On the edge of The Fungus Bowl

I always thought the joy in beaches came from hot sun, white sand, a gentle sloping shelf with waves coming in evenly at just the right height to let you body surf, or simply be in the water. I grew up with this and took it for granted, only to find such a combination is rare. Even on the Atlantic side of Cape Town where the water is cold, once acclimatized and thought the initial pain of contact, you could stay in for hours. We lived in the sea, we swam, surfed, dived for sea goodies, fished and lived out teenage our years in and around the shore. And behind the beaches, mountains, caves, forests and farm stalls.

I disliked any beach that was less. But in time, I discovered other ways of being, and I am not as keen to hang out in the hot sun as I once was.

I love the wildness of Natures Valley and the South African East Cost, of the Pacific Northwest, The vast expanse of nothing and everything that is Point Reyes in Northern California. The deep volcanic beaches in the Canaries and British Columbia. The pebbled sweep across from Durdle Door and the limestone cliffs to Weymouth and beyond, Dorset, Devon and Cornwall.

The tropical zones where there are no waves, but sea life beyond imagination in the Florida Keys, the areas near to Singapore, Indonesia and Zanzibar with the soap green water. The atmospheric Mediterranean beaches with it's venetian ports, and so it goes, it has taken a long time to open my eyes.

Now we embrace the new, and love the old.

I think my camera is in love with with Portland - or as we like to call it, "The Fungus Bowl".