I counted twenty-four cars in the parking area next to Inkie’s. On a Thursday in November. Twenty-four! What were they all doing here, and why? I’d arrived, thinking there might be a handful of dog walkers and similarly grumpy loners wielding tripods and camera bags, but in the forest, entire families were at large, wandering around as bold as day. Admittedly some of the visitors were at the tables in Inkie’s, filling their faces with its joyous delights, but that still left a steady hum of human traffic to negotiate as I sought out some much needed time alone with my camera.
I’d already filled my own face, opting for a rather more modest brunch at Morrison’s, this time in Bodmin as I continued my survey of the local brekkie supermarket options for when the Three Happy Snappers head out on those day release outings onto the beaches and moors, and into the woods. It was enjoyable enough, although Newquay is still in the lead if you're relying on this feed for tips on budget gastronomic experiences in the supermarkets of Cornwall and West Devon. I’d been sorely tempted by Inkie’s and its generously portioned artisan fare, but ultimately decided I didn’t want to overdo it. I’d have a cappuccino later on - after I finished the mission I’d come to try and accomplish.
The mission itself was a multi pronged one in truth. It felt as if this was my one and only chance to capture the autumn colours that pass so rapidly each year, often carried away on the storms that batter and bruise the far southwest of this collection of islands before the colours begin to change, stripping foliage from branches and casting it to the wet soggy ground. I also wanted to try some new compositions here, hoping to find some suitable root systems for foreground interest, using the falls themselves as the backdrop, if you pardon the pun. And then, most of all I wanted to revisit a shot that I’d taken two years earlier, the last time I was here in fact - a shot I knew had potential if I could just get it right today.
I started with the roots, but it was becoming a struggle almost immediately. Bringing the tripod low enough to make a feature of them, and still including the water wasn’t really working - at least not in the first spot I decided to try. And when no less than three small groups of Selfiegrammers appeared and started waving their phones about, it became too much and I moved deeper into the woods, into the sanctuary where only a handful of people ever go. At last I was alone, beside the crashing cacophony of the river. I often feel that noise and sound are two completely different things. Surrounded by people, I could only hear noise, even when nobody spoke, yet here, all that remained was the beautiful sound of the rush of white falling water. Deafeningly loud, yet so peaceful as to allow me to relax and gather my thoughts. I didn’t see a single soul until I returned to the higher area of the falls more than an hour later.
And here I could contemplate that composition once more. It was one I’d really liked last time I stood in this spot, yet in the knowledge that I was here in the company of two other togs, I’d allowed myself to rush - allowed highlights into the white water that couldn’t be recovered. The results had been passable, but in no way worthy of a discerning audience. This time I wanted to come away with a shot worth sharing. I frowned at the frothing mayhem in the spot where I needed to stand and perch my tripod - two legs fully extended, the third retracted and pushed out wide to balance it on a mossy green boulder. The river looked deeper than it had two years earlier, and for a moment I considered whether I needed to remove my wellies, roll up my trouser legs and brace myself. It wasn’t quite necessary, but almost. Having already mounted the camera onto the tripod with the polariser attached to the lens, I shuffled down the steep bank and onto the slippery riverbed. With the water swirling around near the tops of my wellies, I wasted no time in setting up the shot and checking the histogram. It didn’t need more than a few exposures before I decided I probably had enough to work with - a decision driven at least in part by the precarious position I was in. I hadn’t really worked out how I was going to get back up onto the bank without dropping everything into the river yet either. I’d worry about that afterwards.
Somehow I managed to clamber out, dumping the splayed tripod into a muddy splat at a jaunty angle before trying my luck on slimy footholds and arriving in an untidy heap next to it. A quick look at the images on the back of the camera looked hopeful, and so I continued in a hapless search for tree roots placed suitably close to the water. I’m not sure the latter plan really worked, although I won’t give up on that score just yet. Maybe I should give up on the water and focus on the roots - again, no pun intended.
But what I was happy with was this. Certainly happy enough to allow the discerning audience to see it and read the story. It was my favourite shot of the day and I was glad I’d made that marker to improve on two years earlier. And there was that last remaining splash of autumn colour, a spray of russets and yellows filling the space above the rushing waterfall. I’d made my peace with a composition that had been quietly knocking on the door for two years. It had been a good visit, and it was time for that cappuccino, with extra chocolate sprinkles before the drive home. Cappuccino with a smile. It can’t be bad.
