Wild Side

The sun was shining and do I need to say it? I went down to the beach. There was a strong wind off the sea today and when I got there the tide was out.

The tide had left a 150 metre long sandbar behind with a channel in front of it. The sandbar ran almost to the beach at the south end and between it and the beach was the biggest private ocean pool up to four feet deep in places.

It’s the dark patch to the right in the photo.

It was marvellous. The waves still came in over the bar in a sheet of foam that slowed to a gentle pulse as it hit the deeper water in the pool.

Very nice. And there was no current, no rip. Though that would change soon and suddenly as the tide returned.

I went out beyond the sandbar to the ocean itself and it was wild. The waves came in from all directions and broke higgledy piggledy, this way and that. Wonderful, there is no other word for it.

The underlying rhythm, in and out, the unifying principle. I was just there, in it. No problem. Though I didn’t venture far into the wildness.

The question arose; Tame? Behind. Or Wild? Ahead. Tame! I’ll take tame today since I have the rare offering from these wild wild waters.

Simply wonderful.

On the way back to the car I was challenged by one of the local crabs. I was going one way on the narrow path and he was going the other and he wasn’t stepping aside.

I stopped still because I didn’t want to trample him. And he stopped still. He’s about four inches across from foot to foot.

Being a thousand times his size made no difference to him. When I stooped to get a closer look he put his fists up ready for battle. Ha! I don’t really think so but he was not afraid.

And he wouldn’t turn his back on me. He just stood his ground, unmoving, unmoved. So I took a couple of shots then chased him off to the side with my fingers imitating a bigger crab. Show him who’s boss.

A little further on I saw a white butterfly. You know butterfly’s, they won’t sit still. It’s why they are called butter - fly’s, you can’t catch them, not with a camera anyway. Always slipping out of the frame.

I don’t use a net. All the pictures I take are of the creatures as they are. No freezing, no sticking or pinning. No whacking. They either sit for me or they don’t. That’s life.

This one sat for a moment while it drank from a small white flower on a bush by the track. See how it stands proud, with a good view all round. It’s probe rising up then down to the source of sweetness.

I have to tell you about the neon fly. I know I’ve mentioned it before as one of the inhabitants of my garden. They are everywhere in fact, in the garden.

I often watch them flitting about, chasing each other from leaf to leaf. Seeming to do a fast twirl at times as they close up on one another. Then fly off each in their own direction or one after the other.

It’s dizzying to watch at times. Easy to see without trying. They are only one centimetre long.

What I have to tell you about the neon fly today is I caught it with my new macro (close up) lens. And it is a wonder indeed.

Check it out. Check the colours, and the detail. You can download a better quality pic from the offsite gallery and open it with any photo program and magnify.

The lens is very difficult to use because of the very shallow depth of field. Or DOF.

It’s a technical term but simply put means the range of distance in which a subject (the fly) can be brought into focus is very shallow. And it only works at a certain distance from the subject.

In this case the field (DOF) is about 1/16 inch (or less) deep at six inches distance. Was that simply put? It basically means I can have one side of the fly’s tiny head in focus and the other side out of focus.

Very difficult to catch the ever moving fly in a gusting wind shaking the leaves he lands on. The windows of opportunity were very narrow but I was lucky to get a few nearly good shots.

I was braced against a post and waited until the fly presented itself. Then sought focus, framing and capture.

Almost machine like. But that’s what I am as a body, a mechanical being, programmable. Except when the ghost of emotion clogs the works.

It sounds technical but it’s not really. It’s a process like anything else that takes time. Steadying the hand is the hardest part, for me. The machine is not as new and efficient as it once was.

I trust you enjoy this sort of imagery as I do. To me it’s another means of acknowledging the beautiful Earth. The simple sense.

The last two were caught mid dance.

All copyright reserved / Mark Berkery

Bush hat on, comfortably old. Almost worn out now. Sleeveless cotton shirt – ‘renovated’ - favourite, frayed shorts and no shoes. Almost as I was born into this place, ready for hard yakka. But it’s not work any more, I’m enjoying my life.

Sun on my arm, wind in my face and wet sand under my feet with the waves rising to my knees and falling again, in and out. The rhythm of life, in and out. The raptor disappeared into the bush on my left and there is next to nothing as far as the eye can see to my right. Blue blue sky above

I’m walking on the beach some miles north of Byron bay and there is not a soul in sight. I can see for miles ahead and miles behind and I have the place all to myself. What a simple pleasure it is to be alone.

I stripped off and walked up to my waist into the cool green water and dropped beneath the surface. The liquid sense of being enveloped, and pleased. A cacophony of sensation. This is my first swim in the sea this summer. Then the warning bell.

Mind the rip.

But I had already checked the rip from the dunes above and the sea was relatively tame today, it’s one reason I was in it. There are no breaks to the ocean meeting the shore along this particular stretch so the sand bars are forever moving and there is always some rip.

So it has to be minded.

It hasn’t rained for two days running and summer is just over here in northern NSW Australia. The weather is just right for me, not hot and not cold. Just right. It doesn’t get better than that.

I played around in the surf for a while, swimming this stroke and that.  Enjoying the wet water. All the time keeping an eye on where I am along the beach and how far out I am from the shoreline.

An eye too on the depth of the water and the strength and direction of the currents. It’s necessary to keep a sense of where I am. There is nobody here to save me. Only me.

It doesn’t make any sense to do something dangerous with it in the back of my mind someone will look out for me. They surely won’t here.

It’s one of the things I enjoy about being alone, there is a heightened sense of responsibility, of self reliance. No distraction from divining the purity of being.

Between the beach and the road where I park the car is a short fenced walkway. It’s about 50 metres long. There is usually some creature presenting itself along here and today was no exception.

The first was a black wasp. It didn’t sit still for long so I couldn’t get it from the side. Profile allows some perspective. Every time I moved it moved, usually further away.

Sometimes it’s best just to accept what’s on offer. It’s a simple creature, hanging on a leaf from the hooks at the end of its legs. Ready to fly away at the slightest disturbance.

Then, as the wasp flew off into the bush, I caught the movement of a little skink out of the corner of my eye. It was on the wooden rail next to me. Lovely bronzed lady. These little ones very easily take fright so it’s necessary to be fluid in ones movements.

I slowly panned around to my right until I had the camera pointing in the right general direction. Shooting from the hip. Then lifted it to my eye trusting she won’t have gone by the time I locate and focus locks. It paid off. Gently does it.

I followed her down the rail for a while and watched as she checked around for food. She left the rail at its intersection with a tree and encountered other lizards almost invisible to me on the bark. Immediately there was a flurry of movement too fast to register, a jerky scattering of golden hues. Scrambled to safe positions and on their way.

Then there was the master of fly’s. A robust fellow with caution built in to his very being. I only had to think of moving and this fellow was off. But he was equally receptive to the quiet in me.

So I gave him the stillness and he came and sat at my feet. Just inside best magnification. Couldn’t do anything about the sun at his back though.

He’s his own kind of magnificence. A simple undecorated fellow doing his ordinary part without much show but with an ordinary creatures rightful strength. A fly. A big fly. The biggest fly around.

And then there was the dragon. Master hunter. Lord of his domain. Resting in the greenery.

All copyright reserved / Mark Berkery