I have an obsession. With a beach. I think it’s a healthy obsession, but I’ve never thought of myself as a “beach person”. Don’t get me wrong, I love the sea, but I’d rather be playing in it or on it than walking or lying beside it.
So this interest in beaches, is it something I’ve learned, or do I have a “beach gene” that I’ve somehow overlooked until now? Or is this particular beach attractive specifically for its un-beachly character? What kind of beach is filled with, even named after, a collection of giant rocks? Whatever the case, I returned yet again to Bowling Ball Beach on California’s North Coast.
Perhaps I’m just captivated by my own conviction that there are great images to be created at Bowling Ball Beach, while being frustrated by not having caught one yet that fully lives up to my lofty expectations.
So much of photography is the journey… visualizing the concept, preparing, anticipation, enveloping the subject with different angles, perspectives, exposures and filters, then gently teasing out a halfway decent result in postprocessing that might stand some faint chance at fairly representing a unique moment… in time, in place, in your life. The destination, the image itself, typically pales in comparison to the pursuit, but it’s all we can offer to those who missed the adventure that led to its creation.
So I’ll continue to visit this stretch of coast until the sun, the moon and the planets line up just right and I get the shot that I know will come from there… perhaps with a rising sun with a setting moon, at low tide. In the meantime my exploratory trips there serve as preparation for when I will eventually encounter those few precious moments of precious light that I will have to make the most of.
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