The Return of the Flying Backpack Cover

            Now I know some of you were concerned.  You probably didn’t sleep much on Sunday night.  Things were probably not that much better on Monday either.  Sorry about that – I feel responsible.  I’m certain it’s been right up there in the grand panoply of issues that have been troubling you; the pandemic; global warming; the deteriorating relationship between the West and China (Russia too for that matter); Britain’s future outside the European Union; the ever shrinking dimensions of Snickers Bars.  But never fear, here’s one item that can be removed from the list of new headlines that have been causing you to wear out the worry beads in recent days – I found the missing backpack cover.  You know – the one that managed to detach itself from the rest of us on Saturday evening at Wheal Coates.  

Ok, so perhaps you didn’t read all the way to the end of my previous post then.  When I arrived home that evening as the dusk settled over West Cornwall I realised at some point after planting the backpack on the kitchen floor that the rainproof cover was missing.  Three inspections of the car and four examinations of the various pockets on the pack had proved fruitless.  I’d already decided it was Ali’s fault for phoning me as I’d walked back from the cliff to the car park – although she claims to be entirely innocent, pointing out that it was me who’d lost the cover and she was at home at and it wasn't her fault that I was an idiot and couldn't keep control of my flying possessions.  You see the phone was zipped into my down jacket, which itself was securely zipped inside my waterproof coat.  Attempting to access it in a hurry in a gale meant a certain amount of wrestling with said zips and by the time I got to the phone she’d rung off of course. I called her back, but I couldn't hear a word she was saying anyway - it really was rather lively outdoors.  I later concluded that my struggle to answer the phone must have generated enough activity to cause the cover to fly off into the night.

Later that evening on other social media I shared the picture I’d taken that afternoon and confessed to having lost the cover, inviting local friends to keep an eye out just in case it flew past their living room window at some point.  One correspondent said he thought he’d saw it fly past his house, 300 miles away in Derby.  All the world loves a comedian in a crisis.  In the exchange I declared I’d return the following morning to see whether it had snagged on a patch of gorse.  My over zealous spell checker changed “gorse” to “horse,” which only served to confuse him.  He spent the rest of the evening imagining me chasing a horse around the clifftops for most of Sunday.  I can confirm no horses were involved.

On Sunday I returned to the scene with renewed hope.  I knew that the cover had still been with me at the point that I put the camera away, so I could at least rule out the expanse to the east of the mine and retread my steps to it from the car park without deviating very far.  Even though I had another cover at home which fitted the pack, I couldn’t let it go.  It felt like leaving a wounded soldier on the battlefield and if there was still a chance of finding my inanimate comrade then I wasn’t going to rest until I’d tried.  On reflection it’s a good job I didn’t stray far from home on Saturday.  

Anyone watching from a distance on Sunday might have considered whether they should call the non-emergency police line and report the strange man poking about behind other peoples’ parked cars.  They may also have wondered why he was staring so intently at the gorse and heather around him when the view from the cliffs was so spectacular.  But nobody was in view when a contented grin spread across his face as he held aloft a piece of nondescript black material which he’d just unsnagged from a patch of gorse (not a horse).  

I stood at the scene clutching the escaped cover to my chest a handful of yards from where I’d finished the previous evening, feeling disproportionately happy.  Small victories are still victories after all.  At home I concocted a method to keep the cover secured to the bag whenever in use in the future.  All was well in the world once more.  Well, apart from the other stuff I mentioned earlier of course.  Snickers Bars seem to disappear in about three bites these days.

I didn’t get another picture on Sunday, but I can share the closest result to the one I’ve been after at Wheal Coates for a while.  This image came during the endless days of rain between Christmas and New Year's Day.  Next time I share this composition with you though, it’s going to be the one that lays the search to rest.  Then I can move on.  Probably.

Taken in: UK / England / St. Agnes / Towan Cross (show map)

Taken on: December 27, 2020

Tags:

Wheal Coates

St Agnes

Cornwall

Coast

British Coast

cornish coast

Kernow

Kernowfornia

West Country

west country clickers

mine

mining

Tin mine

Towanroath

Towan Cross

Building

rain

winter

seaspray

waves

Atlantic

landscape

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Sets appears in: • Wheal Coates and Chapel Porth

Groups appears in: • Cornwall Flickr Users • !Art and Photography (seriously18+) INVITE ONLY more » • Flickr Social Club • Photography Week • Landscape Art of Wales & South West England • Amateur Photographer Magazine • Flickr Social • Only Awesome Photos • LONG DISTANCE PATHS « less

Camera: Canon EOS 5D Mark IV, f/8.0, 1/400 sec, 98mm, ISO 500 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Canon EOS 5D Mark IV
Lens:	EF70-200mm f/4L USM
Aperture:	f/8.0
Exposure Time:	0.003 sec (1/400)
Focal Length:	98mm
ISO:	500
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 22.3 (Windows)
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