TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

I've been heading over to South Stack for quite a number of years now, mostly for the bird-watching, and taking pretty much the same views of the lighthouse every year, give or take a fog bank or two, but this year's visit was different because I decided that the time was right to buy my ticket and risk the long, long flight of steps down to the rock itself.

This is not quite as straightforward as you might think because, whilst the RSPB centre will sell you the tickets (after the 'witching hour' when it opens has been reached) they don't actually "own" the island or the lighthouse itself but will issue friendly warnings about the great number of steps down and, more importantly, back up again, which need to be taken in order to reach it.

Of course, I've known about this possible ordeal for many years now, and never previously taken the opportunity but this time I decided that I would jolly well risk it and, even if I failed in my quest, it was better to have at least tried.

So, we got our tickets and headed on up the hill towards where the path down begins, meaning, of course, that we already were feeling fairly knackered before we started the climb down. Obviously, however, the 400 or so steps down was the easy part, as was crossing the bridge across to the island itself. This brought back a memory of a day many, many years ago when I was making a similar walk in (I think) Northern Ireland where the last part of the journey involved crossing a rickety looking rope bridge to get to their lighthouse and I flatly refused to have anything to do with such a mad venture, especially as I seem to recall that I didn't even have a camera with me at the time to record this follysome adventure.

This time it was easier, although crossing took a while as I had to photograph the living daylights out of the bridge, of course. Then we arrived at the lighthouse itself to be greeted by a jolly fellow who told us that we could climb to the top if we wished, once "these other people" (who we could see were descending the path after us) had arrived.

So, on top of the 800 plus steps we'd already committed ourselves to, we added a couple of hundred more, although it was a pretty spectacular climb, once we'd walked through the small museum that they'd set up telling something of the history of the place.

I was most distracted by the incredible engineering of the lenses and structure of the light itself and asked stupid questions about who had designed this miracle of illumination, instead of just drinking in the moment and the view.

All to soon, we were making the hair-raising decent back down the open-sided spiral stair, wondering how the men who worked there ever managed if they had to bound up and down it a dozen times a day in the days before automatic bulb switching and self-cleaning glass, and then, after taking yet more photographs, on the not unreasonable assumption that we may never get another opportunity to do so, we gritted our teeth and made the climb back up those stone steps again, with me failing spectacularly to help pass the time by mentioning the vague acquaintance I have with someone in TwitWorld who used to live there as a child.

There had been mention of the children of the lighthouse-keepers and how they'd spend weekdays in the village before returning at weekends during the little talk that was given whilst we stood at the top, but there were no photographs of them in the exhibition and the thought had slipped away, but, whilst all sounding jolly exciting, it must have been a most unusual life.

Anyway, we've been to the lighthouse now and, not only that, but we can say that we've already been there the next time I'm standing a safe distance away from the edge of the cliffs and looking down at it, no doubt taking exactly the same photograph of it as I have already done countless times, and being distracted by the brilliance of what it does and the fact that it's only due to some incredible engineering that it's even there at all instead of just watching the birds.

PHOTOBLOG: PENMON LIGHTHOUSE

Penmon lighthouse is just another one of those places that, once I discovered it, I keep on going back to...

The first time we went, it was because it had been recommended in one of those "Bird-Watching and Wildlife Walks" books that people like me sometimes buy. The walk in question had been described as being suitably non-strenuous and we headed off on a nice day towards the coast, winding our way with increasing incredulity along the lanes until we arrived at some old monastery buildings where there was a small car park and a gate leading to the lighthouse.

At the gate a gentleman stood, taking money from cars to allow them to use the toll road down to the sea shore. On that occasion, I didn't feel like paying a toll, so I parked up and we walked the couple of miles or so along the paths, and heard rather than saw the lighthouse first, given that it's bell still chimes regularly.

When we finally arrived at the stony beach and rocky shoreline, we believed that we had found one of the most picturesque and pleasant places on the island. The lighthouse stands slightly offshore with its dire warnings of the perils of passing on the wrong side offsetting the other "Danger" sign positioned most photogenically on the mainland, a sign which doubles as a perch for the occasional passing gull. The sea seems to "turn a corner" here and there are pleasant views of the so-called "Puffin Island" which the tourist boats regularly circle.

There's even a cafe, with customer toilets, if nature calls.

However, once we found it that afternoon, we were impressed and, having walked back to the car, whenever we've returned, we've just paid the toll and driven down there again to give us more time in that spot where the peace and tranquility is often shattered by the sea fisherpersons, but never enough to ruin it.

This is the place where I am most likely to indulge in the gentle art of stone balancing and this time there is even video evidence of me doing so, although it's currently locked inside a camera that isn't mine and is unlikely to ever publicly see the light of day.

One day I hope to go in the evening, take along a telescope, and just stargaze, because I truly believe that it might very well be a great place to do it, although it might also get a tad chilly.

These few pictures are some of the better ones from my most recent trip which already seems so very long ago now. I'm sure that this place has been photographed thousands of times and with far more skill than I could ever hope to achieve, but I thought I'd share them with you anyway, even though they look extraordinarily similar to all of the ones I've taken there on previous visits, except, of course, for the last one, which shows a very young child being taken by the hand and heading off on what seemed at that moment to be, for her, like the most important fishing expedition in the world...