Windy Whitby

Dull days are a challenge for the photographer and coupled with sub-zero wind-chill, only the most dedicated and foolhardy individual would venture forth. So on Thursday I found myself on the breakwaters at Whitby, a freezing north-easterly wind plucking persistently at my not-quite-warm-enough coat and a fine penetrating salt spray wilfully depositing itself onto any surface that took its fancy.

I’ve taken many pictures here over the years and, in fine weather, it’s a very rewarding location. Under the conditions pertaining on this occasion, it would be fair to say I struggled. I would like to say that I struggled manfully, with dogged determination, eager to succeed against the odds, to triumph where none had triumphed before. But I didn’t. I gave it about ten minutes than headed back into the town to meet up with her ladyship and a mug of hot chocolate.

I posted an image of one of Whitby’s heroes, Captain Cook, a couple of weeks ago. He was made of sterner stuff than me. Incidentally the town also claims an association with Dracula, not because it’s an outpost of Transylvania (although some of the guest houses might give that impression) but because the author, Bram Stoker, wrote the book while living there in the late nineteenth century. I don’t imagine vampires have much time for hot chocolate but who knows? Perhaps it’s a tasty alternative to rhesus negative.

(By the way, as you can see the picture features rust, a splash of red and a group of three so I was trying a bit).