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  • GD000733.jpg
  • Night time fog swirls in from the Irish Sea and up the Menai Strait, enveloping the Menai Suspension Bridge (Welsh: Pont Grog y Borth) which is a stone built Victorian suspension bridge between the island of Anglesey and Bangor and mainland of Wales. The 100ft high bridge was designed by Thomas Telford and completed in 1826.
    GD000684BW.jpg
  • I don’t even know how it got there but a way off the dirt track had slumped this old truck, its faded layers of eroded paintwork peppered with shot-gun holes. <br />
<br />
Abandoned and left to nature and the elements, this vehicle jolted within me the recognition that nothing lasts forever, that eventually everything becomes dust, but in the meantime is a marker for own place along that road, literally.
    GD002255.jpg
  • A large sea with a long range swell slammed the seafront at Trearddur Bay at the end of November. Cars parked in the car park were literally covered in wave after huge wave - and pebbles! I shot from within the van for there was also torrential rain and swirling sea spray everywhere. These were some of the biggest wave crashes I'd personally witnessed here at Trearddur, though I'm sure there must be loads more occasions like this.
    GD001353.jpg
  • As I wound my way down the tiny lane to the foreshore, I had to stop for six cars and vans, some towing powerboats and jet skis, which surprised me during this lockdown. There were a further three cars parked up in the tiny parking area but thankfully I found a space and there was no one actually to be seen. <br />
<br />
I really wanted this slipway in the foreground with the town of Y Felinheli on the far side of the Afon Menai, basking in evening sunlight. Sadly, just two minutes after arriving, the sun disappeared behind a massive cloud bank and the orange floodlight simply faded away.
    GD002481.jpg
  • "Stop, Look, Listen" Anglesey lane<br />
<br />
Such silence! No vapour trails, no cars, no other walkers! Just the sound of a blackbird, a wren, a robin and the bleating of new lambs. It IS surreal, this human silence. I hear more nature now and I’m exploring the countryside more than in years, but the complete lack of human sounds is also strangely disturbing at present, for we know WHY.<br />
<br />
A unseen, unpredictable killer disease is on the rampage and it can kill any of us at any time. This is the silence of fear; it’s like one of those post-apocalyptic road movies, where things seem visually normal, even beautiful, any yet there is a darkness in the unknown, in the waiting and in our solitude - a solitude I usually desperately need!
    GD002474.jpg
  • Things will change after this weekend. the strange peace and quiet we’ve been enjoying, one of very few positives from this lockdown, will soon end. There has been an absence of noise; an absence of traffic jams; an absence of machines, from powerboats & jet-skis to cars & trail bikes. There has been a blissful near-absence of human activity and noticeably less litter in nature. From Monday however, when everyone in the UK can move around Wales again, this calm, this peace, this relatively unspoiled beauty will change dramatically. It’s been a gentle period that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I will always remember seeing & hearing nature without human figures everywhere. I think we’ve had a glimpse at a time long past, when things were simpler and quieter & for some, more meditative. I do wish this peace would never change, but as I head for a holiday again I also recognise that it’s nothing more than a passing dream.
    GD002497.jpg
  • Another image looking towards Albania from the walls of Pantokrator Monastery on Corfu's highest peak. Driving up to this place was eerie enough with huge drops to the side but doing a three point turn on a lane two cars wide, with a drop of hundreds and hundreds of feet either side certainly brought me closer to God! In fact Carol actually got out the car whilst I made the manoeuvre ! Not helped by the fact the wind was blowing quite strongly on this 3000' peak...What I did like was the absolute simplicity of the place and the amazing light and decoration within the monastery itself. I met a very gentle priest there, who had come outside to the cliff edge to photograph the sunset on his small digi-compact. Again I was taken aback by the contrast between the dark, sombre cloak of this bearded young priest, and his fingers racing across the menu wheel of the camera to show me some of his previous sunsets ! :-)
    GD000842.jpg
  • One track leads to a blinding but beautiful sunset, the other leads to instant death where cars join others which have drowned in crystal clear but dark quarry lakes.
    GD001051.jpg
  • Honourable Mention in the 'Fine Art' category of the 2019, International 14th Black & White Spider Awards<br />
<br />
So strange and funny, to see the One Way road sign directing cars to the open Atlantic Ocean. I love crazy juxtapositions like this.
    GD001029.jpg
  • 2020 - 15th B&W SPider Awards - Nominee in Fine Art<br />
<br />
I was fascinated by the strangely sculptural but definitely incongruous water towers dotted across the New Mexico landscape. Literally in the middle of nowhere with hundreds of acres of nothingness around, these structures stick up out of the flat plains.  <br />
<br />
This one, just off the historic Route 66 really caught my eye, so we detoured to get to it, finding ourselves at the gates of the Albuquerque Detention Centre! As numerous B&W Sheriff cars drove past I was super anxious about being detained myself, for taking pictures there, but I genuinely was just interested in the water tower. They must have thought I was more weird than dangerous, so left me to it :-)
    GD002420.jpg
  • Nominated in 10th (2017) International Colour Awards (Nude category) <br />
<br />
“It was dusk and a gentle mist hung in the valleys, illuminated only by the last glimmer of Autumnal daylight. There was delicate moisture in the air and a slight dampness on the short grass surrounding the rock. Rich, earthy smells surrounded me, from the bracken and ancient woodland adjacent to the outcrop. Above the sound of a gurgling brook I could hear a thrush singing somewhere in the distance. Apart from that there was relative silence; no cars, no planes, no groups of chatty ‘ramblers on a mission’, just me in what felt like a lost valley. I was alone and had found perfect solitude. <br />
<br />
I enjoyed the feeling of the cool, almost prickly, sheep-mown grass on the soles of my feet, but the rock was warm having basked during a day of unbroken sunshine under clear blue skies.  Although the rocky outcrop looked smooth from a distance it was rough beneath my skin, making my body feel vulnerable to its sharp surface. I enjoyed the sensation nevertheless, feeling utterly and intimately connected to ‘my’ rock, a rock carved by glaciers millions of years ago, scratched and smoothed by the weight of ice, but today it was just me, an insignificant speck on the planet. Yet the planet means everything to me; I feel it, see it, and hear it. It provides for me, nourishes me and I am a part of it nevertheless. <br />
<br />
As the melody of the Song Thrush drifted away, I lay relaxed, supine, as much of my skin surface in contact with the rock as I could manage, facing the darkening universe above. The rock supported me, it seemed as if the Earth itself was carrying me, a fragile, perishable organic figure, exposed to the air and the elements but wonderfully connected to the land"
    Then Came Autumn
  • I'd headed for Dinas Dinlle simply because I thought my Mum & Dad might be going there, but the car park was empty. I geared up and sat for a short while looking at the amazing sight before me, the salt spray covering the windscreen and the van being rocked by the gales, almost 100 mph they said today in the UK. Jeremy Vine was on the radio chatting with those trapped by the gales, but the sunlight here was intesne and positive, the wind fely like a heart beat and pull of the outdoors was greater than the force used to seal the van door closed. ..As I sat there, a small black car turned up, and there was my Dad, smiling at me through the front window, Mum waving at me lovingly fron the passenger seat. Dad and I went for a walk together whilst Mum sheltered in the car. I was intent on taking pictures, and my Dad was doing his best to be close but not too close. I watched him as he huddled over the debris washed up on the high tide mark, beachcoming like he'd always done with us as kids, and I felt very very sad. My Dad is getting older, mid 70s now, and he struggles more with things he'd once have taken in his stride...He said he was going to head back to have a coffee with Mum, and I said I'd take a few more shots then join them, but as I watched his slightly unstable retreat back towards the car, blown sideways by the wind, I couldn't take any more images, and I made my way back to join them. The cafe was shut. They made their way home whilst I stayed for the last of the light on this stormy beach. It was a day where I was being torn apart, emotionally, physically and spiritually. ..I called in on them on the way home, and chatted for hours. It's funny isn't it, that even the most stunning things on the planet, pale into significance when you consider real love, and real loss.
    GD001365.jpg
  • The tradional and long established "Ffair Borth" or Menai Bridge Fair, at Menai Bridge village on the Isle of Anglesey. This was once a horse fair, but is now predominantly a fun fair  aimed at youngsters, which demands closure of several roads and car parks for the two days of the event
    GD000011.jpg
  • A Boxing day walk, alone, in the weather and the howling winds. Amazing, elemental, the antithesis to Christmas, natural, wild, empty, unpackaged. I stood three times in the middle of a semi-drowned estuary, sheltering behind my huge (braced) umbrella whilst squalls pounded the nylon and winds flipped the edges of the material like a machine gun. So noisy was the wind that it was hard to tell whether the rain had stopped! I headed for the dunes and a brief few moments of sunshine trying to break through the cloud cover, but soon it was dark, and I had to meander my way back across the dunes to the car park, tripping frequently over rabbit holes and clumps of thick grass.
    GD001359.jpg
  • A Boxing day walk, alone, in the weather and the howling winds. Amazing, elemental, the antithesis to Christmas, natural, wild, empty, unpackaged. I stood three times in the middle of a semi-drowned estuary, sheltering behind my huge (braced) umbrella whilst squalls pounded the nylon and winds flipped the edges of the material like a machine gun. So noisy was the wind that it was hard to tell whether the rain had stopped! I headed for the dunes and a brief few moments of sunshine trying to break through the cloud cover, but soon it was dark, and I had to meander my way back across the dunes to the car park, tripping frequently over rabbit holes and clumps of thick grass.
    GD001358.jpg
  • A gentle evening light; it didn’t last long.<br />
<br />
A weather front advanced across the horizon and the brilliance of the sunshine subdued and cooled. An army of figures marched the trek from car park to lighthouse, a pilgrimage for many.<br />
<br />
For me however the sheer wonder of Llanddwyn is not the manmade structure on the island of lovers, but the incredible beauty of the natural; the huge wind-formed dunes covered in swaying marram grass, back-dropped by the skyline of wonderful Welsh mountains. <br />
<br />
The lighthouse is an objective but the dunes are true beauty.
    GD002115.jpg
  • A Boxing day walk, alone, in the weather and the howling winds. Amazing, elemental, the antithesis to Christmas, natural, wild, empty, unpackaged. I stood three times in the middle of a semi-drowned estuary, sheltering behind my huge (braced) umbrella whilst squalls pounded the nylon and winds flipped the edges of the material like a machine gun. So noisy was the wind that it was hard to tell whether the rain had stopped! I headed for the dunes and a brief few moments of sunshine trying to break through the cloud cover, but soon it was dark, and I had to meander my way back across the dunes to the car park, tripping frequently over rabbit holes and clumps of thick grass.
    GD001360.jpg
  • So strange. Beaumaris in June. Normally bustling with visitors, dotted with promenaders, yachts gliding across the Afon Menai and dozens of families crabbing from the pier and eating fish & chips, dive bombed by frenzied seagulls, but not this year.<br />
.<br />
There was a gentle, quiet, serenity. Hardly a soul out and about. An old couple sat reading in their car and a man on a bike exercised his dog but really, the only thing happening was nature and the weather, and both were beautiful. I could see Curlew and Oystercatcher on the shore digging for sustenance in the mud bank. Swallows darted overhead and groups of Herring Gulls fished for natural rather than fast food. The tide ebbed and the clouds swirled and shifted rapidly across the being sky. This was pandemic time but for the planet it was a breath of fresh air.
    GD002493.jpg
  • So strange. Beaumaris in June. Normally bustling with visitors, dotted with promenaders, yachts gliding across the Afon Menai and dozens of families crabbing from the pier and eating fish & chips, dive bombed by frenzied seagulls, but not this year.<br />
.<br />
There was a gentle, quiet, serenity. Hardly a soul out and about. An old couple sat reading in their car and a man on a bike exercised his dog but really, the only thing happening was nature and the weather, and both were beautiful. I could see Curlew and Oystercatcher on the shore digging for sustenance in the mud bank. Swallows darted overhead and groups of Herring Gulls fished for natural rather than fast food. The tide ebbed and the clouds swirled and shifted rapidly across the being sky. This was pandemic time but for the planet it was a breath of fresh air.
    GD002494.jpg
  • Having done a picture delivery in Northern Anglesey, I was on my way back down the A55 when I decided to turn for the coast, just to get some fresh air. I found myself on the Rhosneigr road and my heart was light. Mine was the only vehicle in the sand-dune car park and pools of rainwater transformed the normally gritty rutted surface into rather beautiful patches of bright sky.The wind was bitter, still blowing in from the North West and today I only had trainers on, so no risky teetering about on wave washed rocks for me.<br />
<br />
The recent gales and big tides had deposited tonnes of dead brown seaweed over most of the shelving beach, but the outgoing tide revealed a beautiful sandy stretch at low water mark. The waves had decreased considerably today but it was still choppy in the strong cold breeze and the waves though low, were still powerful enough to launch themselves explosively up the shingle. Yesterday in the blazing late afternoon light, there was a smoothness to the foam-covered beach but today, there was sharpness, a contrast and a new brooding weather front overhead. My fingers froze whenever I removed them from my shooters-mitts and I put two hoods on to keep my head warm. I negotiated my way up onto the reef via a series of bizarre-to watch, core-stabilised ballet movements, tripod over my shoulder and rucksack swaying heavily with each leap. I found somewhere I could stand securely and just watched the wave performance below me. <br />
<br />
The sunshine remained clear and intense for quite a while, even though the cloud front appeared keen to obscure it, and the light danced on the waves in a bright avenue ahead of me. Soon though, the light subdued and the rain started so I made my way back to the van and on to the gallery to work. I really enjoy these spontaneous moments when you find yourself excited and stimulated by someone or something unexpected. I felt alive and captivated, if only for a brief hour.
    GD001710.jpg
  • On my favourite beach, in the subtle dying rays of light on a warm summer's day, on an advancing tide, I walked alone on the shoreline, as a full moon rose over the sand dunes to my left. Unnervingly, there in the sand dunes arose a dark figure to watch me. I couldn't make out any details. As I walked closer he dropped  back into hiding. I was unnerved en route back to the car.
    GD001282.jpg
  • This is one of the main roads into Southern Namibia, shortly after leaving the border control on the Orange River. We had passed an isolated garage and a few kms later an agriculturally based township, but then we went around a bend of an escarpment and over a hill, and were faced with this arid but incredible desert landscape. We drove for over an hour on this harsh dirt track, without seeing another car. There were no towns, no hamlets, no roadside stores, not even telegraph or electricity lines. It was barren. No animals to be seen, no birds of any sort and no signs of snakes or scorpions or in fact anything. Stepping outside the car I entered an oven of heat, into the 40ºs and surprising silence. The landscape was vast and I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a huge, empty, lonely space - but I loved it, I enjoyed the vulnerability it created and the recognition that I was really, truly alive - as little else at that moment at least, seemed to be. <br />
<br />
I knew I was going to enjoy this country.
    GD002252.jpg
  • Available as A3 & A4 prints only<br />
<br />
There was torrential rain in the valley that afternoon, so heavy I didn't even risk taking the camera out of the car. Everything was dark and eerie and rivers and streams had appeared out of the blue. I shot from the car window whilst the rain hammered the roof and this soft, watery image really captures some of the feelings I experienced at that moment.
    GD000463.jpg
  • Never seen anything like it. We were on the road to wind blown Atlantic coastal town of Luderitz and a few miles before we arrived the effects of the wind could already be seen. At some points you could hardly see in front of the car and at other sand drifts had built across the road. I stepped out of the car on this near deserted road and was instantly sand-blasted by stinging grains of fast-blown crystals. I was amazed that there was even a road as the sand blew so constantly across the landscape.
    GD002286.jpg
  • We stumbled across what we thought was a derelict cottage in the middle of woodland down a tiny track. <br />
<br />
Evening sunlight was pouring through a window beyond, and there was a reflection of the sky and trees in the front windows. I went up to the window &  was shocked to discover signs of habitation. There was even a calendar from 2015 on the wall, yet still I suspected that the place had just been deserted. I took this one image because of the beautiful light and sense of time passing, melancholy almost but imbued with such positive afternoon sunshine. <br />
<br />
It was only then that I heard a car pull up behind us. The very jovial driver was the landowner, and he told us that someone does indeed live there. The tenant is a 75 year old man who refuses to connect any power to the house, even though all the faciities are there. He only has a gas bottle to power his ancient stove. <br />
<br />
This old man has a tiny garden plot over a mile away on a steep cliff side, and he walks there regulalrly to tend his vegetagbles. He has an old car, but that is one of his only links wih modern’ish technology. <br />
<br />
The landowner is in no hurry to move the old gentleman on, and it seems he will see the end of his days in this ancient farmyard cottage, almost off the grid, and I hope deeply happy because of it. <br />
<br />
Next time I’m down, I’d love to photograph the old man himself, if he’d be happy for me to do so. What a character he must be.
    GD002129.jpg
  • This was our first sight of the dust roads of Namibia, shortly after the border control. There is a township just to the left of this image, and many of the inhabitants seem to be working in the agricultural industries based along the lush banks of the Orange River. After this sudden appearance of sand dunes pushing up mountain sides, the dust road disappeared into vast uninhabited volcanic plains, and we hardly saw a car or person throughout several hours of desert driving.
    GD002251.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001736.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001737.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001735.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001733.jpg
  • Another fantastic day walking in the Welsh mountains, this time with my gorgeous lady. It was bitterly cold as we started up the hill, and then when we reached the col the breeze chilled it even further. The sun started to come out from beneath a huge blanket of grey cloud and we enjoyed a hint of warmth on the ascent to the frost covered summit. We didn't hang around at the summit at all, as we knew we'd be in the dark on the final freezing leg back down the Northern bluff to the car park. Couldn't resist however, taking these images as we left the summit and faced the setting sun. Beautiful, wonderful, magical afternoon in real Wales, with Jani
    GD002350.jpg
  • As is the way with my days off these days, there is no rush ever. Jan works long days and even longer nights in an intensive care department and there is NO shift pattern at all to allow a person’s body clock to plan the week. Her need for sleep catch up is vital, so I have learned not to expect a 7am leap out of bed, and instead to respect her body clock readjustment time. It doesn’t stop me getting fidgety however if the light looks amazing, and the day is going by :-)<br />
<br />
It was Sunday however, and for Jan a rare Sunday off, so whatever! The weather forecast was for brightness, light cloud, zero chance of rain and plenty of sunshine later. We could do a lazy leisurely hill walk later with no worries about the elements or timings. I didn’t really absorb the additional information I skimmed through on the mountain weather forecast though, which indicated freezing level at summits and 45mph winds. Nevertheless we threw in our Paramo’s and Rab wind proofs just in case, along with two flasks of steaming hot coffee.<br />
<br />
At about 2pm we started the one hour drive towards the distinctive pyramid shaped mountain called Cnicht. I haven’t done it for couple of years and I love the mountain (approximately 2200 feet). I have done it from the very meandrous North side and also from the shadowy East facing quarry valley of Cwm Orthin, which was today’s plan as I wanted to show Jan the old quarry workings. However, as part of her prep for some bigger mountains in the next few weeks she said she’d prefer a steep ascent, so we headed for Croesor on the brighter West side instead. This was a first for me too which was nice, making our way up the classic West ridge.<br />
<br />
We decided to have a cuppa and a sandwich in the cafe in the tiny, sleepy hamlet of Croesor but the cafe was so asleep it was closed! I was really surprised, this being the Easter break and a car park packed with walkers’ vehicles. We started up the long, bouldery woodland track before exiting right up towards
    GD001734.jpg
  • Another fantastic day walking in the Welsh mountains, this time with my gorgeous lady. It was bitterly cold as we started up the hill, and then when we reached the col the breeze chilled it even further. The sun started to come out from beneath a huge blanket of grey cloud and we enjoyed a hint of warmth on the ascent to the frost covered summit. We didn't hang around at the summit at all, as we knew we'd be in the dark on the final freezing leg back down the Northern bluff to the car park. Couldn't resist however, taking these images as we left the summit and faced the setting sun. Beautiful, wonderful, magical afternoon in real Wales, with Jani
    GD002349.jpg
  • I’ve seen elephants in zoos of course, restricted, moving around in circles, stared at by the thousands of noisy visitors - such a desperate form of existence. In the 22,270 km² Etosha National Park in NW Namibia however, I was for the first time able to see these truly magnificent creatures in their natural habitat. Watching David Attenborough programs on TV is always a delight, but nothing prepares you for the sheer awe of seeing these animals in real life in their own world.<br />
.<br />
From the heavily corrugated dust track we were on, the first thing I saw was what looked like a huge rounded granite boulder over the top of a hillock, but as we drove to the crest of the mound we realised it was in fact the head of a huge African elephant standing at a waterhole! This was real and I’ve never felt so small or humbled by natural wildlife. There are strict instructions never to leave your vehicle whilst in the park, so I had to accept that looking out of the window of our 4x4 was the best I was going to get.<br />
.<br />
All around us herds of Zebra were also drinking, running & frolicking with each other. Springbok daintily skipped past & Oryx & Giraffes were all there too. Hundreds of birds flitted about and falcons and other birds of prey circled overhead. It was a visual tapestry of wildlife with so many species all measuring each other up and acknowledging the hierarchies at the hole. What struck me most was the grace of motion of the elephants. Every movement of foot or trunk was slow, fluid & purposeful. At times they were just like living statues, almost motionless, just studying the world about them & at other times when walking, able to cover big distances so quickly but so gently. I was aware that they were aware of us, large eyeballs measuring us up but not seeming irritated or intimidated.<br />
.<br />
It was hard (especially looking from the car window) to take in the reality of it all rather than still imagining it was a TV program. I also felt deeply sad that it’s only a mat
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  • On a baking hot day we drove into the sunset across the rugged high cliff tops of West Portugal. Jani sat in the van to call her Mam whilst I wandered down to the rocky cove. As I walked out to the low tide mark, i realised the beach was absolutely massive, miles long to the North and pure sea washed sand. The cliffs looked even higher when looking back at them. The day as usual had been clear blue cloudless sky, so it was an extra bonus to see delicate clouds gently sliding Southwards across the horizon. I had the whole beach to myself and was in seventh Heaven. <br />
<br />
However, when i turned to walk back to the car I noticed a young man curled up against the cliffs, clutching a beer bottle and looking most melancholy. I know that when I go into my dark patches, the beach becomes my salvation, my escape and my remedy - I empathised with this guy who had come miles to see the sunset on this spectacular and deserted coast.
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  • Volcanic landscape, Fuerteventura, Canaries. <br />
<br />
We rarely see any bad weather on this arid island but on this evening, black clouds rolled overhead and the first spots of rain steamed off the hot car windscreen
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  • I’ve seen elephants in zoos, restricted, moving around in circles, stared at by the thousands of noisy visitors - such a desperate form of existence. In the 111 year old and 22,270 km² Etosha National Park in North West Namibia however, I was for the first time able to see these truly magnificent creatures in their natural habitat. Watching David Attenborough programs is always a delight but nothing prepares you for the sheer awe of seeing these animals in real life in their own world.<br />
<br />
From the heavily corrugated dust track, the first thing I saw was what looked like a huge rounded boulder beyond a hillock, but as we drove to the crest of the mound we realised it was in fact the head of a huge African elephant standing at a waterhole! This was real & I’ve never felt so small or humbled by wildlife. There are strict instructions never to leave your vehicle whilst in the park so I had to accept that looking out of the window was the best I was going to get.<br />
<br />
Around us herds of Zebra were drinking, running and frolicking with each other. Springbok daintily skipped past & Oryx and Giraffe were there too. Hundreds of birds flitted about & falcons & other birds of prey circled overhead. It was a visual tapestry of wildlife with so many species all measuring each other up and acknowledging the hierarchies at the hole. What struck me most was the grace of motion of the elephants. Every movement of foot or trunk was slow, fluid & purposeful. At times they were just like living statues, almost motionless, just studying the world about them, and at other times when walking, able to cover big distances so quickly but so gently. I was aware that they were aware of us, large eyeballs measuring us up but not seeming irritated or intimidated.<br />
<br />
It was hard (especially from the car window) to take in the reality of it all rather than still imagining it was a TV program. I also felt deeply sad that it’s only a matter of time before wild elephants are hunted to extinction.
    GD002257.jpg
  • Even as little kids, we would walk the two miles or so from our home on Penmere Hill to this spectacular and popular rocky point of Pendennis Head, just below the famous Henry Eighth Castle. Just below the car park where the ice cream vans prey, there are steep rocks which lead down to very deep gullies. At low tide some of the biggest are exposed and you can look down into deep bottomless chasms of seawater where you can often see huge fish below you. The swell could suddenly raise the water level to swamp your feet and although it used to scare us as kids, it was totally compelling!
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  • It may sound daft, but I was as fascinated by the unending miles of open dust road as I was with the incredible volcanic desert landscape. <br />
<br />
I’ve never been anywhere else in the world (yet) where I can drive for hundreds of kilometres on dust roads without seeing a car for hours. In one way it was a little freaky, for if you break down it could well be a LONG wait in 45º of sweltering heat before anyone might come by and help you, but equally, that same sense of isolation and vulnerability is what made the journey so adventurous and awesome.
    GD002279.jpg
  • The mountains of South Africa have blown me away. I have never seen so many mountain peaks in one place. These very steep-sided and dramatic peaks could be seen out of our car window for the two solid days of driving East to West through the country. In fact the mountains in this image are much smaller than many others we saw on our journey. It’s a complete guess, but over nearly 20 hours of driving there must have been literally 1000s of summits and I can’t begin to imagine where a mountaineer would begin to start choosing which to climb in this vast area. <br />
<br />
Even more strange is that the clouds you see here form the edge of a gigantic cloud blanket that created pouring rain on the far, coastal side of these hills. We drove in bright sunshine all day until we crossed the range through a gorge and then drove in rain for the next 3 hours!
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