First and Last - a photo on Flickriver

First and Last

            There was something very different about the big car park today.  Every other time we were here during the low season, it was quietly bleak, just the way I like Cornwall to be in winter.  Splashes of light breaking forth from dark skies, sunset before five and home in time for tea.  Not this time though.  A few vans and cars lined up at the front, hogging the best views, a knot of hardy surfers astride their boards out on the water, the shrieks of gulls on the wind, and any number of dog walkers crossing the dunes with their beloved pooches.  From the beginning of November to the end of March, the council allows us to park here for free, and the few of us who are able to spend quiet afternoons by the sea like to make the most of it.  It works very nicely too as far as I’m concerned.  In winter, this side of the beach is the place I prefer to be for the light, and when the warmer months finally arrive, the lighthouse takes over and I head for the National Trust car park at the other end.  The sun seems to switch sides around the same time as I do. 

Today was the last day of March.  The end of free parking for another season, but the first day of what felt strangely like summer.  Bright blue skies and a big yellow thing hanging up there that hadn’t been too much in evidence over the last few weeks.  And to our shock, the car park was almost completely full - on a Monday afternoon.  It wasn’t a pretty sight either.  Bare flesh abounded everywhere as surfers struggled into wetsuits beside their parked vehicles.  Other day trippers had lost the plot completely, wandering about the place in shorts and tee shirts as if they had been miraculously catapulted into July, seemingly intoxicated by a bit of sunshine.  Conditions were undeniably pleasant, but we weren’t talking soaring temperatures just yet.  Fourteen degrees and no more was what the mercury had to offer.  After lunch in the van, we kept our coats and hats on as we headed down onto the beach and began to walk towards the west across the wide open sand.  A snooze at the bottom of the dunes to the accompanying roar of the ocean seemed a good way to spend an hour or two.  Pick the right spot and we could enjoy the peace without anyone invading our space.  

Not only had we brought lunch with us, but Ali had also prepared the ingredients for a veggie pasta supper later on, and a little after six we were back at the van in a still chock full car park.  All these people here on a Monday and the school holidays hadn’t even started yet!  By now it was just about high tide and the lazy clean swell had increased as it began to thrash into the cliffs, bringing yet more surfers to fill the sea below us.  What clouds there were, hovered high and scattered, while the horizon remained clear.  If these conditions held, the odds of a splash of post sunset colour looked hopeful.  And a day after the clocks had gone forward to usher in British summer time, it wouldn’t be dark until a while after eight.  There was time to slurp on pasta and enjoy this beautiful evening.  I knew exactly where I was going to plant the tripod, and I also had two very different shots in mind, each one taken from exactly the same place.

I keep my old tripod in the van - the one that’s been on many an adventure over the years.  I’ve learned the hard way that looking after your camera equipment includes caring for your tripod, and this old Manfrotto bears the scars of woeful neglect.  Purchased from a refurbishment specialist on eBay in time for the first trip to Iceland some years ago, it’s more than earned a rest, but the new one lives in the boot of my car, and so this old lump of carbon fibre still has its moments.  As I unfurled it in the van and opened the legs, one of the bottom sections fell out.  This happens quite regularly and I reminded myself to attack it with a screwdriver later.  Minutes later, down at the two shot nubbin, one of the top sections fell out too.  By now the tripod was in Heath Robinson territory as I balanced the camera on top of the rickety assembly and waited for it to collapse.  It held firm to live another day.  And the clouds did what I’d been hoping they would - more or less they did anyway.

“What’s the two shot nubbin?” I hear you say.  Well it is what it sounds like.  A small patch of earth above the cliffs, which offers this view towards St Ives - ideal for high tide sunsets at this time of year.  But turn the camera ninety degrees towards the northeast and you get another shot entirely.  A neat segway to the next story.  We’ll come back to that one shall we?

Taken in: UK / England / Gwinear-Gwithian / Gwithian (show map)

Taken on: March 31, 2025

Tags:

Cornwall

Coast

ukcoast

British Coast

cornish coast

Great Britain

Britain

Atlantic

Ocean

South West Coast Path

Kernow

Kernowfornia

Gwithian

St Ives

Sunset

after sunset

afterglow

glow

rocks

cliff

clifftop

Sea

seascape

sea shore

Water

long exposure

pink sky

pink

blue hour

England

Canon

evening

Spring

March

landscape

landscape photography « less

Sets appears in: • Godrevy

Groups appears in: • Cornwall • UK Coast and Harbour more » • Beautiful British Coast • Photography Week • Amateur Photographer Magazine • Flickr Social • Very Arty « less

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark IV, f/11.0, 2 sec, 28mm, ISO 160 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 5D Mark IV
Lens:	EF24-70mm f/2.8L USM
Aperture:	f/11.0
Exposure Time:	2
Focal Length:	28mm
ISO:	160
Exposure Bias:	+2/3 EV
Flash:	Off, Did not fire
Exposure Program:	Aperture-priority AE
Exposure Mode:	Auto
Metering Mode:	Multi-segment
White Balance:	Auto
Color Space:	Uncalibrated
Software:	Adobe Photoshop Lightroom Classic 14.2 (Windows)
Show full info

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