Just Across the Border in the Valley of the Toblerone Rocks

            Friday was fun.  The end of the latest lockdown in England seemed a good reason to take a long weekend and go for a jolly boys' outing with Dave and Lee with a car full of camera bags, coffee and pasties.  After a deal of consultation, during which the unfavourable timings for low and high tide were discussed with some dismay, we eventually decided to stick to plan A and explore the mysteries of the A39 corridor.  Despite none of us being born here, we've all lived in Cornwall for many years, yet the stretch of coastline between Padstow and Bude may as well have been on the moon for all the time any of us have spent there.  Apart from a pit stop at Bude to eat the pasties before they went cold and to inspect the lido at the edge of the beach, we're no further forward on that front.  I really wanted to try Trebarwith Strand, but the shoreline wasn't going to be where we wanted when we wanted. So we carried on further east into a remote corner of North West Devon, just over the border among the dramatic and mostly inaccessible geology of the area around Hartland.   

Some of you have set up your tripods on more or less the exact same spot as this.  I know because I've seen your images of Blackchurch Rock in these pages.  What none of you mentioned (although to be fair I didn't ask) is the 2 kilometre hike down the muddy path through Brownsham Wood, nor the 2 kilometre struggle back up the hill afterwards.  The ankle breaker cobbles across the beach to this vantage point were also a bit of a challenge to negotiate, yet they were a doddle compared to the slippery array of Toblerone shaped lead in lines in front of the object of our attentions.  By the way, why am I only allowed Toblerones at Christmas?  Why do they now have gaps between each chunk so wide that an unconsumed bar could double up as a bicycle stand?

I digress.  Suffice to say it's not the easiest beach upon which to take photographs, and if like me you have a limited imagination, then there's only one shot to take.  There's an enticing waterfall pouring over the western end of the beach, but by the time I was done here I just wanted to stand on firm ground again - well firm mud anyway.  Dave had volunteered to pose in the arches to bring scale while I floundered stupidly.  My L bracket was loose on the camera, my Arca plate was spinning around on the ball head like a Dervish, and my brain was only slightly more controlled - not helped by the fact that a pair of youths were waiting behind me for their turn at the only composition in town.  As I fumbled about the tripod toppled over to take a sudden salty bath in the rock pool in front of me - at least the camera wasn't yet mounted on it.  Moments later my thermal "Chilly's" bottle - the one I won in a photography competition I didn't realise I'd entered - also decided to make a bid for freedom.  I retrieved it from another rock pool.  It now has some unattractive scrapes down one side, but at least the coffee inside it was still hot and unsalted.   

Quite how I got away from here unscathed with the contents of my camera bag intact I'm really not sure.  The journey here had promised some dramatic light, yet by the time we arrived here the sky was disappointingly benign.  From the relative shelter of the woods we were greeted by a windy winter blast as the treeline ended and we arrived at the sea.  I was glad I was wearing my fleece lined trousers and both of my coats.  The balaclava beanie that makes me look as if I'm about to visit the local post office with bad intentions was especially welcome as the icy air chased around me.  If the cold had complicated matters further I'm certain the curse of the wide angle lens I'd fitted to my camera would have returned on these treacherous Toblerones. 

Somebody else is going to have to tell you more about Blackchurch Rock I'm afraid.  Even the climbing websites I looked at wouldn't tell me how high it is.  Dave is 5' 11" if that helps.  It's like an enormous sandwich, layer upon layer of sandstone, mudstone (whatever that is) and shale, twisted up into the shape of a giant steam iron on its side from the sea floor.  It's certainly very dramatic.  Positively primordial, it's the sort of place where you can let the imagination go as you visualise a Tyrannosaurus Rex having a much easier time of the terrain than you just did here.  I'd love to shoot it under a summer sunrise or a more doom laden sky one day.  But whether I'll be brave enough to return and risk my precious camera gear is something I'll have to think about.

Taken in: UK / England / Torridge District / Clovelly (show map)

Taken on: December 4, 2020

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Sets appears in: • Devon

Groups appears in: • Amateurs • South West England more » • Flickr Social Club • The Best of Westcountry Photography • Amateur Photographer Magazine • Flickr Social « less

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark IV, f/10.0, 1/30 sec, 29mm, ISO 100 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 5D Mark IV
Lens:	EF16-35mm f/2.8L II USM
Aperture:	f/10.0
Exposure Time:	0.033 sec (1/30)
Focal Length:	29mm
ISO:	100
Exposure Bias:	0 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 10.0 (Windows)
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