I took a tumble. One careless step on a slippery rock and gravity did the rest. Down I went. Straight into the sea water.
Cold. Sudden. Bracing.
Less than two feet deep, enough to soak me and give the kind of shock that steals your breath for a second and reminds you who is really in charge out there. Thankfully, except for a couple of grazes, ego was the only injury.
It was only when I had picked myself up and waded out of the water did I realise my phone had slipped out of my jacket pocket and was somewhere in the sea.
That sudden jolt. Not the cold this time, but the thought.
My phone.
My camera.
My constant companion on every walk along the coast.
I stood at the water’s edge, mentally retracing the few dozen steps I had taken on my retreat. The cluster of rocks that I had slipped on were already being swallowed by the incoming tide.
I use a waterproof and shockproof case, so I hoped the phone would be okay. That thought gave me a sliver of confidence. A reason to be hopeful rather than panic.So reluctantly back into the water I went.
The Irish Sea on a chilly April evening is hardly pristine water to be searching through for a missing phone. Cold. Murky. Unforgiving.
The light was fading. The incoming tide hitting harder. A proverbial needle in a haystack.
I tried to remember which were the last rocks I had stepped on and used that as a marker for my search.
The sea was no longer gentle. Each set rolling in with more force than the last. Water over my wellies pushing against my legs, tugging at my balance, churning the sand beneath my feet. The window was closing. Fast.
I cursed myself more than the sea. Slipping the phone into my pocket as I stepped onto the rocks was protection enough, I thought. But not zipping the pocket up was idiotic.
A small oversight. The kind you make without thinking. The kind the sea is quick to punish.
After a few minutes I was about to give up, already thinking about insurance policies and the nuisance of a claim. Then a soft glow in the water. About five feet away.
Could it be? It was.
I lunged forward, clutched at the device, and brought it out of the water expecting damage. But there was none. The case had done its job.
Miraculously, the phone had landed face up, the camera app still active on the screen, a faint glow shining through the murky water.
For a moment, I just stood there, holding my precious phone, checking it for damage before properly checking my own body, the reality of the past ten minutes sinking in. The balance of bad luck and good luck playing out in my mind. What was, what could have been.
Now, you might think that at this point I would turn, step back onto the safety of the sand, and head for the warm comfort of the car. But I had not come here for nothing.
So I carried on to the scene I was originally headed for.
Just a last couple of shots.
Not technically perfect. Hands shaking from the freezing water. Boots heavy. Clothes soaked.
In truth the photographs matter less than the moment but I share them here as part of the story. The cold, the chaos, and the close call are all part of the wider experience. And a reminder that the coast is never yours to control. You work with it. On its terms.
That’s why I photograph it.
For its changing moods. For its unpredictability.
If you’ve stayed with me to this point you may be interested in which case I currently use, there are plenty on the market but this one has been great. https://amzn.eu/d/0fqxQcVK and to be clear I’m not sponsored and I don’t get paid for any links I share.