Landscape: Cap-Blanc-Nez

France, 15 October 2017. A blue sky, an allround beautiful day. What hinted at the season were not the temperatures, but the low rising sun, the hazy veil visible only in the distance, and the fairly strong winds picking up when the sun was slowly disappearing into the ocean. I can't recall ever having shot in these exact atmospheric conditions before, and I must say, I had a blast. I set out with the intention of going for a lengthy walk and enjoy what I knew would be one of the last warm days of the year. Preferring to travel light and unhindered by a large camera bobbing on my chest (or swinging at my side) I packed only my Coolpix A. Admittedly, as it would turn out, I took that sentiment a bit to far by bringing only two 2 GB memory cards. While I remain convinced that the 28 mm (full frame) equivalent field of view doesn't really agree with me, I knew the lens would handle flare (the veiling, as well as the blobby kind) and chromatic aberrations like a pro. With several thousand images on the counter, I also knew that the tiny combination of the hoodless 18.5 mm lens and the AA filterless 16 MP sensor would punch above its weight. And it did, to an extent that, in hindsight, the 1000 euro launch price no longer seems so outrageous after all - but still, Nikon, what the hell were you thinking? Due to the peculiar quality of light that day, some features really stood out and caught my eye. When shooting with the sun, the landscape appeared very dreamy indeed, because of the lack of shadows and the veily atmosphere in the distance. At times, the transition of the thin film of water on the sand, to the wet sand itself, was barely noticeable. The small streams of water seeking their way towards the retreating sea, and carving what looked like mini versions of large geomorphological features in the wet sand were a second piece of eye-candy. They made for very interesting turbulance patterns in the water too, and were particularly nice to capture with the sun at 90°, as well as in contre-jour. The way the sky was softly reflected (with a clear reflection and colour gradient) and the way it contrasted with the patterns in the sand were impossible to miss too. The third highlight was the textured cliff face - proudly standing up to the restless sea at one place, with only the rounded (and by while algae-covered) cobbles of chalk and flint hinting at what would, in the end, be a lost battle, and given in to the unrelenting sea at places were the cliff face had come crashing down, the grassy vegetation that once covered the top of the cliff strewn in between the rubble and holding on to whatever bit of soil available. When I headed back to Wissant, where I'd parked my car, I took the path on top of the cliff. The idea was to capture the layering of the grass, the beach below, the sea, and finally the sky, with the setting sun. Until those very last moments, the warmth of the sun seemed to drown in the blue-ish haze in the distance. Typically, and in contrast to the human visual system, digital cameras are able to retain saturation in the shadows. For the images taken on top of the cliff, I decided to forgo reality as I had seen it, by not (or at least, not fully) correcting for this effect. As a result, what I saw as darkish, backlighted and contrasty meadows acquired an otherworldly saturation in the greens and yellows. In my mind, and for those scenes, the grass teamed up with the sun to hold the cold haze at bay. That, and I thought it looked nice too. Throughout the visit, I let the eye lead, and the mind follow. This is perhaps the reason why the series took a long time to gestate, and why it definitely needs further curating. As I expect, the latter will take even more time, so I decided to publish the gallery anyway, if only for fear of being forgotten somewhere on my hard drive.