A Handful from May
May turned out to be one of those months where the boots didn’t get much chance to dry out. I ended up sorted through about twenty-five frames that I was genuinely pleased with, which is a rare bit of luck around here. Usually, you’re content with one or two that don't offend the eye, but the light behaved itself often enough to make for a decent crop. These five are the ones that lingered, and one of them has already been printed, framed, and hung on the lounge wall before Jayne had a chance to suggest otherwise.
Looking towards Southerndown from Ogmore
The view looking back along the coast from the rocks at Ogmore-by-Sea, heading towards Southerndown, Monknash, and Nash Point. It’s that specific sort of Welsh coastal morning where the sky can’t quite decide whether to clear up or clear off.
The Light: A heavy, overcast ceiling of grey cloud is just starting to fracture, letting a few soft shafts of sunlight—the sort people call 'god rays' when they're being dramatic—drop down onto a calm, metallic-grey Bristol Channel.
The Landscape: In the foreground, the limestone ledges and dark, weed-strewn rocks are wet and highly textured, showing the marks of the tide that’s just slid away. The green, sheep-bitten cliffs curve away into the distance, layered in shades of muted green and grey as the headlands recede towards Nash Point.
Human Presence: Tucked into the lower right quarter, almost lost against the scale of the shelf, is a single figure by the water's edge—just a tiny speck of colour providing a bit of accidental scale to the limestone.
It feels less like a grand landscape production and more like the moment you stop scrambling over the rough ground, look up to see where you're putting your feet next, and realize the weather has done something rather nice while you weren't paying attention.
Nash Point Looking Towards monknash
This photograph was taken during one of my favourite coastal walks, from Nash Point to Monknash. It's the same stretch of coastline as the previous image, but captured the day after under completely different conditions.
The tide was slowly retreating, leaving behind a broad expanse of wet sand that acted like a giant mirror. Soft blue skies and wispy clouds reflected beautifully across the beach, while the limestone cliffs stretched away into the distance, guiding the eye back towards Nash Point.
What struck me most was the sense of calm. The sea had taken on a smooth, almost silky appearance as it slipped away from the shore, leaving shallow pools that caught the light perfectly. Everything felt clean, fresh and unspoilt, as if the coast had been carefully tidied overnight.
Of course, the reality behind the photograph was slightly less serene.
Toby was accompanying me on the walk and had developed a keen interest in charging across the very section of beach I was trying to photograph. Keeping a large, enthusiastic Labrador from tearing through the pristine patterns left by the outgoing tide required a bit of careful negotiation and some firm instructions from behind the camera.
This image has become one of my personal favourites. In fact, it now hangs on the wall in our lounge, where it serves as a daily reminder of that peaceful morning on the Heritage Coast. Every time I look at it, I'm transported back to the sound of the retreating tide, the fresh sea air, and a walk that nearly ended with a Labrador-shaped footprint right through the middle of the scene.
Thankfully, he behaved himself long enough for me to take the shot.
Moments like this are one of the reasons I enjoy walking this coastline so much. The light changes constantly, the sea is never quite the same twice, and every now and then everything comes together for a few fleeting minutes. All you need then is a camera, a bit of patience, and a dog willing to stay out of the frame.
nash point
This one belongs right alongside the previous beach view, captured just half an hour earlier on that same bright morning while the tide was still lingering over the lower ledge.
The Atmosphere: A very quiet, horizontal composition where the sea and sky almost merge into one pale, milky expanse. The limestone shelf—resembling a submerged paved road or an old jetty—is just clearing the water, surrounded by swirling, soft-edged surf that has been smoothed out by the tide's movement. It's the coast at its most still, before the day fully gets moving.
The Reality of the Walk: There’s a certain rhythm to these mornings; you stop for a few minutes while the water laps at the rocks, notice how the light hits the wet limestone, and then you move on before your feet get soaked. It’s the sort of view that’s there one minute and gone the next as the water pulls back, completely changing the shape of the beach for the rest of the day.
It is a simple record of a pause on the sand, right before the beach opened up completely and the business of managing Toby's enthusiasm began in earnest.
Near Monknash Beach
Captured about an hour later as we continued down the coast towards Monknash. By this point, the grey weather had properly dug its heels in, blurring the line between the water and the sky.
The Atmosphere: A minimalist landscape where the sea has been smoothed out into a soft, ghostly fog that wraps around a few dark, stubborn rocks in the middle of the frame. The horizon is barely a whisper beneath a heavy, uniform blanket of grey cloud. It's the Bristol Channel looking entirely stripped back—just stone, water, and plenty of damp air.
The Reality of the Walk: There’s a limit to how long you can ask someone to stand about while you try to blur the sea. I tried a few long exposures here while we paused, and this was the one where the water behaved itself best. It gives a quiet sense of the morning slowing right down, just before the conversation naturally turns away from the scenery and toward the logistics of a hot drink.
It forms a natural stopping point for the walk—the coast fading into a soft grey smudge, and the camera finally going back into the bag.
The Meadow, Llantwit Major
This was taken right at the start of the walk, just before dropping down into the meadow here in Llantwit Major. It’s that familiar sort of spring afternoon where the sun is blindingly bright on the grass, but the sky behind the trees is looking incredibly serious about raining on you later.
The Scene: A broad, sweeping view of a very green Welsh hillside, absolutely dotted with sheep who are entirely indifferent to the weather report. On the left, a line of bright spring trees marks the edge of the stream where a large flock of gulls has decided to congregate, looking like scattered confetti against the grass.
The Light: There’s a sharp, clean contrast between the bright, sunlit pasture in the foreground and the heavy, bruised-blue rain clouds stacking up over the ridge behind the trees. It’s the kind of light that makes you glad you brought a coat, even if you’re currently walking in your shirt sleeves.
The Reality of the Walk: You don't tend to overthink these ones. It’s just the view that makes you pause for twenty seconds at the gate to adjust your boots, unclip the lens cap, and take a quick look at the hills before properly setting off into the valley.
It is a quiet, comfortable starter to the walk—the countryside just doing what it does best on a Thursday afternoon while we decide which path to take.