead and groups of Herring Gulls fished for natural rather than fast food. The tide ebbed and the clouds swirled and shifted rapidly across the being sky. This was pandemic time but for the planet it was a breath of fresh air.
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  • What a difference a season makes. In the summer this beach is busy with tourists, swimming, kayaking and paddle boarding on the water; families eating fish & chips on the sea front and dozens of walkers perambulating along the seafront, but in Winter, it feels vast, empty and exposed. The full force of the wind howls onto this beach from the Irish Sea and the mountains behind seem darker, higher and more ominous. The ancient hill fort s gradually being eroded away, now less than half the size of the original, and hardly surprising when you watch the waves relentless attacking the base.   <br />
<br />
The wind was so strong that the sea became a conveyer of fast, foamy white waves that pushed far up the beach on every landfall. My feet got soaked as the water wrapped around my legs time after time but it was all part of the amazing experience of feeling connected to winter as much as the landscape itself.
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  • 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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  • As the sun dropped, giving way to a magenta dusk, I suddenly became aware of a brightening half moon over Snowdonia. The darker became dusk the more brilliant appeared the moon and it shimmered on the retreating tide. <br />
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The shift of colours between the moon-cool blues and the pink after-burn of the sunset was simply beautiful, gently mixed by the ripples from small waves. There was a confusion of colours and patterns yet within it all, a minimalist simplicity of form and composition. I was like a kid in a candy shop.
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  • For such a brief opportunity to get to the coast this evening, the conditions certainly delivered and I was blessed with solitude as well. <br />
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As the sun dropped, giving way to a magenta dusk, I suddenly became aware of a brightening half moon over Snowdonia. The darker became dusk the more brilliant appeared the moon and it shimmered on the retreating tide. What really made this image work for me were the gentle curves of small waves pushing over a sand bank. As in my image “Wind Formed 4”, this was perfect geometry in nature, and I was utterly captivated and found it very hard to leave.
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  • I had to shelter under a large brolly just minutes after this picture, as a violent rain storm began to pummel me from above. The colours and contrast were beautiful and rich, unusually so. My biggest issue was keeping my own shadow from the extremely low sun, out of the foreground.
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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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  • 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 />
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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 />
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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.
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  • Although I stood in brilliant sunshine on my mountain top, clouds billowed over the main Snowdonia peaks, set against an ominous dark sky. Sunlight punched through the swirling vapour illuminating patches of hillside and ocassionally the summits themselves
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  • Classic Cornish winter weather. One minute we were blanketed in thick sea fog, then drizzle, then showers and then intense sunlight before repeating all over again. <br />
<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.
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  • It was a day of mixed weather; brilliant sunshine then violent hail showers, but even when things seemed at their darkest, the burning sunshine was always just behind. The whole scene was visual metaphor for things in my life at that moment.
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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.
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  • Normally at this time of year, when you see a beach like this, the marks on the sand are from footprints of beach-goers, but today on a near-empty stretch of beach at very low tide, these millions of impressions are entirely natural, an intricate but vast web of interconnected structures created during the outgoing tide. Streams from stranded beach pools desperately cutting their way to the ocean are an ongoing fascination for me.
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  • With the endless storms this last few months, and howling, damaging winds, small moments of pure warm sunshine are such an uplift. Bursts of positivity in such negative times.
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  • One of my first images that I was truly proud of, was of intensely side-lit, cliff-top grasses blowing around granite boulders at Land's End at the most South Westerly tip of the British Isles. The light on the wind-blown sand dunes at Rhosneigr were such a vivid reminder of the light & textures I experienced nearly 40 years ago. I honestly felt as if I was there on the Cornish clifftop and I didn't want to leave the place.
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  • I just stood there back to the gale as the Heaven’s opened and pummelled me with freezing hail. Throughout the squall the sunshine continued, blasting the miles-long sand dunes in Autumnal light. I had to shoot quickly, and hid the camera in my jacket. Stunning lighting and a beach almost to myself - immersed in the elements - perfection.
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  • 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.
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  • In the darkness there’s always that hope that small moments of light, entertain and delight us.
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  • Chaotic weather and stormy conditions over the west coast of Ynys Môn this evening, this summer!  One minute, torrential downpours the next, blazing hot sunshine - utterly unpredictable other than for its unpredictability. <br />
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Holyhead Mountain can be seen in the far distance whilst fast-appearing crepuscular rays scan the surface of the Irish Sea as the clouds race inland. It was wind-blown and spectacular and I revelled in the elements
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  • We decided to ignore the warnings not to drive during Storm Ciara, and headed for the sea. The narrow coastal roads were covered in seaweed and pebbles but high up above the cliffs of South Stack we only had the gale force winds to contend with. I left Jani warm in the van and fought my way down to the cliff edge, thankfully the wind blew me onshore not off! On arrival the skies were dark and gloomy but as I set up the tripod, sunlight burst through a break in the clouds and illuminated the short grasses clinging to the siltstone & quartzite rocks around me. <br />
<br />
I had to lean hard onto the tripod just to try and keep the camera still enough to make the shot. Even then I decided on a higher ISO for safety. Almost as soon as the sun warmed my wind-blown face, it disappeared and I was blown uphill back to the van!
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  • 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.
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  • In body-bending gales on Wales’ North coast, I topped out on the summit of this ancient hill-fort to peruse the fast-changing light and incoing tide at Dinas Dinlle. I had to physically lean onto the tripod to keep the camera as still as possible to make the exposure. <br />
<br />
The sun disappeared behind a hige cloud bank an the intensity reduced dramatically seconds after this image.
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  • Nominated in 2022 International Colour Awards<br />
<br />
Full of cold, I nevertheless found myself on the summit of Carnedd Llewelyn in the heart of Snowdonia. The sun was out and burned warm on my face. There was hardly a puff of wind to blow the few soft pillow-like clouds in the blue sky above. <br />
<br />
It was peaceful and quiet, save for the sound of my boots crunching into the thick snowdrifts that dotted the mountain tops.
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  • I’ve never been in such vast landscapes as in South Africa. Every trip felt like a major journey and we seemed to always be touching the edge of wilderness. <br />
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Wildlife was abundant, especially birds, which all seemed to be on a mission, endless flights to endless destinations. <br />
<br />
We were camping right on a beach on a remote stretch of coast. There was no question that WE were the outsiders in nature’s home. Humans seemed insignificant in the vast space. The South Atlantic waves will continue to crash these shores for millennia, long after we’ve become dust.
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  • I was in the shadows of Foel Goch and Moel Cynghorion, with the sun setting behind me. I had put my camera away for the day but suddenly the clouds cleared to reveal a beautiful scene. <br />
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I scrabbled in the rucksack to fetch the Fuji before the scene changed. I balanced my camera on a dry-stone wall to capture the near-full moon in a deep blue sky, high above the rolling foothills of Snowdon that were still bathed in warm sunshine.
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  • On such an arid, black island, it was quite a surprise to find such a lush green lagoon, here on the West Coast of Lanzarote at Club La Santa, the health resort for elite international athletes. <br />
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As the tide slowly crept in, the tiny creeks and channels were full of crabs and small fish, changing positions and locations as the water level rose. The banks looked green because of an abundance of succulent plants that seemed to thrive in this salt water lagoon.
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  • I headed for the coast, desperate for fresh air, but the sky darkened and a huge blanket of grey formed overhead. Undeterred I kept going and amazingly on arrival at the beach, the cloud seperated and sunshine filtered and then burned through, splashing warm light across the wet sands. On the outgoing tide the sands were pristine and formed a wonderful layer in which the boulders created perfect pools and rivulets. I ended up on the beach until late dusk and the moon glinted overhead.
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  • One minute the summit of Elidir Fawr was bathed in early Spring sunshine and the next the sky had darkened and freezing vapour engulfed us. However the rapidly swirling clouds formed the most beautiful shapes and the semi obscured sun created a backlit stage of theatrical movement as we drank hot coffee to keep warm.
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  • What a FABULOUS morning!! Couldn't decide whether to swim or photograph, wetsuit or shorts, or even which bit of coast to visit, but after loads of procrastination I ended up in my wetsuit with my proper camera in a housing, floating around in the Menai Strait. The sun was procrastinating as much as I was, but in between HUGE slow moving clouds, brilliant bursts of sunshine illuminated the sea and its depths. Small Compass Jellyfish caused me no worry thanks to my wetsuit and my exposed hands and face were nicely warm even underwater - summer bliss!
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  • Landerne Pier, (named after the twinned Brittany town of Landerneau ) just to the North of Doc Fictoria in Caernarfon was completed in 1993. It's frequented by anglers and occasionally is used by boats as a temporary tie up, waiting for the dock to open.<br />
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In busy lives, it's strange that places or people that have been so much a part of our existence, become history quite quickly. Wandering along the Caernarfon waterfront, steeped in architectural & cultural heritage, my own history & memory of this place suddenly seemed so familiar
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  • Another of those wonderful moments when a dreary day gets blown away by strong winds and the sun is allowed to burst through and spread its glory. Wide-eyed and a heart full of joy, I relished everything about this chance event
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  • The most beautifully delicate pools of windblown sea on a near deserted wide beach at West Anglesey. Unusually, no foot or paw prints anywhere, just a wonderful expanse of virgin sand and a watercolour wash of sunset.
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  • 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 />
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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.
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  • Beautfully mixed weather this last few days, marking the beginning of Autumn. Thankfully it's remained warm the whole time, and when the sun comes out it still feels like Summer. Photographically of course the return of clouds and varied weather conditions lends itself to more photographic opportunities.
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  • Just the most incredible sunset from a Welsh mountain top, looking out over Caernarfon Bay & the Irish Sea. The sea was basically calm, but you can still see huge swathes of movement when looking at the surface textures.
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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.
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  • 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 />
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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.
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  • I’ve seen an increasing number of people, understandably reclaiming open beaches on the island. Months & months of lockdowns is destroying peoples minds so they are daring to drive a handful of miles to get to open space, to the beach for a lungful of fresh sea air and safe mental balance.<br />
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For too long this draconian, illogical & bad-science ‘local’ travel ban, has been hurting people. We are not prisoners. Most people I know are intelligent, educated and really care about keeping others safe, but walking on a local beach or hillside will categorically not spread a virus or hurt others. The virus has been spread most rapidly and obviously through the mixing of friends & families in their homes, and also by colleagues in close workplaces, NOT from the beach. <br />
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I fear that the long term effect of such ill-considered local travel bans will have created long term psychological damage for many people in society, especially for those who live for the outdoors & nature, who have chosen to spend their lives in often economically deprived areas for one reason only, to be closer to the great outdoors because they need it for their health and their peace of mind.
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  • At the outset of the pandemic when we thought just a few months may have delivered a happy summer. As the fog cleared, a beautiful and gentle sunset appeared, illuminating the calm sea on a slowly incoming tide.
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  • Normally I avoid taking pictures of the mountains when they only have light patchy snow, as I always think it looks 'messy' but this evening, in the last of the sunlight before dusk, there was something subtly beautiful about it all, so I relented and made an image before a very muddy, squelchy, flooded walk home.
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  • As the clouds played in the sky, patches of sunlight scuttled across the windblown landscape, but the summit of Yr Eifl remained dark and cold-looking throughout.
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  • 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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  • 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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  • On a walk where I sank in soft mud; a walk where BOTH soles came off my walking boots; where I simply couldn’t find what I’ve been hunting for over several years now, I nevertheless felt awed by the sheer beauty of this mirrored universe - what a truly amazing place to live
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  • As the fog cleared, a beautiful and gentle sunset appeared, illuminating the calm sea on a slowly incoming tide.
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  • As the fog cleared, a beautiful and gentle sunset appeared, illuminating the calm sea on a slowly incoming tide.
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  • I’ve been looking at the work of some American photographers from the turn of the 20th century. I absoloutely loved their obsession with shadows, lighting and of course, B&W. It reminded me very much of my earliest work when I started out in the late 70s and then art school in the 80s. . <br />
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So looking at this images I shot recently, I decided to once again enjoy the sheer liberation of monochrome and the freedom of playing with drama of light and shadows
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  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
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I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
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I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
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  • Chaotic weather and stormy conditions over the west coast of Ynys Môn this evening, this summer! One minute, torrential downpours the next, blazing hot sunshine - utterly unpredictable other than for its unpredictability.<br />
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Holyhead Mountain can be seen in the far distance whilst fast-appearing crepuscular rays scan the surface of the Irish Sea as the clouds race inland. It was wind-blown and spectacular and I revelled in the elements
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  • Tantalisingly close, legally impossible but the lure of the mountains is powerful and emotional - they are a siren calling through the breeze. That’s all, a ten minute breeze separating me from my spiritual sanctuary.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • 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.
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  • Away from the burn of the weak sunset over the Irish Sea, campion blew gently in the breeze and colour-matched clouds patterned the delicate sky. It was as if a scene from a Ladybird book, pastel paintings of rural landscape where even the ancient burial mound was a scene of beauty and serenity.
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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