essex naturalist

Now, to be perfectly honest, the above picture, whilst pleasant enough, does not capture the best of Pembrokeshire coast. Certainly along the northern stretch of that coastline, it can be one of dizzying cliffs, wildly seething surf and lonely seascapes. Come to think of it, I don’t think I have ever captured the genuinely true essence of any landscape I have encountered. Not purely because of my own limitations as a photographer, but also, I think, that for me the experience of any place works across all the senses, even when not necessarily aware of each in its own isolation – the subtleties, for instance, of scent and sound. It is, at the end of the day, all about being there.

This is why the image above is significant. It was an unlikely special place along a stretch of coast mostly comprised of granduer and spectacle. We stopped only to take a drink after a short toil uphill. We chose that spot because there was a convenient grassy ledge to sit on. We sat for much longer than the couple of minutes we intended, unable to drag ourselves away.

It was a grey seal loafing in the water down in the little bay that first drew our attention, floating with his head above the surface, briefly clocking us looking down at him before letting his own gaze drift elsewhere along the cliff. The sea behind him glittered brightly in a great corruscating funnel of light, spreading towards the cliffs hazed in the distance and the stony rise of St David’s Head beyond them.

A Gatekeeper (Pyronia tithonus) sip from Water Mint (Mentha aquatica).

Then our focus was drawn closer, to the grass and bracken cladding the slope directly in front of us, and which the picture doesn’t amply show, was full of flowers. The trickle of a small stream seeped through the rocks to dampen the soil – water mint, purple loosestrife, hemp-agrimony and others all thrived and bloomed among this tiny wetland. And where they flourished, the butterflies thronged. That little scoop in the cliff, while we sat there, was a constant twitch and flutter of wings. Along with the gatekeeper the blue (male) and orange-edged brown (female) of common blue butterflies favoured the mauve heads of the mint; a small copper seemed more intent on the scattered yellow of hawk’s-beards; small tortoisehell and peacock all vied for space on the pale, tightly-packed umbels of the hemp-agrimony; a dark green fritillary dashed through, apparently not tempted by any.

This little spot, that we could so easily have walked passed, drawn onwards by the abundant visual delights all around us, had become the focal point; for butterflies and bees; for the glint of gleeming green that spiralled down to reveal itself as another ‘very impressive beetle‘, this time a rose chafer. A focal point also for two human onlookers so absorbed in equal measure by the small lives, the ever-expanding vista and everything in between.

The Rose Chafer (Cetonia aurata) – a not unimpressive beetle.

A sunlit sea towards St David’s Head, Pembrokeshire.