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  • This path paved with large slabs and stones has usually been referred to as the Roman Steps, but more recently it is believed this impressive path cutting a route through the often silent Rhinoggau Mountains is actually more likely a drovers path. You feel you are stepping in history regardless.
    GD001236.jpg
  • A beautiful and tumbling waterfall on the lower stretch of the Afon Llan, alongside the Watkin Path up Snowdon. The river forms deep pools in the smooth eroded rock, and the clarity is just incredible. The lush wide valley of Nant Gwynant can be seen in the distance.
    GD001378.jpg
  • After a bitterly cold but sunlit 8.5 mile landscape topography walk, during which we experienced sunburn and snow flurries at the same time, it was a welcome sight to see the gleaming white path leading from the ancient 300ft waterfall of Malham Cove, through the rolling green farmland back into Malham village, where we’d left the van.
    GD002029.jpg
  • SNIP from Blog: "Then something happened. The light changed. I noticed a hint of sunshine in the far distance over the Great Orme at Llandudno. I sprinted down from the light and from thinking the day was over, I was becoming excited again. On my way back to the beach, I realised that half the island was in fact black, gorse-burnt swathes of grassland. Amongst the smoky dark cinder-land were veins of pale sandy tracks connecting main footpaths. They looked wonderful in contrast, small defined limbs amongst the ravaged land."
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  • Official and hard-wearing footpaths are needed on Wales' highest mountain, Snowdon, simply due to the vast numbers of walkers aiming for it's summit. Nevertheless the hillsides and surrounding peaks are always fantastic, despite the crowds.
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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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  • Winner - Honourable Mention in 10th (2017) International Colour Awards (Nature category) <br />
<br />
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.
    GD001347.jpg
  • The iconic and craggy peak of Tryfan, a hill walkers' mecca in the heart of Snowdonia, peaks it's irregular summit in the far distance, but to the right, deceptively looking even higher, is the huge rounded and open peak of Glyder Fawr. <br />
<br />
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.
    GD001342.jpg
  • 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.
    GD002012.jpg
  • 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.
    GD001344.jpg
  • SUN28 Shot Up North Awards winning entry (2016).<br />
<br />
International Color Awards 2016 - Nominee in "Nature" category<br />
<br />
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.
    GD001348.jpg
  • Sunset over Bwlch Mawr on the Llyn Peninsula Trail - A beautifully soft and rounded mountain landscape, grass covered and sensuous. Amidst this gentlying blowing softness, hard man made walls graphically divide the landscape.
    GD001923.jpg
  • Huge volcanic crater landscapes below the summt of Teneriffe's highest mountain, Mount Teidi. Scant plant life exists at this height which appears more like an arid desert landscape. The air is thinner here and is quite noticeable near the summit.
    GD001857.jpg
  • 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.
    GD001346.jpg
  • Nominated for 11th International B&W Spider Awards<br />
<br />
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.
    GD001345.jpg
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  • The sunlight was intense, an all encompassing blanket of dry heat, but here in the bushes a gentle breeze rustled the foliage of wispy trees, creating a coolness in the shade. I was warned about this place, and that I needed to tread carefully to avoid all manner of crawling insects and venomous creatures that thrive in this secluded habitat. Every leaf and even the dead twigs on the ground could all be a hiding place for them.<br />
<br />
So as I beat my way along the overgrown path I was taken-aback by what I stumbled across, lying curled up in a patch of sunlight, pale, delicate skin pressed close against the rough ground and sharp leaf litter. There was no obvious movement, just a slight flex of the muscles upon feeling the vibration of my footsteps. I didn’t know how to proceed as I certainly didn’t want to create any disturbance, and I had no idea what the response would be if woken, so I decided to back-track and find a new way around. I became acutely aware that I really did need to watch every step I took in this African scrubland, as you never know what surprises are at each turn. <br />
<br />
From Glyn Davies’s ongoing book and exhibition project Landscape Figures
    Step Carefully on the Path
  • Pilgrim's Way Llyn Trail, Iron Age route - A Life path for centuries. <br />
<br />
The largest iron age settlement / fortress in Britain, Tre'r Ceiri covers the top of a high Welsh mountain, so high that clouds often pass lower than the summit as here. The highest peak on this peninsula hides behind the mist in the background.
    GD000976.jpg
  • This became a mad and wild shoot. As I stood, transfixed by the comfort of this pastoral scene, I became aware of bees rushing past my head, along the line of the path. Next minute a huge bee was stuck in my hair and was obviously getting quite annoyed as it's hum got loader and louder! I tried flicking it out but finally had to run to my partner nearby to get her to flick it out. When I finally thought I was going to be stung it suddenly disappeared and everything went quiet again. The gorgeous beauty of the scene in the warmth of the sun on my day off, hid the fact that nature was actually still at work!
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  • I was totally surprised. I rarely visit this beautiful location any more due to the sheer numbers of people heading there to photograph it 24 hours a day. <br />
<br />
With the thick fog of the morning, and it being a bank holiday I had little hope of grabbing a snap without a dozen others there already, but apart from the hamlet of camper vans parked there overnight, there was literally no one near the lighthouse. The early morning start this time had paid off. <br />
<br />
There were moments when I couldn’t see the lighthouse at all, and others when there was temporary clarity, but the pale limestone path formed a wonderful curving connection through the weight of the fog to the lighthouse itself. <br />
<br />
I hand-held all my shots here and escaped before the crowds appeared. I felt for a few brief moments that it was my place once again.
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  • A crystal clear, calm lake, Llyn Cwm Bychan,  sits beneath the Rhinogydd hills, from where the Roman Steps lead up over a col, and down into the valleys beyond. It is thought however that the 'Roman' steps may be more of a Drover's Path than Roman thoroughfare?
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  • The rocks upon which the Skerries Lighthouse stands are at the end of a low tract of submerged land North-East of Holyhead which lies directly in the path of many of the major shipping lines from Liverpool and Ireland. The lighthouse gives a guide to passing shipping and a warning of the dangerous rocks.; The light was first kindled on 4th November 1717. The original coal-burning grate which surmounted the tower was replaced in 1804 by an oil lamp; and was subsequently converted to electric operation in 1927. The lighthouse was converted to automatic operation and demanned in 1987
    GD001323.jpg
  • The rocks upon which the Skerries Lighthouse stands are at the end of a low tract of submerged land North-East of Holyhead which lies directly in the path of many of the major shipping lines from Liverpool and Ireland. The lighthouse gives a guide to passing shipping and a warning of the dangerous rocks.; The light was first kindled on 4th November 1717. The original coal-burning grate which surmounted the tower was replaced in 1804 by an oil lamp; and was subsequently converted to electric operation in 1927. The lighthouse was converted to automatic operation and demanned in 1987
    GD000465.jpg
  • I was totally surprised. I rarely visit this beautiful location any more due to the sheer numbers of people heading there to photograph it 24 hours a day. <br />
<br />
With the thick fog of the morning, and it being a bank holiday I had little hope of grabbing a snap without a dozen others there already, but apart from the hamlet of camper vans parked there overnight, there was literally no one near the lighthouse. The early morning start this time had paid off. <br />
<br />
There were moments when I couldn’t see the lighthouse at all, and others when there was temporary clarity, but the pale limestone path formed a wonderful curving connection through the weight of the fog to the lighthouse itself. <br />
<br />
I hand-held all my shots here and escaped before the crowds appeared. I felt for a few brief moments that it was my place once again.
    GD002301.jpg
  • I have always been fascinated by huge stretches of beach, open to the full force of the ocean and prevailing winds, that sense of escape, the distant horizon, the idea of travel and voyage, and also being at the edge of two worlds, the one we survive on and the one we are simply not designed to be in, the sea! The board-walks that sometimes spring up on these beaches have always intrigued me, that facilitation to freedom, the path to stand on the edge of the unknown. I love the way that winter storms often shift beaches and wash away our puny efforts, but I also like the empathy about the need to be on the edge, which for some can only happen through the use of these devices. The hole which has appeared in these huge timbers speaks about this process.
    GD001316.jpg
  • I've never seen so much Honeysuckle in Cornwall as on this trip. The cliff-tops were lush this year, and the pathways were adorned with the most beautiful clumps of this intricate, colourful and heavily scented plant. On this dark and dreary day, the perfume and hues in many ways lightened the mood of the day. I shot this particular plant as I loved the contrast between the soft beauty of the Honeysuckle and the sharp, edgy, ripping trip wires of the brambles..
    GD001261.jpg
  • The rocks upon which the Skerries Lighthouse stands are at the end of a low tract of submerged land North-East of Holyhead which lies directly in the path of many of the major shipping lines from Liverpool and Ireland. The lighthouse gives a guide to passing shipping and a warning of the dangerous rocks.; The light was first kindled on 4th November 1717. The original coal-burning grate which surmounted the tower was replaced in 1804 by an oil lamp; and was subsequently converted to electric operation in 1927. The lighthouse was converted to automatic operation and demanned in 1987
    GD001687.jpg
  • As has often been of late, huge banks of mist were rolling in across the foothills, and I didn’t hold out much hope of any light at all by the time I got to the beach, half an hour away. <br />
<br />
As I strode briskly past the edge of the forest, a red glow was apparent beyond the dunes, so my hopes improved. I dropped down a narrow sandy path and onto the pebbles at the back of the beach, where the most beautiful sunset could be seen reflecting in the waters of the wide bay, The thick mist meant the whole sun-ball was clear and easy to see, and made for a simple, gorgeous cliché - but I couldn’t resist. This isn’t art, it’s just nature’s natural beauty.
    GD002513.jpg
  • Surprisingly, with the beautiful Telford’s Suspension Bridge carrying dozens of morning commuters’ vehicles ever minute, there was a peaceful serenity down here at the waters edge. I stood on the gritty shoreline and watched as the calm water silently rose up my boots towards my ankles, visible, discernible a creeping cleansing of everything in its path. <br />
<br />
Oystercatchers called from a nearby drowning mud flat after being disturbed from their slumber in the warm morning sunshine.  I could hear the sound of the tide as it surged past the huge arches stood steadfast in the Menai Strait. <br />
<br />
Intermittent puffs of smoke rose from the old waterside cottage, its timber panels faintly creaking as they warmed.  No one appeared at the windows and no one could be seen walking the bridge and even the dog walkers of the Belgian Prom seemed absent. There was a sense of tranquillity in this normally busy spot.<br />
Oystercatchers called from a nearby drowning mud flat after being disturbed from their slumber in the warm morning sunshine.  I could hear the sound of the tide as it surged past the huge arches stood steadfast in the Menai Strait. <br />
<br />
Intermittent puffs of smoke rose from the old waterside cottage, its timber panels faintly creaking as they warmed.  No one appeared at the windows and no one could be seen walking the bridge and even the dog walkers of the Belgian Prom seemed absent. There was a sense of tranquillity in this normally busy spot.
    GD002146.jpg
  • The return path, across farmer's fields bursting with summer crops, almost forgotten tracks tread their way through the middle, kept defined by locals and hardy ramblers. The bright daisies desperately created a hint of summer amongst the blowing damp wheat. The dark farm awaits the sunshine and shared our need.
    GD001267.jpg
  • The rocks upon which the Skerries Lighthouse stands are at the end of a low tract of submerged land North-East of Holyhead which lies directly in the path of many of the major shipping lines from Liverpool and Ireland. The lighthouse gives a guide to passing shipping and a warning of the dangerous rocks.; The light was first kindled on 4th November 1717. The original coal-burning grate which surmounted the tower was replaced in 1804 by an oil lamp; and was subsequently converted to electric operation in 1927. The lighthouse was converted to automatic operation and demanned in 1987
    GD001582.jpg
  • The rain was relentless, falling in vast sheets across the sombre Welsh hillsides, soaking the landscape and everything upon it. I’d just descended from the gale-blown summits where I’d not seen a soul, but I was more than happy in my wet solitude. I could hear a hidden river tumbling through dark rocks in the valley below.<br />
<br />
The wind drove the rain through the back of my waterproofs as I trudged down the tiny path back to habitation. It was near silent, no calls of birds or bleating of sheep, just the drumming of the downpour on my hood. <br />
<br />
I loved it all. Amidst these huge Welsh mountains that one-minute seemed imposing and soft like a watercolour the next, I felt alive in this huge valley, a tiny, isolated figure moving through an ancient glaciated landscape. These are times and conditions when you feel humbled by the elements and connected to the earth.
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  • A hang glider flies past overhead, below vapour trails across a blue sky. A white chimney, characteristic of this part of the Algarve points skywards.
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  • This image is available in 4 print sizes rangng from the smallest  A4 to the largest A1. All printed using pigment inks on archival cotton rag paper.<br />
<br />
Signed but unlimited<br />
<br />
A4 image = 9x6" on A4<br />
A3 image = 15x10" on A3<br />
<br />
Signed AND Limited Editions<br />
RING FOR DETAILS<br />
<br />
A2 image = 21x14" on A2<br />
A1 image = 28.5x19" on A1
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  • I sometimes find myself in dark places and it’s easy to close your eyes to shut it all out, but from out of nowhere I usually become aware of the gentlest glow of light. The delicate light is normally enough to see how to move forward. Once I’ve found the path everything seems brighter and the ominous clouds gradually move back to the horizon.<br />
<br />
The large limestone stepping stones of Rhydd Gaer (The Blood Fort) , cross the Afon Braint River south of the village of Dwyran on Anglesey. The river itself leads to the Braint Estuary where it joins the Menai Strait and Caernarfon Bay. There is little agreed information about the history of these historical stones
    GD000818.jpg
  • Nominee in Nude / B&W Spider Awards 2017<br />
<br />
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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  • I've always loved Lamorna, the cove at the mouth of a huge tangled and lush green valley. In these woods I've stumbled across modern Pagan symbols and charms, I've been spooked by the numerous ghost stories and I'm convinced the woods are watching you. Surrounded by some of Cornwall's most famous burial mounds, standing stones, ancient settlements and Celtic crosses, it's not difficult to understand why us modern invaders are still being checked out by our ancestors. In contrast to the earthy Pagan charms, small paths sometimes lead to the most exclusive hidden cottages in Penwith, and ones I certainly will never ever be able to afford. In this shot, we have a metaphorical as well as literal choice of paths to take, and in this ancient, quiet and dripping woodland, we will find very different destinations.
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  • I was feeling ill today, man flu, but the light was so tempting outside that I decided to go for a walk anyway and drove towards the light, Llanddwyn Island. Experienced hailstorms and heavy showers but had the chance to try out my new golf brolly :-) Ended up alone on the island and made the most of blasts of good light before making my way back to van alone in the dusk
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  • It's August, it looked sunny. The hills are swarming with summer walkers, like mozzys on a sweaty cow. I have to go further and further afield at this time of year to escape the vortex desperation of lemmings sucked towards the highest peaks. Arenig Fawr jumped out at me on the map - The description: "To some, the poor Southern relative of the Snowdonia bigger peaks" - but to me exactly the reason to reach for it's summit. The downside to these hills, is that their very disuse means the paths are not so precise, so trodden or so scarred. Map reading and navigation are worthwhile skills but even with my OS1;25,000 the description of the descent as, 'follows faint, sometimes invisible paths, across boggy vegetated hillsides" did worry me a little, especially as the clouds were already thickening over Snowdonia by the time we'd even reached Capel Curig !
    GD001297.jpg
  • "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"
    GD002141.jpg
  • I left the comfort of the van and stepped into a gale. The skies were grey and overcast and there were already spots of rain on my jacket. <br />
<br />
The sand whipped off the dunes and stung my face but I was so happy to just be outdoors and have fresh air in my lungs. I arrived at the shore on a rapidly dropping tide and the beach was pristine, no footprints from man or dog, just perfect geometrical shapes created by the force of the tide. <br />
<br />
The breeze rippled the surface of a large pool but the water was was like a luke warm bath, sensuous and comforting. Small jellyfish slowed drifted past me as the pool drained to the Irish Sea. <br />
<br />
As the clouds scudded overhead, small pathes of blue sky made an appearance and illuminated the whole scene for perhaps just a few minutes at a time and the light was iridescent on the sea’s green surface, glittering on the ruffled pool. Within moments I was being pelted by a rain shower and my camera lens became covered in rain and salt spray, creating a most ghostly light on my images.
    GD002082.jpg
  • A short afternoon walk turned into a beautiful evening, on a magical and deserted beach, full of warmth after a cold start
    GD001406.jpg
  • It's August, it looked sunny. The hills are swarming with summer walkers, like mozzys on a sweaty cow. I have to go further and further afield at this time of year to escape the vortex desperation of lemmings sucked towards the highest peaks. Arenig Fawr jumped out at me on the map - The description: "To some, the poor Southern relative of the Snowdonia bigger peaks" - but to me exactly the reason to reach for it's summit. The downside to these hills, is that their very disuse means the paths are not so precise, so trodden or so scarred. Map reading and navigation are worthwhile skills but even with my OS1;25,000 the description of the descent as, 'follows faint, sometimes invisible paths, across boggy vegetated hillsides" did worry me a little, especially as the clouds were already thickening over Snowdonia by the time we'd even reached Capel Curig !
    GD001292.jpg
  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
.<br />
I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
.<br />
I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
    GD002538.jpg
  • It's August, it looked sunny. The hills are swarming with summer walkers, like mozzys on a sweaty cow. I have to go further and further afield at this time of year to escape the vortex desperation of lemmings sucked towards the highest peaks. Arenig Fawr jumped out at me on the map - The description: "To some, the poor Southern relative of the Snowdonia bigger peaks" - but to me exactly the reason to reach for it's summit. The downside to these hills, is that their very disuse means the paths are not so precise, so trodden or so scarred. Map reading and navigation are worthwhile skills but even with my OS 1:25,000 the description of the descent as, 'follows faint, sometimes invisible paths, across boggy vegetated hillsides" did worry me a little, especially as the clouds were already thickening over Snowdonia by the time we'd even reached Capel Curig!
    GD001294.jpg
  • On the eve of another severe lockdown, with my head closing in and the first irregular heartbeats in many months beating in my chest, I raced out to the coast for last minute medication. Since I heard about this mis-targeted lockdown, I’ve been telling myself “it’s just two weeks, it’s just two weeks, you can do it” but I’ve been in panic mode all day. Almost without fail after work, for years, I’ve always had a deep need to escape to the hills or the coast, it’s almost like an addiction because it makes me feel so good, so alive, that there’s a reason I’m on this earth.<br />
.<br />
I think about the little city-men in suits, who seem oblivious to the mental health benefits of people being allowed to continue to get into nature, but who instead blanket legislate without thought about the unnecessary damage they are creating to well-being. Walking on a lonely beach or cliff-top harms no-one. Even at its busiest, Llanddwyn is massive with so much space to avoid others. Instead we are forced to walk the town paths like hamsters on a wheel with 20,000 other trapped souls. Why are they hitting everyone with such severe restrictions, instead of targeting those people & activities that really spread the killer disease?<br />
.<br />
I’m still telling myself that it’s just two weeks and my lovely ITU lady who see the disease at its worst, also tries to calm me down about lockdowns! What an amazing angel, dealing with physically ill patients and a mentally wobbly partner !
    GD002539.jpg
  • It's August, it looked sunny. The hills are swarming with summer walkers, like mozzys on a sweaty cow. I have to go further and further afield at this time of year to escape the vortex desperation of lemmings sucked towards the highest peaks. Arenig Fawr jumped out at me on the map - The description: "To some, the poor Southern relative of the Snowdonia bigger peaks" - but to me exactly the reason to reach for it's summit. The downside to these hills, is that their very disuse means the paths are not so precise, so trodden or so scarred. Map reading and navigation are worthwhile skills but even with my OS1;25,000 the description of the descent as, 'follows faint, sometimes invisible paths, across boggy vegetated hillsides" did worry me a little, especially as the clouds were already thickening over Snowdonia by the time we'd even reached Capel Curig !
    GD001293.jpg
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