Now I know what you’ve thinking with that title. “Here he goes again with yet another incomprehensible metaphor about the majesty of the sea, and how just being there in front of it almost takes the picture by itself.” Something like that? Well I wouldn’t blame you. But actually, the title is far more literal than you might imagine. When I say the sea took this shot, I really mean it, because that’s exactly what it did. Well at least it did for one of the two frames I blended together anyway. Let’s wind back a bit first and if you can just hang in there while I build up to one of the more bizarre little episodes I’ve experienced here behind the camera, you will be rewarded. Possibly. Maybe it’s happened to you too. Answers on a postcard.
We’ve all been complaining about the summer over here this year. As the warmest season goes, it really hasn’t been much of one has it? By now September, the last great bastion of blind faith was already half gone, registering temperatures under grey skies that were uninspiring at best. Until the third week arrived, finally bringing some warm weather that got warmer as the week progressed. In fact that week turned out to be among the best, possibly the best few days of the year. So much so that the National Trust car park at our favourite place was rather busy. So was the Ice Cream van on the field by the way. I indulged on Thursday with a double cone. Her prices might make me feel a bit faint, but I could hear “Since I’ve Been Loving You” by Led Zeppelin coming from within, which was a vast improvement on the racket that ice cream vans normally make, so I decided to contribute to her profits for once. But that was Thursday - I’m jumping ahead. Let’s get back to Monday and high tide, the only day I bothered to take photos. The day I got wet long before I was persuaded to go for a swim. Twice.
High tide is generally my favourite time to drag the camera out of the bag on this part of the coast around Godrevy - in complete contrast to the big open space a little further west where the exact opposite is true. Here, the basin around the rocks is filled by the sea at high tide, reducing distractions and adding texture to a view that I never tire of. Depending upon where you stand, the sea can arrive at your feet in a pincer movement from opposite sides of the rocks, and even though I know this place so well, I’d already been caught out once by an approaching wave and emerged looking damp to Ali’s evident amusement. At that point, the camera was still in the van. We were still a long way from the golden hour and I wasn’t planning on taking any shots just yet; if indeed I did at all today. But as I stood there drying off, and watching the sea, I decided that conditions were interesting enough not to hang around waiting for whatever light might come later, and raced off up the steps to get my bag.
And now, here I was again, pointing the camera towards the lighthouse from another spot. Once again the sea was moving like pincers, both in front of, and behind me, although I was now much higher above the water and safe from any further soakings. I settled into this composition, doing the usual, tinkering with the shutter speed and pushing the button at what I hoped were judicious moments. Half a second seemed to be doing the job today. And then, when I hadn’t pressed anything at all, I heard the shutter go into action anyway. As if to say “get on with it!” a big splash right behind me had reached just far enough for three of your finest drops of Atlantic Ocean to land on the touchscreen, activate the autofocus and take the shot. The other few hundred drops that made it this high hit the back of me instead. When I realised what had happened, I checked the result and had to admit the sea was doing a better job of photographing itself than I was. I only took one more (far inferior) exposure here before towelling the camera down and moving to another spot, slightly further away from any more stray columns of water.
So if you’re wondering exactly where the sea made a special contribution of its own to this one, both as a subject and as a selfiegrammer, take a look at the edge of the drama in the bottom right hand corner of the final image. I’m going to try to persuade you to allow me a bit of credit for the wave breaking on the midground rocks and that waterfall in the middle, which I blended in from a second frame, but mostly, the sea is marking its own homework here. I’m not sure it’s a process I’m going to recommend though. We all know - some of us from bitter experience - that saltwater and expensive electronic gadgets don’t mix well. I’m still thinking of Trevor, the acquaintance we made in Iceland who fell into a lonely Westfjord under the Northern Lights, camera and all. It was a good job he’d taken several lenses and a spare body along on the trip.
Later on, I finally went in the water intentionally - without the camera which was by now safely back in the van. It was cold and we didn’t stay in for long. The camera came out again at the end of the evening, and there might just be another story to follow. But this time, I took the shot myself, without the assistance of any further aquatic mishaps.
