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  • It was strange seeing sunbursts on the horizon, even catching the distant hills, as a huge snowcloud came in from behind. The gentlest fall of snowflakes landed on my camera as the ambient light dropped rapidly. Gradually the snow softened the rays of weak sunshine until it all but disappeared. It looked wonderful in reallife but was altogether just too grey for a photo.
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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 />
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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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  • At low tide here at Traeth Coch (Red Wharf Bay) on East Anglesey, you can't even see the sea, but at high tide this usually calm sea advances right up the estuary towards Pentraeth village.
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  • Deserted beach on Anglesey, shot during lockdown. It was just wonderful to be so alone on this beach, not a soul in sight. I only heard the occasional Oystercatcher and the constant gentle splashing of waves on the shore. This was another moment where I could consider without any distraction, my place & purpose on this planet
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  • It was strange studying this tiny gap in the rock, as the rising tide funnelled wave after wave into a beautful seawater fan. I just got to thinking that no matter what barriers are put up, powerful forces are unstoppable, its only ever a question of time.
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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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  • 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 />
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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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  • I’ve always been fascinated by the way nature reclaims so much of what man has altered, constructed or destroyed. Here at the Dinorwic slate quarries, wonderful little copses and patches of woodland have sprung up between the walls, railway tracks and buildings that were part of this huge slate industry. <br />
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On a warm evening with only the sound of a Blackbird’s song to lighten the sounds of or heavy footsteps, it was hard to imagine the noise and industry from just a few decades earlier, as man blasted into mountain.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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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 />
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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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  • 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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  • A phenomenal temperature inversion in North Wales, leaving only the summits of Snowdonia's highest peaks in glaring sunshine above the cloud bank.  <br />
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Tryfan & the Glyderau are the high peaks in the background and Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) fill the foreground above the fog
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  • Sunset and blue skies over small rugged lava rock islands, surrounded by soft yellow sand, off the main island of Anglesey, North Wales.
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  • Successive storm waves during bad, gale driven weather, create piles of wind blown foam on the incoming tide at sunset in Winter at this West Anglesey beach near Rhosneigr
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  • A phenomenal temperature inversion in North Wales, leaving only the summits of Snowdonia's hughest peaks in glaring sunshine above the cloud bank.
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  • Low tide at St Michael's Mount. An apparition of Archangel St Michael witnessed by fisherman in 495 led to a monastery being built here. After the Norman Conquest, the abbey was granted to the Benedictine monks of Mont St Michel in France. The mount was eventually seized by Henry V111 & became a royal stronghold. Now owned by Lord St Levan
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • During the height of lockdown. Studying the surge of energy powering between lHoly Island and mainland Anglesey became a mesmerising visual metaphor for the chaos and darkness in my head. My own stress seemed to drain away as I watched this channel of seawater tumbling back out into the free ocean.
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  • I have to be honest, I normally steer well clear of Trearddur, normally populated by hundreds of beachgoers, jet-skis, power boats, 4x4s on the sand, boat trailers and sailing dinghies. The small bay is surrounded on all sides by a hotchpotch of architecture, some interesting, some ghastly, but either way is not a place of peace, tranquility and natural landscape that I normally seek for my imagery.<br />
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However, during this lockdown I was able to witness a little bit of history, for even on this beautiful blue-sky day there were only a dozen people on the whole beach, and most kept close to the promenade. For the short period of time I was there, looking to create new images for a loyal customer, I had a small sense of how lovely the bay itself actually is, without the crowds. Long foamy pulses of Irish Sea waves pushed themselves up the broad sandy shore, licking their way around the stumps of petrified forest that I'd never seen before and never knew existed.<br />
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In the distance a dog walker wandered into the burning light and the call of oystercatchers could be heard over the sound of the waves. The virgin sand was mostly unspoiled by footprints and if it were not for the urban skyline I could have imagined myself on an ancient beach, nothing more than a stretch of coastline where the beautiful predictability of high & low tide were all that mattered in the world.
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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 />
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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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  • A very wet walk on Anglesey's West Coast, so wet that for the first time ever I carried an umbrela with me to cover the camera. It was very useful without a doubt. This was the first time this year when I felt the cold and resorted to wearing gloves to carry the tripod!  © Glyn Davies - All rights reserved. Blog post about this image will appear here: http://www.glynsblog.com
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  • So strange seeing popular places near deserted, and equally so beautiful and calming - no excited shouting, screaming kids, dog-calling, drones, lines of people on a mission to honey pots locations and a deserted lighthouse. I imagined that going back 40 years or more, maybe this was the norm, that you’d only ever see a handful of people the whole walk? The landscape felt different. It felt more wild, more desolate, more natural, more timeless, more spiritual. <br />
<br />
I guess to find this sort of calm solitude; refreshing mental freedom; we’d have to travel much further afield. Anglesey is now a playground for so many, even mid winter, and whilst it’s always beautiful, it’s rare to find solitude. For many they don’t mind, they even seek the comfort of other people being around, but for me I need total solitude - I need to experience places without seeing anyone - it’s the only way I can allow my mind to connect properly with the planet.
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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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  • Intense winds raced across the surface of this mountain lake, as fast moving clouds scudded over Yr Wyddfa’s sharp peaks. It was fabulous to be up there by myself, not a soul in sight. I absolutely adore having the landscape to myself. It provides an opportunity for thought, reflection and a feeling of utter connection to the earth & elements.
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  • Amazingly, these incredible red cliffs that look so loose and friable, are actually well known for rock climbing. Tenuous, pumpy, scary and overhanging climbs meander up this battle-zone between land and sea. The gigantic broken block in the small cove says it all. After many years of dreaming about it, I have recently climbed some actual routes on these incredible sea cliffs, and from the zawn below the cliff faces are even more imposing!
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  • I love it when after leaving home which is covered by cold grey sky, I find myself half an hour later standing on a cliff top with sunshine warming my face. As the afternoon sunshine dropped lower in the sky, it broke below blankets of heavy cloud and blasted the sea and cliffs with intense light, illuminating rock pools and sharpening blades of rock. Getting to the sea has always meant escape to me, a chance of adventure and journey. Looking out towards a sunlit horizon means so much to me, especially hope.
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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 />
.<br />
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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  • Sunshine burning through huge masses of low hill cloud swirling over the Welsh Carneddau mountains of Northern Snowdonia and lake Llyn Ffynnon Llugwy below. Taken from Y Braich mountain
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  • Testing out a Sony A7R2 against the Fuji. The sharpness, detail and separation in darker tones are a marked improvement over the Fuji. However the camera profiles from the Sony and very crude compared with the subtle differences between the Fuji ‘scene’ profiles. There are some slightly strange colour shifts in tonal values using ‘Camera Standard’ in Adobe Camera Raw that I need to get to the bottom of. I’ve only had the camera out for a few hours and this is my first go at processing a Sony file in ACR which is my preferred workflow
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  • A short burst of sunshine plays across a small hillside near the black-earthed landscape near Tinajo in central Lanzarote. Dark clouds hang over the cliffs of Famara and the clearly volcanic landscape forms the backdrop.
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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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  • Wind formed shapes in the Llanddwyn sand dunes, with crepuscular rays in the skies behind. <br />
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A lone walk on a beautiful winters day, from Newborough to Abermenai to relook for Beautiful Silent Danger! It would be nice to say it was just the sound of birdsong and trickling water but an enless drone of planes and unadventurous circling microlights shattered an otherwise magical escape.
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  • An apparition of the Archangel St Michael is said to have been witnessed by fisherman in 495 & by the 6th century it is thought that the Mount was a thriving religious centre. After the Norman Conquest, the abbey was granted to the Benedictine monks of Mont St Michel in France. The church on the island’s summit was built by the French Abbot, Bernard le Bec, and through the Middle Ages the Mount became a major pilgrimage destination. Four miracles, said to have happened here between 1262 and 1263 would have only added to its religious magnetism. The mount was later seized by Henry Eighth and turned into a royal owned fortress, with it's own garison. The bay was the landing site for the Spanish Armada. From here the first of many beacons were lit to notify mainland England and Sir Francis Drake. The castle and house are now owned by wealthy banker, Lord St Levan.
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  • International Color Awards 2016 - Nominee in "Nature" category<br />
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A solitary house bathed in late afternoon sunlight in dramatic weather overlooks this secluded little cove on North Anglesey, where streams run down to the sea.
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  • An apparition of the Archangel St Michael is said to have been witnessed by fisherman in 495 & by the 6th century it is thought that the Mount was a thriving religious centre. After the Norman Conquest, the abbey was granted to the Benedictine monks of Mont St Michel in France. The church on the island’s summit was built by the French Abbot, Bernard le Bec, and through the Middle Ages the Mount became a major pilgrimage destination. Four miracles, said to have happened here between 1262 and 1263 would have only added to its religious magnetism. The mount was later seized by Henry Eighth and turned into a royal owned fortress, with it's own garison. The bay was the landing site for the Spanish Armada. From here the first of many beacons were lit to notify mainland England and Sir Francis Drake. The castle and house are now owned by wealthy banker, Lord St Levan.
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  • Deserted beach on Anglesey, shot during lockdown. It was just wonderful to be so alone on this beach, not a soul in sight. I only heard the occasional Oystercatcher and the constant gentle splashing of waves on the shore. This was another moment where I could consider without any distraction, my place & purpose on this planet.
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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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  • Tonight I was accompanied by a daft crow. As I walked at high speed to catch an unexpected last burn of sunshine at Llanddwyn, a large crow on the water’s edge thought that the best way to escape his human companion was to keep flying just ahead of me. As I got closer he’d take off and fly another 20 feet. He did this almost the whole length of the beach until I reached the island, when finally he worked out that flying the opposite way from me meany he was left in peace. I I found myself chuckling as I called him a daft bird under my breath. <br />
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The light on the other side of the island was short lived but intensely beautiful.
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  • Even though a town sits in the distance, the freshness and joyous escape of being on this expansive beach was incredibly up-lifting. The crystal blue skies, the sunshine bouncing off the sparking sand pool, the triangle of deep ripples and the curve of the stream - they all came together to create a perfect moment, a great escape.
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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 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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  • 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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  • After an unpromising start on a cold grey day, and my hip playing up for the first time in a year, serene sunlight glowed underneath the swirling low cloud shrouding the summits.<br />
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It’s moments like this that make my day, that lify my spirits and paint away the anxiety and anger over the stupidity of human kind. I need the solace that the hills offer those who seek it. I love the solitude as it’s further escape from the nonsense that is current society. Thankfull I didn’t see many fellow walkers, and those I did, bar four, were the grumpiest sods. They never ackowldeged me or my warm greeting, choosing instead to pretend I didn’t exist. Sign of the times. The mountains however welcomed me glady as always, and I felt part of them and utterly connected to them and the elements.
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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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  • A phenomenal temperature inversion in Snowdonia, North Wales, leaving only the summits of Snowdonia's highest peaks in glaring sunshine above the cloud bank. This ridge of Mynydd Mawr is at cloud level, just before breaking into bright sunshine, the cloud below dark and ominous.
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  • Stunning views of the surroundings hills and valleys whilst descending from Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) Wales' highest mountain. The effects of glaciation are clearly visible and explains why so many educational groups come to this region to study geography and geomorphology
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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 />
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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 />
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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 />
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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 />
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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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  • I've been enjoying evenings with my parents lately, when I collect them from their house and we disappear on evening jaunts in my van, usually to the seaside to eat fish & chips and watch the sunset. These evenings have become very important to me as I watch Mum & Dad getting older, and I recognise more than ever that our time is finite, and that people we take for granted (in a nice way) simply won't be there forever. <br />
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As Dad hunted on the shingle beach for wood for his sculptures, my Mum and I were captivated by the simple beauty of light and pattern in the wet sand and sky in front of us. These sorts of landscape pictures are generally too easy to take and very obvious, but this image means more to me than landscape, it was about sharing a vision with my lovely and precious Mum.
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  • "She was in that state between deep sleep and first opening of the eyes. She was resting in a remote cove and the early morning sunlight spilled over the headland and across her figure. Even for a mermaid the warm sunshine is always welcome and she could feel its life giving energy as she stirred"
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  • 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 />
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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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  • "She was in that state between deep sleep and first opening of the eyes. She was resting in a remote cove and the early morning sunlight spilled over the headland and across her figure. Even for a mermaid the warm sunshine is always welcome and she could feel its life giving energy as she stirred"
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  • Nominee in Nude / B&W Spider Awards 2017<br />
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She was confused. She’d fallen into a deep sleep in a remote cove but as the morning sun broke over the shadowy headland she realised she was now in the open and clearly visible. <br />
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When she saw me huddled against the nearby rocks hiding from the biting Northerly wind, she froze and then scowled at me. She hadn’t been exposed to a man before but I talked reassuringly to her, and she soon came to understand that I posed no threat. <br />
<br />
For maybe twenty minutes she alternated between swimming around the pool and pulling herself up onto the boulders to talk with me. She seemed to enjoy conversation. She loved her newfound confidence in being open in front of a man and she didn’t shy away as I asked her questions. I studied her as she studied me and we had an understanding of the fascination in each other. <br />
  <br />
As waves started crashing in on the advancing tide, she swam to the far end of the pool. She studied me intently one last time and with a flick of her powerful tail she leapt the rock barrier into the ocean and she was gone.  I knew though that as our paths had now crossed, this wouldn’t be our only encounter with each other, and I was right.
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  • Classic Cornish winter weather. One minute we were blanketed in thick sea fog, then drizzle, then showers and then intense sunlight before repeating all over again. <br />
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Wolf Rock lighthouse stands 14 miles off the Cornish Coast and is a crucial navigational mark before ships either head for America or round to port to find sheltered anchorage in Penzance or Falmouth. <br />
<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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  • Standing on a buttress high above Cwm Llachar in the Carneddau mountains of Snowdonia, even the patches of sunshine brought little relief from the bitter cold. The ascent to the dark cloud-shackled summit of Carnedd Dafydd was steep, ominous and icy, so in failing evening light we drank a last hot coffee and began our descent in gathering cold dusk
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  • Land's End in a Winter sunset. Short bursts of sunlight under blankets of winter storm clouds. Deceptively calm seas nevertheless created large waves as swell reached the cliffs.
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  • There was a draw, I wanted to just leap into the light, to soar like a raven into the void - I wanted the light, I needed the light and the cool vapours swirled around me as the sun tried to warm my face. <br />
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It was caused by a phenomenal temperature inversion in North Wales, leaving only the summits of Snowdonia's highest peaks in glaring sunshine above the cloud bank.
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  • Just a week ago and Jani & I found ourselves walking further than planned, to a silent signal station on Northern Anglesey. We sat beyond the walls in beautiful evening sunshine listening to perfect natural sounds, of gliding gulls, singing seals, sleepy skylarks and clamouring choughs. We drank coffee and ate cake as the sun set, before a stiff & steep cliff walk back up to the summits, but really I think we could have happily dreamed there.
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  • I have to be honest, I normally steer well clear of Trearddur, normally populated by hundreds of beachgoers, jet-skis, power boats, 4x4s on the sand, boat trailers and sailing dinghies. The small bay is surrounded on all sides by a hotchpotch of architecture, some interesting, some ghastly, but either way is not a place of peace, tranquility and natural landscape that I normally seek for my imagery.  <br />
<br />
However, during this lockdown I was able to witness a little bit of history, for even on this beautiful blue-sky day there were only a dozen people on the whole beach, and most kept close to the promenade. For the short period of time I was there, looking to create new images for a loyal customer, I had a small sense of how lovely the bay itself actually is, without the crowds. Long foamy pulses of Irish Sea waves pushed themselves up the broad sandy shore, licking their way around the stumps of petrified forest that I'd never seen before and never knew existed.<br />
<br />
 In the distance a dog walker wandered into the burning light and the call of oystercatchers could be heard over the sound of the waves. The virgin sand was mostly unspoiled by footprints and if it were not for the urban skyline I could have imagined myself on an ancient beach, nothing more than a stretch of coastline where the beautiful predictability of high & low tide were all that mattered in the world.
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  • South Stack lighthouse on Holy Island, Anglesey, in morning light with sunshine and fluffy white clouds and a calm sea.
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  • From below, surrounded by hundreds of sledgers & skiers creating a cacophony of noisy laughs & screams, the summits were in swirling low cloud, never showing themselves. <br />
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As I trudged higher the snow became thicker and the chaos of the crowds diminished. I followed deep snowy footprints & drops of bright red blood from an injured dog, marking the route of previous ascensionists. The snow dumbs sounds; no birds sang, or sheep bleated. I could hear my own heart as the silence & snow deepened more. <br />
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I was surprised nevertheless by the numbers of small parties descending the hill, and I was troubled (as always) that I was being trailed by others, a super fit elderly couple with a tiny day sack, and a backpacking single guy. I stopped for a drink to let them pass and I watched them disappear into the thick fog. Finally, I was alone, and I laboured step by step in deep snow until I arrived at the summit. I could hear occasional walkers chatting in the whiteout, but none appeared alongside me. It was dark up there, and the strengthening wind chilled my fingers through my gloves. I sensed something was happening with the clouds though so persevered in my wait. For about ten minutes the sun made regular bursts through the low cloud, illuminating snow-crusted rock sculptures all around me. It transformed the scene completely & I felt less lonely somehow. <br />
<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.
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  • Bright sunshine reveals circular wind formed shapes in the Llanddwyn sand dunes, with sunlit clouds above, and the Llyn Peninsula on the mainland in the far distance.
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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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  • 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 />
<br />
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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  • A shattered landscape, blasted, gouged and ripped apart by mans material need, lies abstracted in the gorgeous warmth of evening sunlight, the quarrymen long gone. <br />
<br />
Today a different form of quarry workers assault the slate faces, roped up, drilling, clipping, sweating and shouting to each other in the carved out quarry levels. <br />
<br />
The multitude of tough labourers who faced hardship and danger in this industrial landscape are now but echoes in the shadows and deep pits. From the faces of smooth slate in now abandoned quarries, come the sounds of excited chatter and exhilaration as modern day climbers fill the void that has been left.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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  • It was strange to be standing in sunshine one one side of the valley, looking towards the banks of fog rolling over the hillsides opposite. The bustling town of Llanberis looked so tiny below the crazy swirling weather above.<br />
<br />
UNESCO World Heritage Site
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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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  • In such unsettled, and in many ways dark times for the future of the human species, and nature in general, this image represents a visual snapshot of a reality. We are fundamentally nothing more than small organic creatures, a part of nature but not bigger than it or more important than it. The air, the water and the earth nourish us and give us life yet the more we divide the land, obsess about money, material goods, wealth, power, domination and war, the more we destroy nature, the environment and ultimately ourselves. Is there any other species that so knowingly destroys what it needs to exist. Look at the woman, study the tiny human figure and then look at the bigger picture, the earth itself. If such an intelligent species can bring about it’s own destruction, then it really will be a brave new world for whatever survives.
    Brave New World
  • Hand-held grab shot of a wash of golden light over eroded smooth rocks on Anglesey’s West coast this evening. <br />
<br />
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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  • A phenomenal temperature inversion in North Wales, leaving only the summits of Snowdonia's hughest peaks in glaring sunshine above the cloud bank. Here we see the first peaks of the Nantlle Ridge, a hill walker's paradise, with Moel Hebog just making an appearance in the far distance.
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  • Late afternoon gently moved towards evening and I enjoyed complete solitide on this sandy strip at the far tip of Llanddwyn. <br />
<br />
There were however naked footprints in the virgin sand, two souls in paradise
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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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  • Wind formed shapes in the Llanddwyn sand dunes, with crepuscular rays in the skies behind.
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  • Surf foam at Gwenver Beach, South West Cornwall
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  • A phenomenal temperature inversion in North Wales, leaving only the summits of Snowdonia's highest peaks in glaring sunshine above the cloud bank but here in the transition zone on Mynydd Mawr the fog created eerie views above steep and craggy mountain cliffs.
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  • Brilliant sunshine backlighting gentle waves sweeping over the beach at Silver Bay, near Rhoscolyn, Anglesey.
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  • When I came out of the Strait this morning, 8º seawater dripping off my skin, for the first time this year the sun felt warm. I stood motionless on the limestone pebbles, in breezeless air, letting the sunlight gently warm my body. It was one of those moments when you just want to spend the rest of the day in the same location, but the gallery was calling and I sadly had to leave this perfection.
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  • Too low to swim, too beautiful not to photograph instead.
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  • The simple act of walking a long a beach, the salt spray on your face and fresh sea air in your lungs, must never ever be taken for granted. For some it's one of the main reasons for living.
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  • Wind formed shapes in the Llanddwyn sand dunes, West Anglesey, Wales<br />
<br />
No.7 in this Wind Formed series dealing with the fantastic wind carvings in sand, notably at the Newborough sand dunes on Anglesey.
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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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  • Huge clouds of spindrift were back-lit by the last moments of blazing sunshine before it was doused by blankets of black rain that built over Ynys Môn.<br />
<br />
These were possibly the strongest winds I’ve ever battled against; so strong that I was knocked sideways twice by gale-force gusts. My face and camera were sandblasted by the stinging particles, and yet, I was equally blown-away and utterly invigorated by the power of it all.
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  • As the sun dropped lower in the wintry afternoon sky, cool blues wrapped around us, but the prominent sand dunes at the back of the beach bathed in the last of the orange warmth.
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  • We trudged through soft wet sand towards the coast, and apart from one couple passing us on their way back to the lane, we found ourselves alone on an empty beach. <br />
<br />
On the retreating tide a tumbling river carved it’s way towards the sea, backlit by the low winter sun.  Waves formed upon the surface and in a surreal moment of observation, they appeared to be flowing back upriver towards the dunes - strangely hypnotic and utterly wonderful.
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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