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I walked to the rocks at the south end, and climbed out as far as I could on an isthmus of craggy, volcanic stone. It felt odd to be surrounded by the sea. When a large wave came in, the whole platform was swamped.
When I turned to walk back to the car I saw that the sun had broken free of the clouds behind me. The shadow of the cliffs stopped it from reaching the first few hundred yards of beach, but from there on the sand was swathed in brilliant, golden light.
Late afternoon sunlight is glorious: its brilliance and clarity infuse the whole landscape with an intensity which makes it seem hyper-real. One day last week I as I was driving back from the beach in the last light of the day, I got so excited by this incredible light falling over the fields and trees and horses that I began to shout out the car window "It's so beautiful!"
This was the kind of light which was falling across the beach, chopping it in half; turning it instantly from a dim, slate grey to a searing gold. I knew the sun was sinking fast, and when it fell below the cliffs their shadow would race down the beach ahead of me, swallowing the daylight. I knew I probably couldn't catch up with that glowing, golden sand; knew it would retreat ahead of me faster than I could go. But something made me do it anyway.
I ran down the beach as hard as I could - and this was a real shock to my enervated system. I ran hard until my chest hurt and my back jarred, but finally I burst into a world of magical, incredible light. I stood there, chest heaving, and I felt like cheering. YES!! I even made that golden glow last all the way to the car before the shadows caught up with me.
I knew that if I'd had much further to run, I'd have slowed, and the sunlight would have passed on, leaving me behind - but that would have been ok. The idea is just to be there in the sun for a while, not to run forever.
We can't do that.
Images 1998, text 1997/98
by Tim Gadd
