In my previous blog post, I mentioned that I joined a local Facebook group to find out if the car park would be open on the day of the Queen’s funeral. Their posts began to appear in my feed and I realised that a few ponies had been introduced to the island. I smiled to myself, imagining me in place for a stunning sunset image, when it was ruined by ponies cantering up the hill surrounding the famouse lighthouse. Little did I realise…
So, after taking the image featured the other day, I sat around waiting for sunset. With about 45 minutes to go, I made my way up the hill and began setting up my tripod. Then I saw the first pony approaching. It was obvious where she was heading and as the other five ponies moved closer, I realised they had done this before. I abandoned all thoughts of sunset because nothing could compare with what was unfolding before my eyes. Almost everyone had left the island at this point, apart from one more photographer and his wife and a lovely Italian couple.
The ponies defied gravity, as they went impossibly close to the cliff edge. I continued to take photographs, but there were times when I had my heart in my mouth. They stayed until sunset, which wasn’t really a sunset at all. Instead, the sun vanished behind a thick bank of cloud, so straight that it resembled a wall.
Knowing that I had the hardest part ahead, with a very long walk back to the car, I packed up in record time and left. As I trudged along the beach, I was struck by the complete absence of waves. I had never seen the sea so still and calm. I was tempted to set up again, but I had already been overtaken by the first couple and I was worried about being left alone. Eventually, the Italian couple approached from behind and amazed me by asking if they could carry my tripod and rucksack. I declined, but they stayed with me until we reached the entrance to the car park.
I had two more surprises before I left. The first was as I put my rucksack on the passenger seat. Knowing that I would have to pay the parking fee at the barrier by the exit, I removed my debit card and put it on the ledge in front of the glove compartment. By the time I had put the seat belt round my rucksack, the card had vanished. It was dark outside at this point, so switching on my torch, I waved it around the front of my car and realised what had happened. The card had slipped into the gap under the compartment and was completely inaccessible. Thinking that it could still be retrieved from inside, I opened up the front, which is when I realised it had actually slipped into a tiny gap inside the body of the car. I was alone, in the dark, on a remote beach in North Wales, with everything shut. I had no way to pay for parking and therefore expected to be locked in the forest until the following morning. I wondered if the police might respond.
Scrabbling around for something I might use to prise the card from its resting place, I came across a metal comb. If I got the angle right and had a LOT of luck, I may just be able to escape from my predicament. One corner of the card stuck out by two or three millimetres. I licked one finger, hoping it would be enough to get a grip and little by little, the card appeared. Holding it firmly in one hand, I drove nearly a mile to the barrier with the other hand. Now I was concerned about working the barrier with nobody around to help. I needn’t have worried. Next to the open barrier was a sign paying tribute to the Queen and informing everyone that parking was free for that day. My second suprise and one for which I will be eternally grateful.
