So as promised, I returned to Lulworth Cove the following afternoon, but to find the car park jammed with as many cars as I have ever seen. The place was heaving, like I have never seen it before. Waiting for Matt to eventually turn up, I waited in the car and watched the throngs of tourists mill around, shouting at their kids and arguing with their partners. I hoped that as sunset approached, these people would slowly start to leave. Thankfully, they did. But the time Matt arrived, the place was still busy and we decided to shelter from the crowds in the local pub. The sky was a little insipid and lacked anything in the way of colour, with white light hovering over the cove. We were certain that once again, this visit was not going to pay off. Eventually, after a pint of lager and something to eat, we checked our watches and decided to make the long walk around the cove and up the massive hill. And trust me, this is a hard walk. Firstly, you have to trudge your way around the waters edge, sinking into shingle and pebbles with every step. Matt had stated that he thought the sunset was going to be awesome, but I didn't believe him. By the time we reached the foot of the staircase up the hill, the sky was still without a story. Then we read the sign. "No access due to landslide." Dorset is always suffering landslides and we didn't pay it any further noticed as we climbed over the sign attached to the bench and made our way up the never-ending steps. By the time we reached our position, way up above Lulworth Cove, the sky was in fact starting to come alive. There really is only one composition from up there and I angled myself where I could just about pick up the entire cove and the little bit of colour being squeezed out of the dying sun in the corner of the frame. For the briefest of moments, it turned blood orange and I shouted for Matt to make his way down the hill to join me. Slipping and sliding, he eventually made it down to where I was and set up for a shot next to me. This is my result.
The Mighty Cove
