Sunday mornings aren’t typically known for wild adventure—unless, of course, you’re a landscape photographer with questionable sleeping habits and a fondness for the unforgiving Heritage Coastline, South Wales. So, there I was: stumbling across the slippery stones of Llantwit Major beach at an hour when most people are still deep in duvet negotiations.

Two hours before sunrise, pitch black, damp freezing cold air, and the sound of waves creeping ever closer. What could possibly be better?

Armed with camera gear, a flask of tea (which I promptly forgot), and the vague hope of some dramatic light, I set up facing the incoming tide. The sea was in no mood to wait—it surged forward with a confidence I rather admired, threatening to rearrange my tripod placement with each sweep.

The first hints of light teased the sky, brushing gold against the headland at Llantwit Major Beach. It was one of those scenes where the land seems to be holding its breath. Dark cloud banks hung like theatre curtains, threatening to close but never quite committing.

For the next three hours, I danced between frames, pebbles, and the odd rogue wave, capturing the shifting light and moods of the coastline. The sunrise itself was somewhat underwhelming—more a gentle shrug than a fiery fanfare—but that hardly mattered.

As the morning crept on, I moved east along the beach, the rock slabs slick with sea spray and an occasional sneaky splash. Looking beyond St Donat’s, the clouds stacked dramatically, like some moody oil painting come to life. It felt almost cinematic—if your idea of cinema involves wet trousers and gulls yelling overhead.

Eventually the clouds parted just enough to let the golden hour light spill over the beach. Every pebble lit up like polished coal, each wave rimmed with fire. It was a fleeting moment, but worth every minute spent in the cold.

Then came a softer spell. The wind eased, and the breakers rolled in with layered precision. The whole world turned pastel—creamy whites and pewter blues, with the sky painted in subtle watercolours. Peaceful, but with that ever-present energy just beneath the surface.

The finale came as the sun finally caught the Lifegaurds Building in a warm embrace. Llantwit’s cliffs glowed amber beneath towering clouds, and the sea sparkled with defiance. One last reminder of how much drama this coast can pack into a single morning.

No crowds, no distractions—just the raw theatre of sea and sky. Sometimes that’s all you need.

I ended the morning with soggy socks, a full memory card, and that smug sense of having done something before breakfast. Not a bad way to start a Sunday.

Photos from the morning are now live in the gallery, and prints will be available soon. If you’re into moody skies, dramatic tides, and beaches that like to test your balance, this one’s for you.

New! There’s now a limited edition zine available—a small-format photo book featuring images of the Heritage Coast, lovingly created by myself. A perfect little piece of the coast to keep or gift

Thanks for following along—next time I might even remember the tea.

Llantwit Major Early Sunday Morning

Molten Light and Muddy Paws: A Sunset Session at Tresilian Bay