In the Golden Hour at the Mosquito Coast

            “Yes. Cut off by the tide and eaten alive by the local insect population!”  That’s what I should have said in reply when Ali, from the safety of the pavement twenty metres away, asked me whether I was getting anything.  But I’ve never been quick when the opportunity for hilariously witty sarcasm arrives.  Nor even just plain sarcasm for that matter.  Besides which I was yet to realise I was now marooned on a tiny patch of shore and that the tide was beginning to wash around the feet of my tripod.  All I could manage was “yes I think so,” as I batted another mosquito away.  Of course there were mosquitoes here at this time of day.  Why on earth would I think that there wouldn’t be at the edge of the water, standing next to a decidedly boggy patch of wetland?  But then again you’ve already learned that I’m not the sharpest chisel in the toolbag at times.  And if further proof of that were needed, just a few moments later, I was sloshing back to the safety of the pontoon through sinking sand as the sea slipped into the inlet from the direction of Fornells behind me.  Pursued by a cloud of hungry miniature winged vampires.  

By now I was getting used to the fact that things don’t always go according to plan here.  And despite the online research suggesting this would be a relatively easy subject to get to, it was proving almost elusive as that cove I never found my way to a week earlier.  Yet the low white boathouse lay hidden in plain sight at the edge of the estuary.  How difficult could this be?  Google Maps weren’t quite as helpful as usual today though.  The road that supposedly led towards it turned out to be somebody’s drive with a chained gate barring further progress.  A series of planks across a swampy area led to the side of the water, but some distance short of the target.  I could try and climb those rocks, but the local wildlife was more belligerent than ever there and I retreated like a scalded cat in a hurry with his tail between his legs.  In the end the only option seemed to be to trust the long end of a budget lens and hope for the best.  

A few moments later I was standing on the pavement overlooking the water, at least two hundred yards from the boathouse, while Ali disappeared along a nearby pontoon to inspect the yachts.  Soon she called me over, the implied suggestion being I might get a better shot from where she was standing.  So I wandered over to where she was, and before long decided to advance the last few yards that were available to me, squelching across a tiny beach that despite appearances seemed to consist of more mud than sand.  Still, there was no going back now, and the vantage point I had was as good as it was going to get.  Well I suppose I had Monte Toro, the highest point on the island (and rival candidate for this evening’s final port of call) in the background as a compositional bonus.  If all of those huge masts can be considered as an aesthetically pleasing addition that is.  No I’m not sure either, but then I never trust people who are certain about things.

I found Ali back at the car, hiding from the vampires as in vain I tried to brush off the mud and sand soup from my shoes before climbing in.  And as we began the journey back towards the hotel, we couldn’t help noticing that one of those curious reverse sunsets was happening.  To the west the sky was clear, warm but featureless with a yellow glow.  Yet to the east, where there were no immediately obvious compositions, a bank of low cloud was filled with the pinks, oranges and fiery reds that so many of us lose our heads over, rare as they are on our rain sodden cluster of islands further north.  But I knew it was a losing game.  Not only did I have no idea of where I might get a shot, but down here in the Mediterranean, the distance between golden hour and dusk is a short journey.  I sighed and accepted it.  Or at least I did until I noticed the pull in near the roundabout, where I jumped out of the car and over a limestone wall, losing my footing on the red earth before scrambling up a small rise through trees to arrive at a vista that sadly offered nothing of note.  Already the colours had mostly departed, even though scarcely five minutes had passed.  You can’t have it all.  I sighed and scrambled back down the slope and over the wall.  My shoes, still wet from the soggy sand, were now coated in a brighter shade of red than the ones we’d just seen in the sky.  It was time to leave and trust that the bargain basement bit of glass I bought from eBay and the boathouse shots from the mosquito coast had delivered.

Taken in: Spain / Balearic Islands / es Mercadal / Naya Fornells (show map)

Taken on: October 17, 2024

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Menorca

Minorca

Espana

España

Baleares

Balearic

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Balears

Illes Balears

Mediterranean

Fornells

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Europe

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Sets appears in: • Menorca 2024

Groups appears in: • Amateurs • Amateur Landscape more » • Flickriver • Flickr Social Club • Coastal Imagery • Seascape/Landscape Junkies Worldwide • flickr (unofficial) • Photography Week • Amateur Photographer Magazine • Flickr Social • Feast for the Eyes • • Europe we love « less

Camera: Canon EOS 80D, f/11.0, 4 sec, 135mm, ISO 100 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 80D
Lens:	EF-S18-135mm f/3.5-5.6 IS STM
Aperture:	f/11.0
Exposure Time:	4
Focal Length:	135mm
ISO:	100
Exposure Bias:	-1/3 EV
Flash:	Off, Did not fire
Exposure Program:	Aperture-priority AE
Exposure Mode:	Auto
Metering Mode:	Multi-segment
White Balance:	Auto
Color Space:	sRGB
Software:	Adobe Photoshop Lightroom Classic 14.0.1 (Macintosh)
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