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Anglesey

696 images Created 5 Dec 2009

This is a constantly updating gallery of photographic images for prints of Anglesey in North Wales. The latest landscapes will be seen first, but as this beautiful island has so much variation of land and seascapes, it really is worth checking the earliest images I have on file.

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  • After weeks of appalling weather, wind and rain, it was such a relief to have a dry-ish day. We headed for the coast and literally just caught the last moments of a giant hole in the clouds where we glimpsed the blue sky above. A gentle shimmering of sunlight reflected off the calm sea, but it was like the eye of a storm as banks of deeper grey cloud moved in from the West and the rain started all over again.
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  • On a walk where I sank in soft mud; a walk where BOTH soles came off my walking boots; where I simply couldn’t find what I’ve been hunting for over several years now, I nevertheless felt awed by the sheer beauty of this mirrored universe - what a truly amazing place to live
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  • As the fog cleared, a beautiful and gentle sunset appeared, illuminating the calm sea on a slowly incoming tide.
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  • As the fog cleared, a beautiful and gentle sunset appeared, illuminating the calm sea on a slowly incoming tide.
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  • It’s been 50 years since the original ‘tubular’ railway bridge burned down, so this year there has been much talk about this iconic piece of civil engineering, designed by Robert Stephenson and opened in 1850. <br />
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When you stand under the bridge today, looking up at the gigantic steel arches, it’s shocking to realise just how much change occurred during the post-fire rebuilding. These steel arches never existed before. The concrete decks that now hold a highway, were not there before. The original wrought iron tubes are no longer there. The only original structures are the towers themselves. And yet whenever I think of this bridge I still imagine it’s been there forever.
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  • Such beauty in such turmoil; drifting curtains of heavy showers backlit by the most wonderful Autumnal sunset. Spray-covered faces; salt-crusted skin, and sea-coasted glass all made for a vivid experience of nature in full flow.
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  • I’ve been looking at the work of some American photographers from the turn of the 20th century. I absoloutely loved their obsession with shadows, lighting and of course, B&W. It reminded me very much of my earliest work when I started out in the late 70s and then art school in the 80s. . <br />
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So looking at this images I shot recently, I decided to once again enjoy the sheer liberation of monochrome and the freedom of playing with drama of light and shadows
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  • Just a few days to go until Wales finds some sort of normality before the next national lockdown! The weather seems to be reflecting my / our moods at present, one minute dark clouds, rain and even hail, but the next, glorious sunshine and even a hint of warmth on your wet face. Shallow pools seemed deep and menacing but upon the surface glowed patches of clean sunlight. These rippling islands of gentle light reminded me that the sun will keep on rising and falling despite everything, and that life goes on, with or without us.
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  • I just stood there back to the gale as the Heaven’s opened and pummelled me with freezing hail. Throughout the squall the sunshine continued, blasting the miles-long sand dunes in Autumnal light. I had to shoot quickly, and hid the camera in my jacket. Stunning lighting and a beach almost to myself - immersed in the elements - perfection.
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  • So strange seeing popular places near deserted, and equally so beautiful and calming - no excited shouting, screaming kids, dog-calling, drones, lines of people on a mission to honey pots locations and a deserted lighthouse. I imagined that going back 40 years or more, maybe this was the norm, that you’d only ever see a handful of people the whole walk? The landscape felt different. It felt more wild, more desolate, more natural, more timeless, more spiritual. <br />
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I guess to find this sort of calm solitude; refreshing mental freedom; we’d have to travel much further afield. Anglesey is now a playground for so many, even mid winter, and whilst it’s always beautiful, it’s rare to find solitude. For many they don’t mind, they even seek the comfort of other people being around, but for me I need total solitude - I need to experience places without seeing anyone - it’s the only way I can allow my mind to connect properly with the planet.
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  • This really is the season of storms and gales. After days of torrential rain, fingers of sunshine searched through layers of cloud trying to make a clearing. I grabbed the opportunity after work today to see if I could catch any of this dramatic light. At the coast the light had already subdued but the wind remained extremely breezy. I carried just one camera and one lens and left the tripod in the van. I had literally just 10 minutes of tantalising sunset before dusk drew a darkening curtain across the windswept stage
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  • Beautiful evening light on the incredible 1.5 mile long Holyhead breakwater. Completed in 1873 this sea defence is the longest in Europe. It looks so effective in this gently lapping sea but even this mammoth structure couldn’t stop the freak destructive power of Storm Emma devastating the inner harbour in 2018.
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  • It was strange studying this tiny gap in the rock, as the rising tide funnelled wave after wave into a beautful seawater fan. I just got to thinking that no matter what barriers are put up, powerful forces are unstoppable, its only ever a question of time.
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  • It’s the little things that can make or break, and being blinded by the light at the end of the tunnel, can lead us to forget that others are still holding our hand.
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  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
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I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
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I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
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  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
.<br />
I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
.<br />
I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
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  • The morning sunshine burned through the cool March air and for a moment it appeared as if summer. <br />
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Nestling into the back of this peaceful cove are the Victorian silica brickworks of Porth Wen. Today the silence was only broken by the call of Oystercatcher and the twitter of sparrows in the hedges behind me,  so different to the noise of the industry here before 1949. I’m always fascinated by the way nature gradually reclaims man’s footprints, but in the meantime I enjoy a glimpse at history, and the chance to imagine what once was.
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  • Another of those awful, dreary, wet grey days with hours and hours of rain, then suddenly at the end of the day, a gentle orange glow built on the horizon, a sign of magic for distant strangers.  We stuck it in a high gear and made for the brightening sky, sunshine gradually warming the interior of the van through the salt-smeared windscreen. <br />
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On arrival, the wind was really strong and the sand was lifting and blowing across the beach. I headed for the shoreline where the breeze tried to do the same with sheet water. The sand was soaking and it reflected the scudding painted clouds on its surface. This was  another of my open-air theatre moments were scenes were changing by the second. I watched it until my feet sank and the sun disappeared, leaving nothing but happiness in the dark.
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  • Tonight I was accompanied by a daft crow. As I walked at high speed to catch an unexpected last burn of sunshine at Llanddwyn, a large crow on the water’s edge thought that the best way to escape his human companion was to keep flying just ahead of me. As I got closer he’d take off and fly another 20 feet. He did this almost the whole length of the beach until I reached the island, when finally he worked out that flying the opposite way from me meany he was left in peace. I I found myself chuckling as I called him a daft bird under my breath. <br />
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The light on the other side of the island was short lived but intensely beautiful.
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  • In the darkness there’s always that hope that small moments of light, entertain and delight us.
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  • Half an hour of amazing swirling cloud, showers and atmospheric drama last night over the Irish Sea from South Stack. I make a point of avoiding photographing the lighthouse, but I do love the sea from here. Actually the wonderfully curved curtains of rain only lasted a few minutes before becoming more regular sheets of rain.
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  • Chaotic weather and stormy conditions over the west coast of Ynys Môn this evening, this summer! One minute, torrential downpours the next, blazing hot sunshine - utterly unpredictable other than for its unpredictability.<br />
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Holyhead Mountain can be seen in the far distance whilst fast-appearing crepuscular rays scan the surface of the Irish Sea as the clouds race inland. It was wind-blown and spectacular and I revelled in the elements
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  • June 2020. Absolutely deserted beach and the mesmerising lure of crystal clear water and open sea. With the world full of virus this short moment of feet in water and and the gentle sound of lapping ripples against thr rocks, was pure medicine, a mental cure.
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Glyn Davies, Professional Photographer and Gallery

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