Another furious blast of icy wet needles of rain drove in from the sea, biting into my face and forcing me to turn towards the cliffs. Across the shoreline, a group of maybe twenty Sanderlings, seemingly oblivious to the elements, flew low and unerring, purposeful arrows towards some unseen destination. A steady stream of people moved in either direction over the big wet beach, shoulders braced against the wind, followed and led by damp sandy dogs of all shapes and sizes. I took off my rain spattered glasses, peered out into the world from under my hood, and tried to decide which way I was heading. West towards the simmering glow, or east and the lighthouse, standing stoically against the raging walls of water. As the old year ebbed away, I was just happy to be here, battered by gusts of heavy weather as I watched a wintry ocean at play.
My first thoughts were that I really shouldn’t have had coffee first. When I arrived at the big car park, stepping out of the side door of the van into a large puddle so that I could open the cupboard where the gas supply was waiting to be switched on, the lighthouse lay nestled in sunshine, contrasted under a stern slate grey sky. With the kettle hissing on the hob and the van buffeted and bruised by an urgent squall, I changed into my wellies and waterproofs and watched a group of four youngsters just across the car park, leaning into the wind as they held their coats aloft and flew them like kites above their heads. I drank my coffee, fitted the rainproof cover onto my pack, and changed lenses before making sure of my settings. Burst mode, fast shutter, auto ISO and that focus tracking thingumybob that often helps on days like this. Of course I’d forget to reset it all afterwards. I always do.
Some minutes later I was ready to leave Brenda to face the elements, hoping she wouldn’t be lying on her side and looking sorry for herself by the time I returned a couple of hours later. By now my fears had been proved, as yet another heavy shower headed across the bay towards us. To the west, the sunbeams had vanished behind a thick bank of cloud, and while I remained hopeful that the light would return later, one can never be sure. Progress down to the beach was slow and deliberate, and in one moment I was almost blown off my feet. The waves weren’t quite as monstrous as I’d been hoping, and I was already in a quandary over my options. At this time of year you can shoot into the light towards the west with a long lens and often come away with pleasing results, but when the sun catches the lighthouse on a blustery winter day, you might end up facing in the opposite direction. After wandering back and forth along the beach for a while, the sun once again broke through, and so I eventually ended up heading forth, venturing across the broad shallow mouth of the Red River where it bubbles and froths over pebbles in its final yards across the beach towards the waiting ocean. It seemed my feet had decided they were heading for the lighthouse. At least the effort in getting there would burn some calories after all that Christmas chocolate. And cheese. In fact at times, just walking around on the wet sand, and later through heavy mud on the cliffs felt more sapping than Friday night five a side football - and these days I’m mostly having to try and keep up with people half my age.
It proved to be an eventful afternoon, especially on the two occasions I attempted to shelter the bag as I changed lenses. More than once I had to turn my back to the brutal blows from the sky that tested the waterproofs as I cradled the camera in front of me. Bringing the tripod had been pointless, and it was merely dumped wherever I stopped, an unemployed appendage on this slow stumble across the beaten landscape. I did my best to keep the front of the camera free of raindrops and other distractions, and at one point found myself charging across wet boggy grass, releasing a volley of expletives into the wind as I chased after an escaped lens cloth that was making a bid for freedom.
Finally, at the end of the day I stood here, once again with the long lens mounted, standing well away from the angry sea as I hit the shutter in rapid fire at charging waves. For some minutes I waited for a lone patch of pink cloud, hoping it would spend at least a few moments above the lighthouse. A slightly wider view would have been better, but there was no time to change lenses again, and so I made that final burst. Through much of the adventure, I’d barely been able to see what I was doing, continually stopping to wipe streams from my watering eyes and clean the lens. All of that thoughtful planning and careful composition was out of the window today. In many shots I was too far to the left or the right, as the wind whipped at the camera and shook the scene in front of me.
It was brutal, yet it was also an extraordinarily rewarding experience. I really had no idea what was on the SD card by now, although I noticed I’d collected over four hundred and fifty exposures by the time I put the camera back into the bag. But being out here, fully proofed against the violence of winter’s hard edges had been fun. And the van was still standing where I left her, waiting for me to brew a cup of tea and lay waste to the remains of the bar of chocolate I’d started earlier. Quite what I would have done if I had returned to find her lying on her side on New Year's Eve, I really can't say. With the kettle boiling again, and the diesel heater warming the space, I pulled off my boots and socks and gazed out into the darkness. Another year with all its challenges and rewards complete, while a brand new canvas lay unpainted in front of me. It had been a memorable way to mark the annual turning of the page.
