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  • On these exposed Welsh hillsides once existed a large granite quarry, blasting rock form various levels to ship to Liverpool. Nowadays the quarry is long gone, the hills are quiet, but amongst the long lush grassy hillsides you come across hundreds of old remains of the industry which once existed here, providing employment and indeed a community for the quarrymen and their families.
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  • It is said that the distinctive breast-shaped hillside of Mynydd Carnguwch is sometimes aptly referred to as Bron y Ferch (The Girl’s Breast). It was over these hillsides, years ago, that men from the village would have had to walk for many miles to fetch supplies from the nearest towns, bringing everything back by hand.
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  • Farmland over gently rolling green hillsides on the Llyn Peninsula, North Wales, as seen from Tre'r Ceiri and Yr Eifl.
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  • Glimpses of sunshine across successive hillsides in the heart of Snowdonia.
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  • Featureless mountain-tops led down to isolated 'findings' before shrubs, trees and man-made forms started dominating the landscape once more. A mist had built in the late afternoon and was backlit by warm evening sunshine. The rows of tall trees arranged across the rolling hillsides made the landscape look more Tuscan than Welsh
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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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  • On the lane from one bay to another, as I skimmed across the hill tops, a flood of intense sunshine swept the landscape, backlighting fields, trees and hillsides. The intensity of the green was rich and vivid, like the old days of shooting wonderful but innacurate film like Fuji Velvia - but this was real!
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • The weather was building over the hills and a strong breeze pushed the cloud shadows over the hillsides at a striking speed. Gradually the scene became darker but isolated patches of intense sunlight splashed the landscape for just a few moments at a time in this quiet Welsh valley.
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. I stood for a few minutes, now completely alone, and then the light intensified and the whole landscape was bathed in the most glorious colours. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) appeared after two hours of waiting, so I trudged back up through thick snow to the summit of my own little hill and became quite ecstatic about everything that was happening. I was smiling from ear to ear, not even knowing where to look as it was all so beautiful, and then tears started rolling down my cheeks and I began to cry! I believe it was both the spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. I stood for a few minutes, now completely alone, and then the light intensified and the whole landscape was bathed in the most glorious colours. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) appeared after two hours of waiting, so I trudged back up through thick snow to the summit of my own little hill and became quite ecstatic about everything that was happening. I was smiling from ear to ear, not even knowing where to look as it was all so beautiful, and then tears started rolling down my cheeks and I began to cry! I believe it was both the spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • I was the last on the hill, and the sun disappeared behind a huge bank of cloud, dulling the light completely. I watched a snowboarder carve his way down the soft snowy hillside away from me, quietly feeling the isolation, when a gentle hint of colour appeared over Snowdon. I stood for a few minutes, now completely alone, and then the light intensified and the whole landscape was bathed in the most glorious colours. The summit of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) appeared after two hours of waiting, so I trudged back up through thick snow to the summit of my own little hill and became quite ecstatic about everything that was happening. I was smiling from ear to ear, not even knowing where to look as it was all so beautiful, and then tears started rolling down my cheeks and I began to cry! I believe it was both the spiritual and mental joy of the situation but also an intense feeling of peace and freedom that many of us deeply crave to keep our sanity.
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  • In the approaching dark of heavy rain clouds and a biting cold wind, the beautiful and enticing ridge-walk from Pen yr Helgi Du received an unexpected burst of sunlight along its length.<br />
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We debated all the way to its steep northern ascent, but then the heavens opened and we realised we had been very wise to ignore the siren’s call as we headed down to the dark lake in torrential, skin-soaking rain. Even the Gore-Tex rainwear failed in these conditions and we still only just made the van before complete darkness.<br />
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What has always struck me when looking at this photograph, is just how skin-like the hillside appears, like the hide of a huge animal. When you think of just how thin the ‘living surface’ above mountains of solid rock actually is then, effectively, it is just a ‘skin’ which will be affected by the weather and which will change appearance and colour constantly over time.
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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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  • Before another traumatic Welsh lockdown, we decided last minute on an afternoon walk up to Penygadair.
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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 />
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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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  • 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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  • 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 />
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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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  • Warm perspiration chilled rapidly as low cloud over the summit of Moel Eilio obscured the evening sun. A gentle breeze forced cold vapour around our necks and up our sleeves. Occasionally we could see brilliant sunshine bouncing off the West coast of Anglesey but up here we were being kept from revelling in the beauty.<br />
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Nevertheless the two of us drank hot coffee and ate chocolate biscuits, just sitting close to each other and loving the surreal magic of the conditions and our joint solitude up here on the mountain top.
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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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  • 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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  • This is the upper lake just below the summit of Elidir Fawr, which is streamed into huge pipes which feed the 4 turbines in the power station 500 meters below. The water is pumped back up at night when demand is low and pumping costs are least.
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  • It's only a short matter of time before these sheep will be standing in wet dark earth, scrabbling for nourishment in winter winds and gales, but for the moment at least, in the warmth of a late Autumn sun, with rich grass under hoof, a laziness pervades the air, a false solace before starkness takes over.
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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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  • Sheltering from the howling gale I found myself fascinated by the snake-like vein in my rock windbreak. When there's not a soul about and the landscape feels empty, I find myself looking more intently at the things closer to me, rather than the bigger views. I've never rationalised why I do this, but I think there's a sense being 'shared' with the immediate environment, that for a brief time when you are there, the features are like those of companions. I honestly talk to inanimate objects sometimes, as if I know them and appreciate them for simply being there, showing themselves to me. <br />
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This isn't just pandemic madness, I've always done this! The landscape often speaks to me, as I do to it.
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  • Garnedd Elidir & the Carneddau<br />
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Watching an Attenborough documentary as I write this, and it's clear that the damage we cause is everywhere and it's increasing. It's so much easier to focus on the beauty, to pretend everything is OK, but we are such a destructive, consuming species. <br />
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I was thinking too, about the mental damage going on through lockdown, in so many ways, but for many, through wrongly being denied access to nature and what healing power it has left to give us. So many of us have chosen to live a much more economically challenged life to be closer to nature and landscape, for me at least because being out in nature is the only true means of me maintaining spiritual and mental balance. The governments say they are doing this to keep people safe, but the mental damage they are causing is considerable and very real. I don't think there has been much wisdom or foresight applied by those in suits, to how to keep people safe mentally without any undue risks to health in other ways. This damage is real for me, and will last my lifetime. There was zero need to ban so many sensible and regular outdoor folk from doing their covid safe activities, it was easier for ministers to make blanket rules but to the detriment of many people's well-being.
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  • Just the momentary interplay of light and shadow when a huge hole appears in the middle distance. With the impressive surge pool in the bottom left of this image, it's an illusion of one-upmanship in this stunning wintry mountainscape.
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  • Yr Wyddfa is Wales' highest mountain. I didn't think I'd see the summit at all today as it continued to hide behind higher cloud,  but the moment I started to descend my own hill Yr Wyddfa decided to completely reveal it's magnificence. Never been happy about buildings for the masses on her peak but in this late evening light it did offer a sense of scale and man's tenacity.
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  • Normally I avoid taking pictures of the mountains when they only have light patchy snow, as I always think it looks 'messy' but this evening, in the last of the sunlight before dusk, there was something subtly beautiful about it all, so I relented and made an image before a very muddy, squelchy, flooded walk home.
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  • Farm and lane within rolling farmland and fields of sheep on the Llyn (Lleyn) Peninsula at this most Westerly tip of North Wales.
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  • View from the summit of Garn Ganol (Yr Eifl) the highest point on the Llyn Peninsula, looking across the rural farmland through low lying clouds and hill fog  in showery weather
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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 />
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Heavy mist surrounds Yr Aran, one of the smaller peaks of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon), as seen from the Nant Gwynant Valley, Northern Snowdonia.
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  • I was in the shadows of Foel Goch and Moel Cynghorion, with the sun setting behind me. I had put my camera away for the day but suddenly the clouds cleared to reveal a beautiful scene. <br />
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I scrabbled in the rucksack to fetch the Fuji before the scene changed. I balanced my camera on a dry-stone wall to capture the near-full moon in a deep blue sky, high above the rolling foothills of Snowdon that were still bathed in warm sunshine.
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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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  • Farm and lane within rolling farmland and fields of sheep on the Llyn Peninsula at this most Westerly tip of North Wales.
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  • Farm and lane within rolling farmland and fields of sheep on the Llyn Peninsula at this most Westerly tip of North Wales.
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • Summer 2020, week after week of dreary wet weather in North Wales, occasionally positivity injected with a day or so of sunshine. <br />
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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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  • 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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  • View south over the misty Carneddau mountains and Mynydd Du, over to Elidir Fawr and finally the pointed summit of Snowdon in the far distance.
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  • As the clouds played in the sky, patches of sunlight scuttled across the windblown landscape, but the summit of Yr Eifl remained dark and cold-looking throughout.
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  • Freezing cold conditions in a a strong winter breeze, but the light changed as rapidly as the cloud conditions. As the day drew to an end, the light became even more subtly beautiful. I spent an hour and half waiting in these bitter conditions for the light to evolve, and it was worth the cold.
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  • An historical slate mill and an old sheep farm in mist, backlit by evening sunsine here at Cwm Ystradllyn, Snowdonia, North Wales
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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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  • Had no idea that a huge sea of cloud would be building as I summited Garnedd Elidir, but it was such an incredible surprise benefit of this last minute evening walk into the hills. <br />
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Though Yr Wyddfa was packed with 1000s of visitors ever day this week, I was completely alone on my summit and was therefore able to let my mind float at cloud height with all this sumptuous vapour. It’s precious enough being alone on the hill tops, but being presented with such spectacular weather phenomenon is such a heightened privilege. <br />
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Strangely, as I left my perch and headed down the scree slopes, the inversion faded, as if it was purely there for me, at a time when I needed it.
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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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  • 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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  • 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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  • The massif of Snowdon tries to hold back an enormous fog bank from the Irish Sea, but clouds and fog spilled over nevertheless. Through short breaks in the fog, brilliant sunlight blasted the quarries on the mountainside opposite, separating and dividing the landscape into multiple layers of tone, colour and shadow. In a manmade industrial landscape like this, the whole scene looked more like something from a Hollywood film set.
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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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  • A long shot of Moel Wnion after sunset, taken from Anglesey. I’ve always been fascinated by the wonderful rounded profile of this mountain, and in this soft, subdued colourful light, the scene looked like a geometric painting.
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  • One end of the famous Nantlle Ridge walk starting with Y Garn (highest central peak) before moving to the right and Trum y Ddysgl. The peaks in the distant left, lead to a highest peak of Moel Hebog, Snowdonia
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  • View south over the misty Carneddau mountains and Mynydd Du, over to Elidir Fawr and finally the pointed summit of Snowdon in the far distance.
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  • When viewed from a distance, in this case from the quarries of Carreg y Llam, the village of Y Nant sits quite high above the beach on a raised terrace which is actually the valley floor. Despite my comments about ‘A Valley Exposed’, this raised terrace offers relative safety from powerful winter seas and can afford reasonable shelter from cold north-easterly winds. In the sun, this valley can also be remarkably warm.
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  • Isn’t the planet just magnificent! From mountains of sand to mountains of rock, Earth’s natural processes are just incredible, and what they create are beautiful.
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  • Even though the light had almost disappeared, well certainly gone flat, I was amused by the sheep and their reflections in the still lake water, little woolly stars :-)
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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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  • The first day of the new year, the first day of the new decade! After a lazy start, relaxing in bed, drinking fresh coffee whilst sunshine poured through the window, we decided to make the most of the beautiful conditions and get a walk in. <br />
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We drove to the Great Orme to maximise exposure to the New Year’s sunshine and scrambled up through the limestone buttresses to reach the summit. The views back across to Snowdonia were stunning, the huge mountains just stopped at the sea and looked more reminiscent of some Greek islands than the Welsh coast. The sea was so calm and the tiny yacht making its way out of the Conwy estuary helped to describe just how huge and magnificent everything looked. <br />
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In terms of climate disaster and self-interested politics worldwide we are in such frightening times, but today’s conditions at the start of the new decade, infused us both with a small dose of happiness and positivity that I hope to God we can still find more of over the next few years.
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  • What a fabulous example of a Brocken Spectre this evening, beamed onto the gorgeously curved foothills of Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) - I thought I was totally alone on the mountain but clearly I was not :-)
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  • Years ago, the Iron Age settlers at nearby Tre’r Ceiri enclosed a hill top, using stone walls for their huts and livestock pens. Some 2,000 years later, farmers are still building walls across windswept, wild areas to retain their livestock. In so many ways we have advanced by leaps and bounds, but the basic requirements for farming and the rearing of domesticated animals persist regardless.
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  • Isn’t the planet just magnificent! From mountains of sand to mountains of rock, Earth’s natural processes are just incredible, and what they create are beautiful.
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  • The massif of Snowdon tries to hold back an enormous fog bank from the Irish Sea, but clouds and fog spilled over nevertheless. Through short breaks in the fog, brilliant sunlight blasted the quarries on the mountainside opposite, separating and dividing the landscape into multiple layers of tone, colour and shadow. In a manmade industrial landscape like this, the whole scene looked more like something from a Hollywood film set.
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  • Snowy hillsides of the beautiful Eldir Fach mountain in Snowdonia. Just beyond this hillside lies the Marchlyn Mawr HEP reservoir serving the power station below.
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  • Dramatic large cumulonimbus clouds increased over lush rolling hillsides and farmland, whilst the ancient stepping stones navigate the walker across the wide gap of the Afon Braint River near Newborough on West Anglesey. The hills of Snowdonia can just be seen in the distance,
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  • Dramatic large cumulonimbus clouds increased over lush rolling hillsides and farmland, whilst the ancient stepping stones navigate the walker across the wide gap of the Afon Braint River near Newborough on West Anglesey. The hills of Snowdonia canbe seen in the distance, and on the wall straight ahead sits a cock pheasant, creating an almost perfect traditional British countryside scene.
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  • On a hillside stinking of goats, and the sound of their bells clinking amidst the clucking of penned hens, we came across this large olive tree, before the hillside dropped to the sea...I was fascinated by the way some olive trees seem to exist quite apart from others. They grow large and strong but are still lonely. I haven't rationalised WHY but this tree became a metaphor for many issues in my life at the moment,not the least being solidity and security of life on the land, whilst endlessly staring at the escape and distance of the ocean. The two are important to me and this tree symbolises being torn between them...Apart from that, it just felt SO Greek :-)
    GD000845.jpg
  • 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.
    GD001829.jpg
  • Unlike Ty Uchaf, the farm below, these quarry buildings high up on the hillside are filled with lush grass and are open to the skies. Although ruins, they seem clean and tidy, and their views are stunning and expansive. However, these buildings mark what was obviously a busy quarry level, with a steep railway incline and winch tower just to the east of these units.
    GD000793.jpg
  • A small flock of sheep huddle together for warmth in winter in the exposed Nant Ogwen Valley in the heart of the Snowdonia mountains.  The impressive triangular dark mountain on the left is Tryfan, one of Snowdonia's most spectatcular but dangerous peaks.
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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.
    GD001826.jpg
  • 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.
    GD001822.jpg
  • Slopes of the Carneddau mountains in Snowdonia, Wales, in winter, covered in snow, ice, sunlight and shadows from clouds above.
    GD000891.jpg
  • These rolling foothills form part of the Snowdon Massif but each have their own names, and are affectionately known collectively, as the 'roller coaster' by local hill walkers.
    GD001589.jpg
  • 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.
    GD001823.jpg
  • A face screams from the side of Carnedd Dafydd as sunlight creeps over the top of a higher col. This high mountain river here in Cwm Llachar runs down to the town of Bethesda before exiting at the Menai Strait near Bangor.
    GD000823.jpg
  • Llyn Ogwen and Y Garn in a cold winter.
    GD000577.jpg
  • 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
    GD001828.jpg
  • Tryfan and Llyn Ogwen in late afternoon light. Far more straight forward than many of my other images but in it's own way has a particular quality of light, and richness of terrain, which I nevertheless quite enjoy. I may remove this image anyway soon !
    GD000933.jpg
  • These rolling foothills form part of the Snowdon Massif but each have their own names, and are affectionately known collectively, as the 'roller coaster' by local hill walkers.
    GD001587.jpg
  • A snow covered glaciated Nant Ffrancon Pass, in Snowdonia, North Wales. The slope in the background forms the base of the mountain of Y Garn.
    GD000867.jpg
  • Huge slabs of rock just underneath the grass and peat inclined steeply. A fast flowing stream cuts down into the joint as it tumbles down towards the wide glaciated Ogwen in the distance. Heavy rain clouds hang over some of Snowdonia's highest peaks.
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