Everything was in alignment. The Gods had spoken. I had no choice in the matter: it was Fate.
On Tuesday, I looked at my calendar and saw that there was to be be a full moon on Thursday. I checked the weather and it was predicted to be completely clearing up on Wednesday evening. I checked the sunset time: 8.05pm. The moonrise: 7.05pm. Perfect! I must go to my favourite spot on the coast for photographs after work. I would not have to worry about getting back from the sea to the road – an hour’s walk – before the last light of dusk faded, because I would have the moon to guide me. I walked the route in late twilight with no moon a few months ago, and I wouldn’t knowingly repeat the experience. It’s a wide open place with a disorientating topography, no dramatic features, several identical-looking paths leading off in different directions, and many bogs. But with the moonlight, I’d have no trouble. I couldn’t miss the chance so I finished work early yesterday and found my way by bus to Aberlady Bay nature reserve, a windswept estuary and stretch of coast in East Lothian, with golden beaches, sand dunes, salt marshes, grassy plains, mud flats and the wrecks of a couple of midget submarines.
I got there at about 6.45pm, and already I had the feeling that I didn’t have much time. The light was glorious, so I could hardly just rush past everything on my way to the rocks at Gullane Point. Because I got my camera out long before reaching the sea, I didn’t in fact reach it until a few minutes before sunset. Right from the start I had felt rushed and desperate, and I hadn’t been taking time over shots. This annoyed me, because I knew that I should just make a firm decision to do one thing or the other, instead of trying to cover everything, running and stumbling about in what must have looked a comic fashion (fortunately there was nobody about, except a group of deer, who didn’t notice me until I was almost upon them.) If I have the camera out, I should take my time, I told myself. And it was no way to be acting on such a lovely evening.
So when I got to the beach I decided just to stay there and make the most of it, rather than walking the additional half-mile to get to the rocky points and headlands, even though they had been my original destination. Well, the one thing I hadn’t checked was the tide. It was out. In many places a long, long way out.
But then I came across the resident tyre of Aberlady beach and I was happy for a good while.
High dunes separate the beach from the plains and marshes, so I couldn’t see the moon that was shining over them. I was looking forward to stepping up to the crest of the path over the dunes and looking out over the spectacular moonlit landscape.
And so it turned out to be. The only visible electric lights were far away across the bay, and the sky was still rose and russet and gold. The crossing vapour trails that had been in the north an hour before lay glowing across the moon, now shapeless and thin like teased out cotton wool.
At this point I hadn’t expected to be in a hurry, but I really didn’t have much time. This was on account of public transport timetables, not of the darkness. The full moon shone blindingly and lit my way just fine. It was an unforgettable experience, walking across open country on a spring evening with only moonlight and starlight to guide me. Sometimes I could hear the muted, odd night-calls of odd night-birds, and the general quiet was pierced every so often by the shriek of an owl. As the residual sunlight faded, the stark beauty and drama of the moonlit landscape became much clearer, every tree and blade of grass delineated sharply, everything casting long, unfamiliar shadows.
I don’t remember ever having been out in the country under a full moon on a clear night. I recommend it.
You might think that in these conditions I’d want to take a few photos. Well I only took one, and it wasn’t good. I packed everything away and decided not to try again. And then I said to myself: “How can I walk through all of this majesty without at least trying?” The answer was “I just want to get back home.” And then: “Is that what life is all about? ‘Getting back home?’” And still I marched onwards, and eventually came to a much less self-reproachful view of the matter. Apart from anything else, although the moon illuminated my way, it was still pretty dark. It’s almost impossible to execute the kind of shots I wanted when neither your eyes nor your auto-focus can find anything to focus on, and you didn’t bring a torch.
I thought about attempting a drawing of one particular scene, one of many that I passed by. A relatively tall tree, windblown and leaning like all of the other trees around Aberlady Bay; a silhouette like a monstrous hand reaching up to clasp the moon.