No man is an island.
11th October 2010
I'm not usually a morning person so prefer nature's second installment of the magic hour when it comes to landscape photograhy. However, yesterday I awoke bright and early. The day was predicted to be sunny and clear and a high tide expected at Thornham soon after dawn. Must be this new beer free period but I got up and by six I was getting towards Thornham.
To my horror the first raised car parking spot was full. Or nearly full! At 6am? I managed to squeeze in behind the motor fleet in a less than ideal position due to a distinct lack of elevation. That will do I thought. And off I went along the raised track to the end car park. I was hoping to shoot the fascinating old posts again, but this time with the sun on them rather than behind them as it is at sunset.
As I neared my goal I began to make out mysterious shadowy figures, slowly emerging from the gloom. They seemed to be clutching kit bags, and tripods and... cameras! Had I stumbled upon the tail end of Night of the Living Photogaphers? Had the apparitions of all those unfortunate snappers drowned by the merciless tide risen up this night for a final shoot?
Well, no is the short answer. A photography workshop had chosen Thornham for their morning shoot. I made a bee-line for my prefered spot for fear of losing out. The others did the same, a little like cock birds claiming their grounds for the coming rituals. To be honest I was a little disappointed with my results. A cloudless sky hadn't helped and I'm trying to use a 3 stop neutral density filter which I hadn't fully got the hang of.
Anyway, by the time the sun was fully up I was ready to make my way back and was looking forward to a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. Just time to review the shots I had in the camera. Except there wasn't. By the time I had finished I was alone on my island. The Wellington-booted workshoppers had paddled across the sluice path just in time. If you have read my piece on Thornham you will have seen me bleating on about the tide and its dangers for the pre-oocupied photographer. Well now the soaking boot was well and truly on the other foot. And still the relentless tide rose. Up to the top of the brick sluice. My island was growing ever smaller. But with knee deep water over the path I would just have to wait.
The waiting was not too much of a problem but worrying about the van left in its questionable parking position was. And still the tide rose. Even the top car park was now pretty much submerged so I was filled with dread at the fate of my van. In vain I called across to the free, happy walkers who ventured towards the perimeter of my watery kingdom.
"Did you happen to see a white van underwater as you were walking up?"
"No, I don't think so."
Inconclusive. But surely they would have noticed a vehicle being swept away by the remorseless torrent? Perhaps not. Chain smoking could not assuage my growing anxiety and I was utterly helpless. Eventually I had to phone Lou and ask her to come out and check for me. I roused her from her slumbers and explained my predicament. Through only just stifled giggles she agreed to put me out of my misery and within twenty minute I had the text.
"Van ok. Going back to bed now."
After another thirty minutes I was able to effect my escape. I joined the photographers conference now taking place at the lower car park. God, I hope they thought I was the brave one who took his life in his hands to get that killer shot while everyone else had bottled it rather than the damn fool with no wellies and a few too few brain cells. I felt even more sick when I saw some of the stunning work one of the other photographers had managed to produce. Maybe this beer free regime is not really helping after all.
To my horror the first raised car parking spot was full. Or nearly full! At 6am? I managed to squeeze in behind the motor fleet in a less than ideal position due to a distinct lack of elevation. That will do I thought. And off I went along the raised track to the end car park. I was hoping to shoot the fascinating old posts again, but this time with the sun on them rather than behind them as it is at sunset.
As I neared my goal I began to make out mysterious shadowy figures, slowly emerging from the gloom. They seemed to be clutching kit bags, and tripods and... cameras! Had I stumbled upon the tail end of Night of the Living Photogaphers? Had the apparitions of all those unfortunate snappers drowned by the merciless tide risen up this night for a final shoot?
Well, no is the short answer. A photography workshop had chosen Thornham for their morning shoot. I made a bee-line for my prefered spot for fear of losing out. The others did the same, a little like cock birds claiming their grounds for the coming rituals. To be honest I was a little disappointed with my results. A cloudless sky hadn't helped and I'm trying to use a 3 stop neutral density filter which I hadn't fully got the hang of.
Anyway, by the time the sun was fully up I was ready to make my way back and was looking forward to a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich. Just time to review the shots I had in the camera. Except there wasn't. By the time I had finished I was alone on my island. The Wellington-booted workshoppers had paddled across the sluice path just in time. If you have read my piece on Thornham you will have seen me bleating on about the tide and its dangers for the pre-oocupied photographer. Well now the soaking boot was well and truly on the other foot. And still the relentless tide rose. Up to the top of the brick sluice. My island was growing ever smaller. But with knee deep water over the path I would just have to wait.
The waiting was not too much of a problem but worrying about the van left in its questionable parking position was. And still the tide rose. Even the top car park was now pretty much submerged so I was filled with dread at the fate of my van. In vain I called across to the free, happy walkers who ventured towards the perimeter of my watery kingdom.
"Did you happen to see a white van underwater as you were walking up?"
"No, I don't think so."
Inconclusive. But surely they would have noticed a vehicle being swept away by the remorseless torrent? Perhaps not. Chain smoking could not assuage my growing anxiety and I was utterly helpless. Eventually I had to phone Lou and ask her to come out and check for me. I roused her from her slumbers and explained my predicament. Through only just stifled giggles she agreed to put me out of my misery and within twenty minute I had the text.
"Van ok. Going back to bed now."
After another thirty minutes I was able to effect my escape. I joined the photographers conference now taking place at the lower car park. God, I hope they thought I was the brave one who took his life in his hands to get that killer shot while everyone else had bottled it rather than the damn fool with no wellies and a few too few brain cells. I felt even more sick when I saw some of the stunning work one of the other photographers had managed to produce. Maybe this beer free regime is not really helping after all.
Comments
By Louise: I dont think you should doubt the effectiveness of the dawn posts. I think they are beautiful, the colours so pleasing. Your blog made me laugh too ! By Uncle Joe: The last time I heard a yarn like this it was from a stupid bank cashier who was caught bird watching half way over to Blakeney point (about 1959) He had to be rescued by a catamaran.