The first thing that won’t escape your notice is the goats. Loads of them grazing in the wide open space between the rocks and the little used road that weaves up through the bracken to the west of here. They’re almost a tourist attraction in themselves, one of Lynton and Lynmouth’s claims to fame, along with the funicular railway and the ever so steep hills that make the short journey between these twin villages so entertaining. And then of course there’s the Valley of the Rocks, which is where we were now, for the second time in a couple of evenings. We’d already walked the short circuit that takes in some alarmingly vertiginous views, before returning to the van, where we cooked supper and watched the lone hiker who we’d seen in the shop earlier as he made his way towards Combe Martin. A man of even more mature years than us, he was evidently walking the coast path, a full frame backpack mounted on his shoulders. It was late July by now, and we tried to work out when he might put in an appearance in the Blue Bar at Porthtowan, just a handful of miles from our home. Assuming he was walking that far of course. We never saw him again though.
After dinner, it was time to tackle the ridge, with just enough daylight left to try and find a composition. Although I would need to be quick, and by now my stomach was nursing a hefty portion of veggie korma. And when you’re on top of those rocks, you’re considerably higher than you were on the path, and although vertigo isn’t something that’s ever particularly troubled me, it didn’t pay to look down for too long as I made the scramble along the collection of lumpy summit points. But as long as I moved slowly, everything would be fine. I just needed to find something that worked, without taking a tumble over one of the trickier sections in the process. In time, I found a good spot, and settled down on a lofty platform of rock to set up the composition. Thinking I was done, I began the return trek to the van, which had been in view down below in the car park throughout the episode. Beyond the car park, those goats grazed diffidently in their hundreds, totally oblivious to the dubious heroics that were taking place on the rocky ridge high above them.
But I didn’t get very far. As I retraced my steps, the blue hour started to do splendid things, the clouds to the east glowing pink and filling the sky. I turned around to face the west once more, and hastened my steps, korma and all towards the shelf where I’d just spent the last twenty minutes. Among the purples and blues, lay a blazing trail of fire, spreading over the north-western sky, a symphony of pink, orange and gold that dazzled and delighted in equal measure. Amazing what happens when you go somewhere without expectations.
The composition was one that troubled me greatly. It still does in truth. Much like that yomp across the rock strewn terrain, it was all a question of balance, and for a very long time it stopped me from sharing the story. Each side of the composition had pleasing elements, but it felt as if they were two halves of entirely separate images. Perhaps that’s where a good knowledge of a location helps, so that a tried and tested composition might deliver a more successful result, but when time is against you, what can you do? I could crop in from the left a bit, which improved things a little, but at the same time I didn’t want to lose the highest part of the rocks entirely. I even tried a mirror image to make the land appear on the right hand side, and it looked far more pleasing to my eye, but anyone who knows the place would immediately sense some dodgy shenanigans, and I can’t live a lie. But in the end I liked the truthful version well enough to tell the tale. After all, that sky is quite something.
All I really needed was for one of those wild beasties to stand here on the rocks and pose epically in front of me, but what do goats care for compositional excellence when there’s grass to be eaten? To be frank, as tourist attractions go, they really could put in a bit more effort now and again. If I can get up there, then it really ought to be easy enough for a goat to make the climb.
