I can't resist a good sunset. I have to get shots of it, especially if it's remarkable in any way.
Unusually fine sunsets are not really that common. There are plenty of spots where - given the right time of year, and of course the right weather conditions - a quite-nice sunset can be expected. But seeing one that makes you linger in wonder and awe is a treat not often enjoyed. I watched one recently, on the last evening of my stay in North Devon, before I moved on to the Cotswolds.
It was at Instow, the small town on the estuary of the River Torridge, opposite Appledore. If you look westwards at the setting sun from Instow, then Appledore - arrayed on and under its hill - will mostly be in shadow, its buildings picked out here and there by stray beams of light, but mainly defined by street lighting. Instow, and the water and wide sands reached from it, will however be bathed in the sun's ever-warmer light as our nearest star sinks to its death in the sea. That warm light can make faces in photos look artificially orange. A purist will know how to correct that; but I think correction is a mistake. That sunset glow is too good to tone down or dismiss. It makes the complexion sing.
Here are two location maps.
The farm I was pitched at, Higher Darracott Farm, was below the bottom edge of the top map. Replete from my evening meal, I'd driven north by little-used, overgrown and frost-damaged country lanes to the eastern part of Bideford, and thence along the B3233 to Instow, arriving at 8.40pm.
A pretty good sunset was clearly in progress. I first went out on the stone quay, then up the road a bit and across the sands. It was, incidentally, the only time I put my feet onto a beach while in North Devon. I'm not a beach person - meaning someone who likes to smear suntan cream all over themselves and deliberately burn themselves to a crisp. I reckon I have other, more interesting, things to do.
This was one of my first shots. The sun was veiled behind that cloud; but there was the proper column of light on the water, and sunrays fanning out above. It could only get better.
It did. I walked out towards the water's edge, taking shots as the scene developed. Key elements in any great picture would obviously be the sun and the boats. So at first I concentrated on getting boat silhouettes against a brilliant sun, hoping that flare (ghosting caused by internal light-reflections in the camera lens) wouldn't spoil things.
As you can see, I was getting rather close to the water. The map shows 'mud and sand' at this spot, but there was no undue softness underfoot. I exchanged words with a young couple who were ambling along. They said that earlier that day a lady had sunk up to her knees in mud next to the water's edge, but that was a few hundred yards further north, not here. I told them how I'd sunk into mud (but, without panicking, had extricated myself) in the dusk light at Hilbre Island, off the Wirral coast, in 2014. Not an experience I'd want to repeat!
The more immediate danger was in fact being cut off from a dry retreat by the incoming tide. I could see it seeping forward even as I watched. In these parts it doesn't race in faster than a horse can gallop, but this was still the Bristol Channel, and the tidal range was large. You couldn't linger once the tide had turned. It didn't matter, having to move back a bit. There were still shots that could be taken without getting encircled, and cut off, by the sea's stealthy approach. The sunset was improving all the while. Water and cloud effects now seemed to merit attention.
I didn't neglect the scene off to my left, and behind me.
But of course, it was impossible to turn away from the fast-maturing sunset for very long! I now wanted figures in my shots, and more close-ups of beached boats.
There was a keen type right out there, at the water's edge, taking pictures like me. And naturally, many people on the beach were beginning to get their phones out for a quick snap or two. To be instantly Instagrammed I suppose! Me, I was going to relish the much-less-instant processing of my shots on the laptop later on. Definitely material here for Flickr! And quite possibly for a blog post, if the sunset became even better, and worth writing about.
Fancy living in these parts, I thought, and being able to enjoy this kind of thing all through the year! A glance at Rightmove shows that I could sell up in Sussex and buy an equivalent-sized bungalow hereabouts for much the same money. But I wouldn't make any profit on the sale. It would simply be a straight swap of location. It's tempting, though. It's always tempting!
The sun was now going down really fast.
And look at that! The long cloud that had been hovering over the sun's drowning-spot was now reshaping and re-colouring, taking on the form of a bird, possibly a phoenix.
But it subtly altered into something that now looked rather fearful! Not a bird at all. It was more like a vengeful dragon. A dragon looking for prey, perhaps? Time to go, while escape was still possible!
And there was not only a flying dragon in the sky. Off to my left was a fish-shaped cloud that resembled a whale - or a shark. Fins and all. Another predator!
Back by the road, there were groups of people watching the dragon. They just stood there, transfixed.
I'd now been at Instow for a full hour. Time to head back to the farm. Phil and Ann were sitting in chairs when I got there (they were the farm owners; I've known them since 2009), and we immediately began to talk about the dragon and the shark. They had viewed the spectacle from a distance, but even so had found the sunset clouds no less striking than I had, with my ringside view. However, I don't think they had taken any pictures. And I imagine that most people hadn't, when it came to it.
Which is partly why I'm sharing these shots. Just in case you like sunsets, and were perhaps there at Instow with me, but never thought to get a camera out, or didn't have one handy, and now regret not having your own pictorial souvenirs. Well, enjoy mine.
