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  • A spontaneous fast evening hike up to the summit of Elidir Fawr, grabbing the last of the sunshine before the torrential rain promised for the following day.<br />
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It was clear that the weather was already changing, dark clouds swirling around the peaks, but side-lit by striking evening sunlight. Though July, my hands were really cold in the strong gusting breeze. <br />
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I didn’t see a soul anywhere on the mountain so I was able to revel in the dramatic elemental conditions surrounding me, perfect and humbling solitude that freaks me as much as it excites me.
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  • Thick hill fog raced past on strong winds but upon clearing a vast and dramatic view was revealed. Intense sunshine burned through multiple layers of cloud and back-lit delicate trails of mist, but there was a dramatic darkness all about.
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  • Dramatic sunlight against ominous dark skies threatening very heavy rain moving over the Isle of Anglesey. The beach in the foreground is the vast Red Wharf Bay (Traeth Coch) which at low tide reveals a pattern of sand cusps in the wet sand which reflects the bright sunshine. <br />
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Following a specific location request from one of my customers, I found myself (almost) lost outside Llangoed on a warm late summer's afternoon. The sunshine back-lit the leaves of lush overgrown lanes as Cara Dillon sang to me in the front of the van. The hedgerows literally brushed past me as I ventured into narrower and narrower pathways, crows giving buzzards a temporary reprieve as they laughed at my black VW squeezing it's way out towards the bay.<br />
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The shallow beach at extreme low tide creates huge cusps of sand and water, resembling textile designs from the 1960s! The vicious and burning intensity of the light on the retina was not from the sun itself but from it's reflection on the wet sand. Although I tried to compose using peripheral vision I still was left temporarily blinded after shooting some frames.<br />
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Of course the contrast between the sunlit sand and the dry areas surrounding, meant the contrast was of the scale. To me, this was wonderful though, for just as looking towards the light blinded me, I found the fake shadows to be a beautiful and textural contrast, absolutely stunning.
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  • Looking towards the Carneddau range of mountains (over 3000ft) in Snowdonia, Wales. There was a dramatic light from low afternoon winter sunlight illuminating the mountainsides under gentle clouds above. The steep cliffs drop down to the highly glaciated Nant Ffrancon pass below. The foreground mountain is Carnedd Dafydd and the more rounded peak behind is Carnedd Llewelyn.
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  • A heart pumping ascent; cold air stabbing the lungs; boots slipping on wet rock - why do we do this? The reasons are many, but for me at least it’s that vague hope that a blanket of grey turns to a theatre of dramatic light, an opportunity for me to revel in the ever-changing performance of the weather on the landscape stage. Yes I also know it’s doing me good, keeping me fit, healthy and mentally balanced, but honestly it’s mostly the hope of finding genuine visual excitement in the natural world.<br />
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So much ‘landscape photography’ these days is about creating fake dreams through software, landscapes that bear no resemblance at all to what the human eye saw and it dumbfounds me. There really are amazing, mind-blowing miracles of light and weather to be observed so why do so many accept the con of the social media fakery? Have we truly lost the human ability to see the beauty in the world about us, and can only ever get our fix from fabricating over-processed lies?<br />
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I choose to continue to look for miracles that anyone can see when they stand next to me. Yes I need to know how my camera works and how to reproduce that beauty in file and on paper; yes I have no choice but to minimally & judiciously develop a digital file, but for me, it has to be a celebration of the real world and the magic that actually exists.
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  • Looking towards the Carneddau range of mountains (over 3000ft) in Snowdonia, Wales. There was a dramatic light from low afternoon winter sunlight illuminating the mountainsides under gentle clouds above. The steep cliffs drop down to the highly glaciated Nant Ffrancon pass below. The foreground mountain is Carnedd Dafydd and the more rounded peak behind is Carnedd Llewelyn.
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  • International Color Awards 2016 - Nominee in "Nature" category<br />
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A solitary house bathed in late afternoon sunlight in dramatic weather overlooks this secluded little cove on North Anglesey, where streams run down to the sea.
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  • According to the weather forecast it was supposed to be bright sunshine this afternoon - thankfully it wasn’t, and I was gifted with incredible dramatic light over the Llyn Peninsula.
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  • Another evening walk into the mountains to catch the dramatic, changeable light. As so often happens though, clouds came down across the evening sun and over the summits. I sat there drinking coffee in what became a waiting game and then suddenly, a pulse of sunshine illuminated the hillsides of the Glyderau mountains, silhouetting the foreground peaks and creating a drama I liked even if it was not what I’d originally envisaged.
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  • At the waterhole most of the animals seem to be acutely aware of the presence of other creatures even as they forage, eat and drink. Today however, as the giraffe nibbled at the succulent leaves in the tall trees, a dramatic storm was building behind. There was soon the rumble of thunder and shortly afterwards gigantic fork lightening cracked through the dark skies and punched any tall object below.
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  • Dramatic Autumnal evening light over perfect wave-smoothed sand in West Penwith, Cornwall.
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  • It was a day of mixed weather; brilliant sunshine then violent hail showers, but even when things seemed at their darkest, the burning sunshine was always just behind. The whole scene was visual metaphor for things in my life at that moment.
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  • Brilliant sunshine through stormy rainshowers and racing black clouds at the expansive Llanddwyn Beach on West Anglesey. Bitter winds cut throughclothing and rain lashed our faces but amongst it all, there was sheer ecstasy in the beauty of land and sky becoming one for brief moments of time
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  • Wind blown Marram grass catches the last of the sunlight as the weather changes and a gale advances over the Irish Sea here at Porth Tyn Tywyn, Rhosneigr, Anglesey, Wales.
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  • There was nothing set up about this image. The wood was actually there, partially embedded in the soft sands of Silver Bay as the waves washed over it on the incoming tide. In the background a gentle sun illuminated the rear of a heavy blanket of rain cloud, sending a pink glow into the air. The shift between the warm and cool ends of the spectrum were subtle and delicate, absolutely beautiful.
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  • Huge cumulonimbus clouds catch the evening sunset above wind-blown Marram grass covering sand dunes at Llanddwyn Beach, West Anglesey
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  • I was up early to enjoy thick fog over the island. A shipwreck was exposed on the low tide, silhouetted by a blaze of brilliant sunshine. The ancient Welsh hills, normally a backdrop to this view were invisible, obscured by curtains of billowing fog gently heading Northwards.
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  • A piece of driftwood jammed in the sand at Silver Bay, Anglesey get washed by incoming waves in the cove at sunset, during stormy, wet weather.
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  • Wintry weather in Summer. The air was warm but the strong wind was cold. The pandemic has left popular beaches near deserted. Today just three other couples along the two mile stretch of shoreline. Sad though it is for so many loyal Anglesey visitors, I have to admit that having beaches to yourself, especially as a landscape photographer, is a rare treat, a treat that may never be repeated in my lifeline, so I relish every moment. <br />
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In the emptiness so much else was happening though, all centred around the movement of sea and clouds and the rapid changes of light across shifting surfaces. The intensity of contrast between moody skies and brilliant sparkling wet sand, was just mesmerising, hard to pull away your eyes let alone move your feet.  There is so much to see in such emptiness, but then I think I’ve always felt that; that sometimes the emptiness itself helps to focus the eye on the smallest of changes and differences.
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  • One of those days when I knew that my need for positivity-inducing sunshine was not going to be satiated by the time I reached the coast after a long day in the gallery. <br />
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Layer after layer of blanket cloud had been drawn from the horizon to the sky overhead. I stood alone on the headland, silently studying the surface of the near motionless sea in the vain hope that a porpoise or dolphin would bring a wave of excitement to the watery view.<br />
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Amidst the grey gloom huge beams of sunlight suddenly pierced the cloud cover and spot lit the Irish Sea to help me scan more clearly – a huge searchlight from the universe above.  I never did see any marine life but the light itself, which only lasted a few minutes, made the journey worthwhile.
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  • I arrived at the beach at the very last minute, after a long day in the gallery and a desperate need for fresh air. The sunshine on the trees and hedgerows as I swept by in my van was an intoxicating promise of things to come but even as I neared the coast I could see a band of broken cloud on the horizon and a chance of broken promises.<br />
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This is one of a couple of frames from the sand dunes before jogging down to the water’s edge where huge sand pools had formed. I only managed about 3 subtly different frames before the sun dropped behind a layer of dark cloud and the intensity had gone for the night. I count myself lucky nevertheless
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  • Don’t usually mess around with PhotoShop, preferring to keep things as natural as I remember, but in this case I just felt it was a lovely pair for my old shot, “Reflecting on Past Times”
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  • Before another traumatic Welsh lockdown, we decided last minute on an afternoon walk up to Penygadair.
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  • An overcast and windless day in Snowdonia last week but the rich Autumnal colours glowed beautifully in the near mirror-like surface of the mountain lake. Reflections in lakes are such a cliché so forgive me, I was just rather taken with the scene anyway and couldn't help jumping out of the van to make this image.
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  • Whilst waiting for my rock climbing partner to arrive, I couldn’t resist shooting this amazing morning sunshine illuminating striking cubist-looking slate crags. I saw them as huge landscape sculptures erupting from the dark grey slate waste all around.
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  • From my book Nant Gwrtheyrn - Y Swyngyfaredd (The Enchantment)<br />
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This book is available for purchase here on www.glyndavies.com
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  • A thousand + miles from anywhere, these volcanic islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean can create orographic rainclouds at any time of year. However, this plus the warmer climate gives rise to lush vegetaion and spectacular greenery and plant life. Flores means Flowers!
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  • It’s that time of year, and although I thoroughly dislike short days, darkness, rain and gloom, Autumn is also the season of warm water, warm gales, warm sunshine and incredible drama. If we could arrange to keep winter for just a month or so, I’d be very happy, but I’m trying to enjoy the most of the last vestiges of what was summer.
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  • Banks of cloud roll in from the Irish Sea and curl over the top of the Nantlle Ridge in Snowdonia, North Wales before evaporating again over the valley. Taken from the adjacent mountain, Mynydd Mawr.
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  • View from the upper slopes of Scafell Pike in the English Lake District. Brilliant sunshine turned to heavy cloud and heavy cloud turned to snow, before returning to heavy cloud but bitter winds once more. Small patches of light illuminated minute sections of this great Lakeland landscape, creating a fast moving theatrical stage of light and shadows
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  • In the darkest of times, needles of sunlight pierce blankets of blue winter, illuminating theatrical interplays on the earth below. Tiny little figures show the enormous scale of this mountainous stage,. You don't see these wondrous moments until they are floodlit by the universe above.
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  • Yr Elen looking magnificent and imposing in the winter vapours. In the summer it’s just an interesting bump preceding the bigger summit of Carnedd Llewelyn behind, but in these conditions it looked like a sunlit stairway to a snowy heaven. <br />
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Over the last few years I have consciously avoided the snow, and hated the idea of going into cold, knackering snow blanketed mountains, but this year I’ve thoroughly enjoyed safe ventures into the low foothills from where I can observe the big peaks. This looks positively alpine but I was only on a low hill, zooming in on the bigger peaks with my telephoto lenses. It was a sense of being a part of it all without facing any real danger. I think next winter, post pandemic, I will be grabbing a mountaineering buddy and heading into the bigger peaks, that’s for sure.
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  • From below, surrounded by hundreds of sledgers & skiers creating a cacophony of noisy laughs & screams, the summits were in swirling low cloud, never showing themselves. <br />
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As I trudged higher the snow became thicker and the chaos of the crowds diminished. I followed deep snowy footprints & drops of bright red blood from an injured dog, marking the route of previous ascensionists. The snow dumbs sounds; no birds sang, or sheep bleated. I could hear my own heart as the silence & snow deepened more. <br />
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I was surprised nevertheless by the numbers of small parties descending the hill, and I was troubled (as always) that I was being trailed by others, a super fit elderly couple with a tiny day sack, and a backpacking single guy. I stopped for a drink to let them pass and I watched them disappear into the thick fog. Finally, I was alone, and I laboured step by step in deep snow until I arrived at the summit. I could hear occasional walkers chatting in the whiteout, but none appeared alongside me. It was dark up there, and the strengthening wind chilled my fingers through my gloves. I sensed something was happening with the clouds though so persevered in my wait. For about ten minutes the sun made regular bursts through the low cloud, illuminating snow-crusted rock sculptures all around me. It transformed the scene completely & I felt less lonely somehow. <br />
<br />
The horizon darkened and I could see snow clouds approaching. It was getting colder and colder, so I called it a day and retraced my footsteps back down to cloud base. Sleet and then heavy rain pelted me about five minutes from the van. Dozens and dozens of soaked sledging families made a sad retreat off the slopes.  I was delighted with the ten or so images that I made on the summit. I think will make some beautiful prints for the gallery wall.
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  • A shattered landscape, blasted, gouged and ripped apart by mans material need, lies abstracted in the gorgeous warmth of evening sunlight, the quarrymen long gone. <br />
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Today a different form of quarry workers assault the slate faces, roped up, drilling, clipping, sweating and shouting to each other in the carved out quarry levels. <br />
<br />
The multitude of tough labourers who faced hardship and danger in this industrial landscape are now but echoes in the shadows and deep pits. From the faces of smooth slate in now abandoned quarries, come the sounds of excited chatter and exhilaration as modern day climbers fill the void that has been left.
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  • A mountain walker stops at a high point of a precipitous crag of Craig y Bera on Mynydd Mawr, to watch banks of cloud roll in from the Irish Sea and curl over the top of the Nantlle Ridge in Snowdonia, North Wales before evaporating again over the Nantlle valley.
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  • Fleeting patches of light caress the slopes of the ancient mountain of Cader Idris during squally winter weather. Clouds build and billow at speed above the peaks, in contrast to the dark shadows of the huge North facing cliffs.
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  • The huge & imposing massif of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) Wales' highest mountain. This was taken following a last minute decision to slog up Mynydd Mawr under inclement weather but it resulted in just the most fantastic hour of weather-watching from it's summit. I was utterly gripped by the continual theatrical change of light being played out across the Snowdonia hills. If it were not for my friend feeling frozen I would have braved another hour or so of just sitting and watching.
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  • The wonderful sunlight of the morning was gradually disappearing - once scudding cloud shadows now dark sheets across the landscape - the cold winds now seemed bitter. As the weather front moved closer, last beams of direct sunlight illuminated isolated hills and peaks created a theatrically sculpted topography. Moel Cynghorion feels the last warmth as Tryfan stands imposing in the backgrpound shadows.
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  • I’ve always been impressed by this distinctive dry stone wall that literally divides a mountain in half. It seems overkill for whatever purpose, and is an unmissable mad-made structure over this gorgeous, windswept rounded hillside.
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  • There’s a lot of truth in the suggestion that mountains can actually look far more majestic from below, than from the summits themselves. <br />
<br />
It was a beautiful day today on Anglesey, blue sky & sunshine - photographically a little boring even if the sunshine warmed my heart. At the end of day however the colours began to change and the mountain clouds started to disperse. It was a game of patience and hope, hope that the last of the sunshine would synchronise with the summit of Yr Wyddfa appearing through the clouds. I was delighted to make two exposures where the magic happened.
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  • In one giant brushstroke of glorious sunset, the Carneddau foothills were revealed as only a painter could imagine them.
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  • It was dreamlike, and I was alone in my dreams. The clouds rose and fell like waves on the ocean, one minute revealing the peaks the next shrouding them. A bitterly cold North Westerly blew the swirling vapours at speed across the slopes, chilling me noticeably at the same time. The scenes changed so quickly that it was hard to believe I was in the same place. I was in awe and utterly captivated by the sheer scale and drama of the situation and it was hard to leave the summit, until the sun went down that is, and the wind dropped and a freezing clammy air enveloped me.
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  • Beyond the illusory warmth of foreground moors, stood the frozen twin peaks of Arenig Fawr, briefly illuminated by moments of temperamental winter sunlight.<br />
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I was lured by the mountain’s wonderful structure and ancient beauty, but the buffeting gale was biting into my face so on this day at least, I was glad not to have been on the icy summits.
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  • Evening light spilled under the clouds to illuminate the incredible and imposing Hottentots-Holland mountain range (part of the Cape Fold Belt) East of Cape Town. These mountains reach 1590 m / 5200 ft at their highest point.
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  • Although I stood in brilliant sunshine on my mountain top, clouds billowed over the main Snowdonia peaks, set against an ominous dark sky. Sunlight punched through the swirling vapour illuminating patches of hillside and ocassionally the summits themselves
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  • Low cloud rolling in from the Irish Sea wraps around the summit of Mynydd Mawr and adjacent peaks of the Welsh mountains of Snowdonia at sunset. The top of a pine woodland can be seen on the hillside, separated from the background by  sheets of hill fog.
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  • Last day of Menai Strait regatta 2017. Beaumaris courses. These images were taken whilst being filmed for the new ITV Wales sries, 'The Strait' to be broadcast in Januray 2018.<br />
<br />
Slam Media / Cread Cyf production for ITV Wales 2017
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  • Shot from a mountain summit at sunset. At this time of year the sun blazes across the Menai Strait, the stretch of water that separates the Isle of Anglesey from the mainland. <br />
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The wind was bitterly cold even in July, but sheltered behind the summit cairn the sun did offer some warmth as I excitedly watched the rapidly changing light created by fast moving swirling clouds above me. <br />
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I remained on the summit until the sun dropped behind a huge bank of cloud on the horizon, and I walked down alone in the gathering dusk.
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  • The last embers of a burning sunset caught the gable ends of the hillside town of Groeslon on the hillside below the imposing Nantlle Ridge. The clouds were on fire, billowing and swirling, hiding and revealing the majestic hills behind. <br />
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And then within perhaps a minute, a huge fire blanket of cloud on the horizon suffocated the intense flames, and the colours were gone for the night.
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  • Shot whilst teaching my first 1-1 workshop in years. <br />
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“Out of the dark clouds that had been covering Snowdon’s summit all day, a small steam locomotive gently descends from the gloom into patches of bright afternoon sunlight. The chugging sound of the engine carried across the valley and continued even when the engine disappeared from sight down it’s 4 mile long track”
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  • Llyn Ogwen and Y Garn in a cold winter.
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  • Clean surf rolling in at Kynance Cove on the Lizard Peninsula, South Cornwall.
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  • Absolutely magical light this evening, cinematographic almost. I couldn’t get over the numbers of gulls and crows circling in the air above me. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) was teasing me tonight, almost revealing the peak before re-cloaking itself, but with colours like this it was breathtaking anyway.
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  • Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) - 1,085 m (3,560 ft), the highest mountain in Wales, and the highest point in the British Isles outside Scotland. With a café at it's summit, it's also the highest café in the UK. A railway takes some visitors to the summit.
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  • A surprisingly rocky, surprisingly ridgy, edgy walk around the Marchlyn Mawr reservoir which feeds the Dinorwic HEP station in Llanberis. The snow was everywhere but the weather was stunning, blue skies and bright crisp sunlight bouncing off brilliant clean white surface. In the distance huge snow clouds raced across the lowland island of Anglesey.
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  • Imposing and precipitous, dark towers of mountainside were temporarily bathed in gentle afternoon light, warming the cold ramparts and illuminating their weakness. We so need light these days.
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  • Summer 2020, week after week of dreary wet weather in North Wales, occasionally positivity injected with a day or so of sunshine. <br />
<br />
We sat on the front at Dinas Dinlle watching dozens of holiday makers desperately trying to make the most of their staycation in the gloom. As a grandfather near the shore and a young Dad near the top of the shingle beach vainly tried to make damp kites fly for their hopeful kids, a squall of heavy rain slowly moved across the mountains of Yr Eifl - curtains of rain softening the ancient hills of the Hammer Tribes behind.
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  • Huge clouds of spindrift were back-lit by the last moments of blazing sunshine before it was doused by blankets of black rain that built over Ynys Môn.<br />
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These were possibly the strongest winds I’ve ever battled against; so strong that I was knocked sideways twice by gale-force gusts. My face and camera were sandblasted by the stinging particles, and yet, I was equally blown-away and utterly invigorated by the power of it all.
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  • No this isn’t filtered, this was shot in torrential rain that was back-lit by intense evening sunshine setting over the Irish Sea. I’d been checking out the climbing routes in the Dinorwic Quarries, waiting for the sun to come out from banks of heavy cloud, when I noticed a glow on the crags behind me. I rounded the corner and the sky was on fire. A first few drops of rain dappled the slate slabs around me so I hurried to the edge of the levels and rapidly set up my camera before the heavens opened up on top of me. I grabbed perhaps 10 frames in total as the sheets of rain moved across the hillsides. I also saw and managed to grab a shot of a most glorious rainbow behind me.
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  • It was strange to be standing in sunshine one one side of the valley, looking towards the banks of fog rolling over the hillsides opposite. The bustling town of Llanberis looked so tiny below the crazy swirling weather above.
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  • A surprisingly rocky, surprisingly ridgy, edgy walk around the Marchlyn Mawr reservoir which feeds the Dinorwic HEP station in Llanberis. The snow was everywhere but the weather was stunning, blue skies and bright crisp sunlight bouncing off brilliant clean white surface. In the distance huge snow clouds raced across the lowland island of Anglesey.
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  • The summit of Snowdon peaks above a huge cloud bank and convection clouds building over Nant y Betws, Rhyd Ddu and the mountain of Mynydd Mawr.
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  • Banks of cloud roll in from the Irish Sea and curl over the top of the Nantlle Ridge in Snowdonia, North Wales, before evaporating again over the Nantlle valley at Drws y Coed. Taken from the a precipitous crag of Craig y Bera on the adjacent mountain of Mynydd Mawr.
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  • 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
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  • An early morning shoot from the hills of Yr Eifl on North Wales most Western tip, the Lleyn Peninisula. The clouds were stormy looking and threatening rain, but the sunlight between showers was crisp and beautiful and sculptural.
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  • Last day of Menai Strait regatta 2017. Beaumaris courses. These images were taken whilst being filmed for the new ITV Wales sries, 'The Strait' to be broadcast in Januray 2018.<br />
<br />
Slam Media / Cread Cyf production for ITV Wales 2017
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  • "She was in that state between deep sleep and first opening of the eyes. She was resting in a remote cove and the early morning sunlight spilled over the headland and across her figure. Even for a mermaid the warm sunshine is always welcome and she could feel its life giving energy as she stirred"
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  • I’ve never been in such vast landscapes as in South Africa. Every trip felt like a major journey and we seemed to always be touching the edge of wilderness. <br />
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Wildlife was abundant, especially birds, which all seemed to be on a mission, endless flights to endless destinations. <br />
<br />
We were camping right on a beach on a remote stretch of coast. There was no question that WE were the outsiders in nature’s home. Humans seemed insignificant in the vast space. The South Atlantic waves will continue to crash these shores for millennia, long after we’ve become dust.
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  • Although I stood in brilliant sunshine on my mountain top, clouds billowed over the main Snowdonia peaks, set against an ominous dark sky. Sunlight punched through the swirling vapour illuminating patches of hillside and ocassionally the summits themselves
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  • "She was confused. She’d fallen into a deep sleep in a remote cove but as the morning sun broke over the shadowy headland she realised she was now in the open and clearly visible.<br />
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When she saw me huddled against the nearby rocks hiding from the biting Northerly wind, she froze and then scowled at me. She hadn’t been exposed to a man before but I talked reassuringly to her, and she soon came to understand that I posed no threat.<br />
.<br />
For maybe twenty minutes she alternated between swimming around the pool and pulling herself up onto the boulders to talk with me. She seemed to enjoy conversation. She loved her newfound confidence in being open in front of a man and she didn’t shy away as I asked her questions. I studied her as she studied me and we had an understanding of the fascination in each other.<br />
.<br />
As waves started crashing in on the advancing tide, she swam to the far end of the pool. She studied me intently one last time and with a flick of her powerful tail she leapt the rock barrier into the ocean and she was gone. I knew though that as our paths had now crossed, this wouldn’t be our only encounter with each other, and I was right"
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  • Nominee in Nude / B&W Spider Awards 2017<br />
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She was confused. She’d fallen into a deep sleep in a remote cove but as the morning sun broke over the shadowy headland she realised she was now in the open and clearly visible. <br />
<br />
When she saw me huddled against the nearby rocks hiding from the biting Northerly wind, she froze and then scowled at me. She hadn’t been exposed to a man before but I talked reassuringly to her, and she soon came to understand that I posed no threat. <br />
<br />
For maybe twenty minutes she alternated between swimming around the pool and pulling herself up onto the boulders to talk with me. She seemed to enjoy conversation. She loved her newfound confidence in being open in front of a man and she didn’t shy away as I asked her questions. I studied her as she studied me and we had an understanding of the fascination in each other. <br />
  <br />
As waves started crashing in on the advancing tide, she swam to the far end of the pool. She studied me intently one last time and with a flick of her powerful tail she leapt the rock barrier into the ocean and she was gone.  I knew though that as our paths had now crossed, this wouldn’t be our only encounter with each other, and I was right.
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  • Last blast of evening sunlight over a stormy winter mountainscape in the Carneddau range, Snowdonia, Wales.  Spindrift blows off the ridge between Carnedd Dafydd and Carnedd Llewelyn.
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  • One minute the summit of Elidir Fawr was bathed in early Spring sunshine and the next the sky had darkened and freezing vapour engulfed us. However the rapidly swirling clouds formed the most beautiful shapes and the semi obscured sun created a backlit stage of theatrical movement as we drank hot coffee to keep warm.
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  • Glimpses of sunshine - patches of fast-moving light scudding across the striking ridges of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) and its foothills. First warm rays - an ultraviolet shower between snow-clad peaks. Perfect company and amongst this theatrical majesty, a young woman’s first illuminating and exhilarating ascent of a Welsh mountain
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  • SUN28 Shot Up North Awards winning entry (2016).<br />
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International Color Awards 2016 - Nominee in "Nature" category<br />
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The huge & imposing massif of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) Wales' highest mountain. This was taken following a last minute decision to slog up Mynydd Mawr under inclement weather but it resulted in just the most fantastic hour of weather-watching from it's summit. I was utterly gripped by the continual theatrical change of light being played out across the Snowdonia hills.
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  • Storm at Sennen Cove, West Penwith, Cornwall, where Atlantic waves broke over the small harbour wall on the South side of the wide bay. Cape Cornwall headland near St Just can be seen in the background.
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  • Newlyn harbour in winter. between heavy rain showers. The whole fishing fleet seemed to be in this still active Cornish fishing harbour. Penlee Lifeboat a Severn-class 17-36 "Ivan Ellen" (on station 2003) is moored alongside the pontoon.
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  • If I knew I was dying, this would be an ideal place to go. On a grassy terrace high above the beach, looking South West over the Irish Sea, it brought back memories from so many places I’ve lived and visited, from Cornwall to the Azores, Scotland to the Canaries. The huge cliffs, steep drops and open expanse of the ocean would be a fitting place to finally close my eyes for the last time. I can only hope the poor sheep took similar uplifting thoughts with her!<br />
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A sheep skeleton lying on grass in bright afternoon Winter sunshine and rain showers over the Irish Sea and a rocky hillside on the hill top  above Nant Gwrtheyrn valley on the Northern Coast of the Llyn Peninsula, North Wales<br />
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From my book Nant Gwrtheyrn - Y Swyngyfaredd (The Enchantment)<br />
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This book is available for purchase here on www.glyndavies.com
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  • After more than an hour on the freezing summit, I slowly made my way down in deep snow, each leg sinking in to thigh level! I crouched in the snow whilst bitter winds ripped my face, waiting for a promised light to change the whole character of the atmosphere surrounding Wales highest mountain. I never quite saw the summit itself but the light did produce a beauty that was awe-inspiring
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  • Gentle snow-covered hillsides in evening light, criss-crossed by the tracks of keen local walkers so familiar with the routes even in deep snow. What I've always been awed by, is the way white snow reflects all the magical colours of an ever-changing sky. It's as if there's no such thing as white snow, only white light. It's the only time the earth ever really truly blends with the element above.
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  • Shot from the summit of Gyrn towards a phenomenal sunset over the Llyn Peninsula. The high hills to our left never really received much light so remained a cold grey blue all afternoon. Today I was alone again, and happy. A group of mountaineering students looked as if they would head for this summit but then they turned and headed into invisibility. The wind was severe and bitterly cold but it was worth being on the hill tops for light such as this.
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  • On every horizon, there was walled-cloud, kept low by a huge temperature inversion and yet, from here on the slopes of Garnedd Elidir there was good clarity. One solitary cloud gradually appeared over western Ynys Môn but almost as soon it formed it started to spread southward to join a sea of cloud over the Nantlle Ridge. I was alone on the hill and there was such wonderful silence.
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  • Normally connected to everything, inseparable, a huge cloud inversion temporarily individualises the mountain peaks. They become more like islands distanced by a sea of vapour below. The mountains are suddenly like me, floating in an interspace between the earth and the universe, slightly unreal and utterly magical
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  • Unbelievably beautiful shapes, colours and textures in a cliff of slate in the Llanberis slate quarries. It was more reminiscent of an oil painting than a disused quarry face.
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  • Delicate last washes of evening sunshine bathed the West facing mountain landscape. The Marchlyn lake glowed blue against the grass-covered man-made dam. Even though the air was cold, the weak sunshine offered warmth when I sheltered from the wind. I was instantly attracted to these amazing geometric faces of rock in the foreground, perfectly shattered by nature.
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  • It was strange to be standing in sunshine one one side of the valley, looking towards the banks of fog rolling over the hillsides opposite.
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  • An incredibly gale blasted early morning hike into the Welsh hills. I was literally blown over twice and the tripod was next to useless for photography. The light conditions and cloud effects were not what I’d hoped for but it was strangely beautiful in it’s super-bright blanket of haze, softening the distant hills and making Tryfan stand out in a way I couldn’t have imagined. Nevertheless the quality of light diminished with every passing minute, so I was happy to race back down the mountain to meet up with friends to go rock-climbing on Tryfan Bach!
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  • At this rocky point lay dozens of sleepy seals, young and old, enjoying the evening sunlight and soaking up the warm rays. The fish are bountiful here and I watched two of the seals play with fish before devouring them. This pup was so chilled that I was within a few feet of him before he even raised an eyebrow. I’d loved to have seen the Southern Right Whales this bay is famous for, but sadly we were there in the wrong season.
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  • Banks of cloud roll in from the Irish Sea at sunset, and curl over the top of the Nantlle Ridge in Snowdonia and over Rhyd Ddu and the lakes of Llyn y Dywarchen and Llyn y Gader, Snowdonia, North Wales. Taken from a lower ridge of Mynydd Mawr
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  • Rapidly developing and blowing clouds create a mountain illusion, as they obscure the spatial reality, that the summit we see is Elidir Fawr, but the base which is actually the lower peaks of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon), separated by the Llanberis Pass
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  • An early morning shoot from the hills of Yr Eifl on North Wales most Western tip, the Lleyn Peninisula. The clouds were stormy looking and threatening rain, but the sunlight between showers was crisp and beautiful and sculptural.
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  • Evening light spilled under the clouds to illuminate the incredible and imposing Hottentots-Holland mountain range (part of the Cape Fold Belt) East of Cape Town. These mountains reach 1590 m / 5200 ft at their highest point.
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