For at læse denne KYST 38 blog på dansk, se her…

See here for an introduction to the KYST project

KYST 38 It was a warm, still morning and I arrived in good time for a change, in time to see the wonderful sunrise over the sandstone rocks at Salthammer. I unpacked and got to work, just as a sparrowhawk shot past in pursuit of some starlings.

Deeply unsatisfied with the day’s first painting, I tried to loosen up a little, concentrating on the orange light hitting the side of the slumbering black-headed gulls.

A backlit herring gull was deep blue, with a silver lining.

Once the magical first hour of dawn had turned into daylight, I turned my attention to the various plants and flowers growing in the sandy beach by the shore. These were mostly new to me and very different from the flora on the granite coast further north.

The jetty leading to Snogebæk harbour was silhouetted by the rising sun. A few tourists wandered aimlessly, the atmosphere subdued and soporific. Truly the calm before the storm, as I knew that the storm ‘Knud’ was due to arrive at Bornholm in the afternoon. A friend arrived with coffee and food. I remembered how I had been sitting on the exact same bench only a week previously with my students.

I finally packed my things and started to walk on the beach away from Snogebæk and south to the day’s destination at Bethesda. The southerly wind, now building, pushed waves into the bay and piled great banks of seaweed and algæ along the shore, which were covered in feeding gulls, corvids and ducks. I tried to capture the intensity of their frenzied and jerky movements with quick expressive brush strokes, but I struggled with the baking sun burning the watercolours dry.

I carried on along the beach and looked back towards the same birds, this time trying to capture their movement with ink.

By the time I rounded the next headland at Broens Odde, the wind had really picked up and the sun was long gone. Groups of ducks, gulls and cormorants huddled on the strange greenish siltstone rocks and faced into the wind.

I suddenly realized the day had flown by. I had been going for nine hours without stopping for food or rest, and was only halfway to my destination. I continued around the cape, waving goodbye to Nexø and Bornholm’s eastern coastline, and walked into the wind, along a sandy shore. On the sea some kite surfers cavorted and leapt through the waves.

I arrived at Bethesda, put up the M60, and immediately got to work on a timed slice painting, knowing that the storm was imminent. The buildup of tension was palpable and by the time I finished the second section the kite surfers had fled and the rain had already started. A huge wall of deep blue and gunmetal grey clouds rolled in from the south west. As I began the third section I could see the wall of rain across the sea heading straight for me. The wind suddenly whipped up, changed direction and chaos ensured. Hundreds of swallows suddenly shot out of the forest where they must have been sheltering and flew into the storm in panic. Dogs barked, children screamed and I ran back to the shelter of the M60 just as the heavens opened.

Once the rain had paused I rushed out again to complete the painting. Back under the umbrella I worked on  a new painting of the feeding birds, looking at my painting from earlier and trying to recall the shapes, sounds and smells of the feeding birds (see top). Soon, dusk came and I walked back along the beach in the rain, all the way to Snogebæk where my car waited.

KYST 38

Weather report = A sunny start, clouding up then stormy.. Temperature between 18°C and 22°C, then down to 13 after the storm. Wind between 4 and 14 m/s from the south then west. Hours of sunshine: 5 hours.

Lessons learned – need to get new palette, new brushes, new waterproof walking boots and new stativ **

Stops with the M60 = 1

Kilometers walked = 6.40 km

Day lasted = 12 hours, 20 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 34 species (0 new ones: running total 123)

Other stuff = ‘Knud’ was our first storm of the autumn. As we’ve mostly had an Indian Summer on Bornholm, it really felt like my slice painting witnessed the end of the long summer and the start of the new season.

People talked to = 4 (1 + 1 + 2)

In my head – still last week’s course, and the talk I’m giving at Faber’s café on Sunday (2pm ;-))

For at læse denne KYST 36 blog på dansk, se her (først om et par dage!)…

See here for an introduction to the KYST project

KYST 36 I arrived back at Nexø Sydstrand just before sunrise and was surprised to see how quiet it was; the hundreds of graylag geese from last week’s trip were nowhere to be seen – or heard. It was grey, overcast, and a little cold in the face of a stiff onshore breeze. I climbed the stairs to the bird watching tower, with great views of the coast in both directions, and unpacked my things. A small flock of hunched up lapwings were resting in the shallows, with the orange edge to the clouds from the rising sun reflected in the water at their feet (see above)…

As I was painting, silent and still, a buzzard suddenly swooped down and perched on the edge of the bird tower right in front of me. I froze, my heart in my mouth. I could have reached out and grabbed it. After a second or two the buzzard suddenly worked out my shape and flew off in surprise. Below me, a group of cormorants preened and dried their wings after their early morning swim.

I returned my gaze towards the lapwings, their form and colour blending into the sandstone shore. In the diffuse early morning light, a redshank’s vermilion leg seemed to radiate its own energy.

I was already exhausted and working at a feverish pace. I kept returning to the group of waders and cormorants just in front of me. The cold wind and constant movement of the birds and the light created a nervous energy in my brush strokes.

By now, the first groups of graylag geese had begun to return, honking noisily. Soon the air was filled with squadrons of them, landing in the water and then making their way towards the shore. I tried to capture the energy of their movement across the shallows.

Looking south towards Balka the geese were almost silhouetted in the early morning light. From time to time the sun managed to appear between the clouds and cast radiant droplets of light on to the water.

I was drained and need to get away from the birds and the bird tower. I packed my things and started walking south along the path skirting the bird reserve. Looking back I saw a flock of Barnacle geese in amongst the greylags and couldn’t resist one last assault, the shapes and lines of the geese blending and merging, creating a pattern that was difficult to read.

Soon I arrived at Balka Lyng, a large open heathland area bordered by pine trees on one side and a low coastal rampart facing the sea on the other. There were kestrels and at one point a hobby shot past, but otherwise there was little birdlife. The coastal rampart was thought to have been constructed in the 15^th century, perhaps earlier, and was the site of a successful repulsion of a Swedish invading force in 1645. Today though, it was difficult to imagine how the low grass covered embankment could have provided much cover.

A twisted pine tree in the now sunny afternoon light caught my attention and I sat down to paint it. I struggled with the painting and experienced another of my regular crises of creative confidence, but felt that the only way forward was to continue painting and working.

I continued along the embankment and paused by some iron age burial mounds. I tried to imagine how the landscape had changed since these people were buried nearly 2,000 years ago. The sandstone shelf jutting almost horizontally out under the sea means the soil is too shallow for cultivation, so perhaps it hadn’t changed that much. By the shore, the bedrock was veined with alternate layers of grey-ochre and reddish-brown, where the Nexø sandstone meets the younger Balka sandstone. The delicate and organic delineations of the rock reminded me of tree rings or contours on a map, and I tried to imagine the Cambrium estuaries, where the sand had been laid over 500 million years ago.

I ambled on arriving at the day’s destination, the tiny harbour at Balka with around three hours of daylight remaining. Here I met Steffan from the local TV station, but I was so exhausted I’m not sure I made much sense. After spending so much time looking through a telescope at birds, or closely observing the sandstone, I felt the need to step back and loosen up. The threatening clouds building over the sea fitted the bill perfectly and I threw the water at the paper and enjoyed playing with the pigment as it dissolved and dissipated.

As a last effort before the light completely faded, I turned my attention towards the gulls hunkered by the shore. Another roller coaster day (roller KYSTer?) was in the bag and I packed my things and prepared for the jog back to the car.

KYST 36

Stops with the M60 = 2

Kilometers walked = 7.76 km

Day lasted = 13 hours, 25 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 42 species (1 new one = yellow wagtail (thunbergi) running total 120)

Other stuff = I read recently an article about someone on Bornholm writing his phd thesis on folk connections to the landscape on Bornholm. He mentioned how, at Balka skanse, one of the soldiers had heard voices (from the Bornholmian trolls) telling him to ‘load and fire’, during the Swedish invasion. The ‘Underjordsike’ trolls have always been an important part of Bornholm’s social and cultural history and, as the author noted, are a way of connecting and giving life to the landscape. Interesting, and another angle completely to where I’m coming from. Sometimes I do feel – for better or worse – a bit divorced from the people side of KYST.

People talked to = 4 (2 + 1 + 1)

In my head – Next week’s teaching at the Højskole. Weather worries. Smoking guilt.

For at læse denne KYST 35 blog på dansk, se her…

See here for an introduction to the KYST project

KYST 35 As I drove across Bornholm, the misty rain increased its severity and by the time I arrived back at Nexø Harbour for the sunrise, it was persistent and seemed destined to remain for the whole day. I took a walk around, scoping for cover, across the waterlogged wasteland fronting the harbour, but was forced to return to the car. As I began to work on a slice painting (see top) – documenting the welcome cessation of the rain and the start of a new day – a life boat shot out of the harbour accompanied by the wailing sirens of vehicles heading north to Svaneke.

Now that the rain had stopped, I wandered around the wasteland, under the whirring blades of two huge wind turbines. The grey weather presented a somewhat depressing backdrop to the piles of earth, tractor tracks and industrial silhouette of Nexø harbour, but the area was fascinating and charming in its own right, with a rich biodiversity of flowers, insects and birds. I sat and sketched the strange forms of the flora when suddenly a sparrowhawk shot by, after a flock of starlings.

Just after I had packed my things and walked on, a tiny ice-blue butterfly flew by and alighted on the seedhead of a nearby plant. I unpacked again and stealthily approached the butterfly, a common-blue, with my paper and paints. Amazingly it remained still, at one point even relaxing its wings – a most obliging model.

I trudged onwards and stopped by the industrial end of the harbour again. The squat boat I had painted last week was no longer there.

Continuing along the southern arm of the harbour I soon arrived at a small and very cosy jetty, where there were good views south to Nexø Sydstrand, the day’s destination and one of my favourite places on Bornholm. The whole coastal area is a protected reserve, where migrating and local birds come to feed in their thousands, enjoying the shallow and nutrient rich waters on the sandstone bedrock. I was looking forward to seeing a multitude of birds, and already the honking of thousands of resting graylag geese filled the air. I set up my telescope on the arm of the jetty, where various waders and some teal duck fed in the mud.

Farther out, the silhouetted dark shapes of a flock of coot were amicably diving together after seaweed, a world away from the aggressive and territorial thugs they turn into in springtime.

I packed up and carried on past a row of houses and on to the bird reserve proper, with the incessant honking of thousands of geese. The dynamic weather delivered moments of sun followed by showers.

By now I was really exhausted as well as irritated that I wasn’t able to make more of my ‘home advantage’.  I opened up my M60 umbrella, but managed to spook the geese, who flew off en masse, honking in terror. Guiltily, I walked around to try and clear my head, and on returning tried to work larger and change things up a little.

Eventually the penny dropped and I realized how hungry I was. I had some food and took a well-earned break, happy to sit back and watch the show. My mood had imperceptibly transformed from irritable to contemplative, and from my vantage point on the edge of the beach I had an incredible 180 degree view of the sea, the sky, and the constant activity of the birds. I marveled at the incredible richness of the panorama, and drank in the colours, the sounds and the smells surrounding me. Now that the geese had mostly vacated the area, the more gentle piping and wheezing of the multitude of wader species filled the air and periodically the sun would briefly appear from between the clouds, and cast a magical warm light on the birds. In the early evening glow I detected the most delicate rose tint on the breast of some black headed gulls, lazily swimming in the deep grey-blue reflection of the passing rain clouds above.

Energised again, in the fading light I switched my attention to a solitary lapwing on the edge of the seaweed. Eventually it was too dark to continue and I packed up again, both fatigued and elated in equal measures.

KYST 35

Weather report = Mostly cloudy with rain very early in the morning and some showers later. Temperature between 15°C and 20°C. Wind between 6 and 3 m/s from the west. Hours of sunshine: 1 hour.

Lessons learned – my rain jacket by itself is next to useless, as the rain just flows directly on to my jeans. Remember waterproof trousers next time…

Stops with the M60 = 2

Kilometers walked = 10.08 km

Day lasted = 14 hours, 0 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 57 species (17 new ones = great white egret, wigeon, common teal, lapwing, grey plover, ringed plover, redshank, turnstone, common snipe, knot, dunlin, curlew sandpiper, ruff, wood sandpiper, red breasted shrike, wheatear, spotted flycatcher, *KYST record* running total 119)

Other stuff = 57 birds in one locality, of which 14 were different wader species shows what difference a bird reserve makes.

People talked to = 2 (1 + 1)

In my head – next week’s teaching at the Højskole, upcoming exhibitions, chess, the ‘Tanks’ game

For at læse denne KYST 34 blog på dansk, se her…

See here for an introduction to the KYST project

KYST 34 I arrived back at the granite/sandstone boundary, under slept and a little apprehensive of the day ahead. There was no wind and the crimson rising sun, at first hidden, suddenly revealed itself between the banks of thick clouds.

I walked on, over the thin beach that separates the old stone quarry, now flooded, from the mirror-calm sea. I paused several times but lacked conviction, my mood indecisive. In the quarry, now a popular coarse fishing spot, the silence was broken only by the relentless mewing of a hungry young herring gull and the slap of the fish that periodically leapt acrobatically out of the water. I journeyed on, past the campsite, and sat on the beach for a while. Suddenly, clouds of chattering swallows and martins flew low over the water, mirrored by their reflections.

I walked on through a misty rain, through the scrubby wasteland separating the houses and the coastal road from the sea. As the rain built up I huddled under the M60 and enjoyed the form and colours of a particularly flamboyant Common chicory, of which there seem to be so many this year.

With neither rain jacket nor warm clothing I quickly started to feel cold and miserable. I painted a sheet of paper and exposed first half, then the other half to the rain.

The rain was relentless and I remained under the M60, rotating it a little towards the multitude of wild grasses and flowers, with the industrial buildings of Nexø looming in the background.

When the rain eventually stopped I packed up my sodden things – now weighing twice as much – as continued towards the harbour. My aim was to keep to the water as much as possible and follow the outline of the harbour. I stopped by the huge silo buildings, with the ferry from Poland in the dock. The grey skies matched my mood.

Today, Nexø harbour supports Bornholm’s largest active fishery, as well as being a ferry terminal and sailboat harbour, and presents an eclectic blend of industry and tourism, old and new. I walked the length of the harbour, past the sail boats and into the industrial sector, past wharehouses, piles of twisted nets and rusty metal.  Cod, herring and salmon have always been a core resource on Bornholm but as recently as 40 years ago, the fishing industry in Bornholm experienced a golden age, with Nexø its nucleus. Millions were made but the stock was overfished, quotas were introduced and the industry collapsed. The few able to adapt and survive are still based in Nexø, and at the end of the harbour fishing vessels are still fitted out and painted.

The gusty wind at one point hurled all my paintings out from my folder, one of which ended up in the sea, lost forever. I had spent far too long on the boat and needed to get back to painting living and moving things. Some majestic Great black backed gulls fitted the bill.

A troglodyte cormorant perched on a ladder, while pristine gulls sat on the pier above, basking in the early evening sun.

I carried on, walking the entire length of the harbour and almost doubling back to where I had started. I watched a mink weaving between the huge granite boulders of the breakwater, at one point emerging from the water with a large Round goby between its jaws – one invasive species predating another. The sun set behind the masts of a recently arrived tall ship and the silos I had painted earlier in the day (see top).

KYST 34

Weather report = Mostly cloudy with rain in the morning. More sunny in the late afternoon. Temperature between 16°C and 21°C. Wind between 1 and 8 m/s from the west.  Visibility: poor. Hours of sunshine: 3 hours.

Lessons learned – always put something heavy on the drawing folder, and don’t always believe the weather forecast. Rain jacket mandatory from now on.

Stops with the M60 = 1

Kilometers walked = 8.45 km

Day lasted = 14 hours, 16 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 28 species (0 new ones = running total 102)

Other stuff = I can really feel the shortening day now – for the first time in ages I didn’t have (time for) a nap.

People talked to = 2 (1 + 1)

In my head – I was thinking about the Fox News clip doing the rounds where the newsreader criticized Socialism and pointed to Denmark as a country where ‘no one wants to work’, remarking that ‘everyone wants to start cupcake cafes’. A ridiculous and superficial observation – and plainy nothing to do with the evils of socialism – but Nexø is certainly a good example of a society dealing with the transformation from an industrial past to a service-based present. Just try walking through the harbour and seeing the juxtaposition of the foodie cafes and empty warehouses. Though there is a sense of faded grandeur or fomer glory, Nexø retains an refreshing authenticity that is absent from Bornholm’s other more picturesque harbours.

 

 

For at læse denne KYST 33 blog på dansk, se her…

See here for an introduction to the KYST project

KYST 33 we arrived at Svenskehavn a little late and the crimson sun had broken through the horizon by the time I unpacked my things. A friend was already waiting for my wife and me, and after a lovely coffee, I left them and got to work, positioning myself right by the waves. There had been a little rain during the week, but Bornholm was still bone dry, and the sky was completely cloud free. Though the sea was agitated there was just a gentle breeze from the south.

A couple of fishermen in a small boat collected the morning’s catch on the choppy waters.

I wandered up to the coastal path, where a multitude of small birds flittered about silently within the hawthorn bushes and alder trees. The path led to a small wood, so I doubled back and kept to the rocky coast instead. Soon I arrived at Prøjseværket, the site of a former minor quarry where slabs of granite had been calved off from the coastal bedrock and loaded directly onto waiting boats.

It was difficult to find the difference between the cracked and fissured bedrock and the quarry itself, but here and there large flat areas or marks left by quarrying tools could be found. The early morning sun was reflected in a natural fissure in the granite.

I walked on, this time on the coastal path through an unkempt wood that then led to Nørremark, where the open scrubby landscape was dominated by juniper, blackthorn and brambles. I wandered around hoping to find tree frogs, but luck was not on my side. Standing on a triangular rock that jutted out of the rocky shore I could see both Svaneke’s lighthouse to the north and the sandy beach at Broens Odde to the south. I had reached Bornholm’s most easterly point – the site of a Swedish coastal invasion in 1645, which led to the creation of one of Bornholm’s many coastal batteries, upon which is placed a memorial stone.

After some lunch and short nap I walked to an area I had spotted on Google maps, where rows of huge parallel fractures cut through the granite bedrock. Presumably, these were left by eroding intrusive rocks such as diabase, but just by the water, some of these veins were narrow, uneroded and incredibly clear. Beyond in the sea, waves could be seen breaking on the submerged rocks of Malkværn, the site of many a shipwreck.

I walked to the bathing spot at Sjolla, where there a few groups of swimmers and sunbathers perched on the rocks and enjoyed the warm weather. A group of young red breasted mergansers obviously had the same idea and were manically preening on some rocks just by the bathers. I spent some intense minutes trying to capture their strange almost reptilian shape, seemingly caught somewhere between a ‘normal’ duck and a cormorant (see also top).

The mergansers finally settled and took a nap, their sculptural forms blending with the granite rocks in the strong afternoon light.

I carried on, this time along the coastal path, and reached the area known as Halleklipperne, where again, small groups of bathers jumped into the warm water. The uncultivated area behind the rocks was dry and thorny and many of the leaves on the cherry, oaks and brambles were yellow and even red. Berries and fruit adorned the bushes and there was an ever so slightly autumnal feel to the area. I felt the need to document this is some way and ended up recording some of the colours dominating the landscape.

The path continued through a small wooded area before descending sharply down to the coast again. This point marked the day’s destination point and the Tornquist Zone – the boundary that marks where Bornholm’s Precambrian igneous bedrock is replaced with various sedimentary rocks from the Paleozoic Era. Since passing through the same boundary on the other side of the island six months ago at Teglkås during KYST 07, I had been walking over granite and gneiss, so it seemed like a big moment. I made a slice painting, recording the thunderstorms passing over the Baltic Sea, the passage of the sun through the sky behind the clouds, and the passing of 500 million years between the Svaneke granite to my left, and the Nexø sandstone to my right.

KYST 33

Weather report = Sun, clouding over in the late afternoon. Temperature between 17°C and 24°C. Wind between 3 and 5 m/s from the south. Visibility: good. Hours of sunshine: 12.5 hours.

Lessons learned  = lessons forgotten more like…

Stops with the M60 = 2

Kilometers walked = 8.04 km

Day lasted = 14 hours, 57 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 35 species (1 new one, pied flycatcher = running total 102) There were actually very few  birds about…

Other stuff = no shortage of minks, they’re everywhere. No grass snakes or tree frogs found.

People talked to = 3 (1 + 2)

In my head – moment of pure calm and peace, mixed up with…worries about the KYST book, the KYST exhibition, Kulturuge, teaching engagements, illustration commissions, being a non-biased and supportive parent to teenagers, not smoking, etc, etc…

 

 

For at læse denne KYST 32 blog på dansk, se her…

se her for introduktion til KYST projektet

KYST 32 Great clouds of swallows and martins flittered and chattered around the harbour at Årsdale, but the screaming swifts from last week were gone, with just a few stragglers remaining. The rising sun was obscured behind a thick bank of cloud over the horizon, and the day was warm despite a strong offshore wind. I got to work, making sure to include the lamppost from last week’s final painting (far left).

By the time I had finished a few returning fishermen were sorting the night’s catch. A group of older men shared a coffee by the harbour, some dog walkers appeared, and life returned to the village. Commercial fishing vessels still frequent Årsdale’s harbour and the village retains an authentic charm, without being too touristy.  I walked around the harbour, past the volunteer run shop and stopped by the boules club where I sketched some herring gulls enjoying the morning sun.

The gulls were perched on one of the many rocky islands surrounding the harbour, the granite characteristically rounded and smooth.

I carried on around the coast and walked along the rocky shore, past wonderful houses with fantastic views of the ocean. Banks of threatening clouds rolled in and the wind increased to a gale. After weeks of sun and blue sky, the day felt invigorating and energizing.

I continued heading south over the boulders and rocks, disturbing the ubiquitous common sandpipers that seemed to be strung all the way along the shore. Further on still, gulls, cormorants and a pair of swans perched on a large rocky island just metres away from the shore. I sheltered from the wind under my M60 and spent the next several hours working on a ‘slice painting’, recording the changing light and skyscape. By the time I had finished, the day had brightened, despite the forecast rain (see top)

In a break between slices, I sketched the plants by the shore. The willowherb now with white downy seeds, and a huge wild celery completely dry and gone to seed.

Just as I finished, I was mesmerized by a tiny red spider mite running around on my paper. Remembering Paul Klee’s quote ‘… a line is a dot that went for a walk’, I decided to get the mite working on my behalf and set him on a new piece of paper, where I followed his path with my pencil.

Eventually I moved on and carried on along the coast, sometimes taking the coastal path when the going was too hard. I passed the granite boulder-strewn beach at Skåret and continued to Gulhalds Batteri, an old coastal entrenchment with fine views back towards the lighthouse at Svaneke. Here an open landscape of hawthorn and juniper was grazed by some very friendly horses. The yellowhammers and linnets were practically silent now, and I hadn’t heard a whitethroat for weeks.

Heading towards Svenskehavn I paused by some rocks, cut deep with scars of diabase. The green fringe of seaweed surrounding the rocks was very visible. The tides at Bornholm are very weak, and I had never noticed the green seaweed so exposed, but someone I met on the path explained how the sea on this leeward side of the island had been ‘pushed away’ by the powerful wind and atmospheric pressure. I looked back at the slice painting I had finshed earlier I had noticed how I could see a fringe of green seaweed around the rocks on the last ‘frame’.

At Svenskehavn I finally had some food and a good rest. The irritating gusty wind started to die down a little just as the sun approached the horizon and the colours began to turn. I made two quick studies as the colours really increased in intensity, but wished I had made another one or two, as the orange turned to crimson and then a wonderful pinkish-rose.

KYST 32

Weather report = Mostly cloudy with sunny intervals.  Temperature between 19°C and 23°Cthough it felt cooler in the shade and the wind. Wind between 7 and 11 m/s from the west.  Visibility: good. Hours of sunshine: 5 hours.

Lessons learned – how wonderful to meet people who are following this blog

Stops with the M60 = 2

Kilometers walked = 6.53 km

Day lasted = 15 hours, 27 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 34 species (0 new ones = running total 101)

Other stuff = As I sat by the water painting the green seaweed, a movement by my right hand caught my attention. Looking down, I saw that a small mink – completely oblivious to me – was sniffing around the bag by my feet. I stayed still but made a squeaky noise and it stared at me for what seemed like ages, obviously trying to work out what I was. It showed no fear and at one point actually walked over my shoe. Crazy.

People talked to = 1 + 3 + 3 + 2

In my head – The weather. The rain that never comes. Armageddon. The aftermath of all the family visits. As I ran back to Årsdale harbour to collect my car, I wondered how I had sat there in the dusk with my brother exactly one week previously. Crazy too.

For at læse denne KYST 31 blog på Dansk, se her…

See here for an introduction to the KYST project

KYST 31 Still no rain, and yet again a clear almost cloudless sky and a breathtaking sunrise. Today, the light breeze was from the west, meaning an even hotter day. I settled in under the lighthouse and got to work, by now the witch on the bonfire a familiar friend.

The waters under the diving board at Hullehavn were still and untouched. Whilst I painted, the first bathers arrived and jumped in.

I walked through the campsite to my brother’s pitch. My family and friends were visiting and by chance were staying at Hullehavn on the day I passed through on my KYST trip. We sat and had breakfast whilst the children slept on. Soon, I walked on, back down to the coast where I looked once more back towards the lighthouse. For an instant, someone about to dive off the diving board mirrored exactly the position of the witch on the bonfire.

The day was heating up now. I walked on a little to Kirreskær, where some red breasted mergansers were hauled out, preening. I jumped off the rocks into the refreshing and clear water.

I walked on a little over the crumbling granite boulders veined with thick rock crystal. A herring gull appeared white and pristine against the lichen covered rocks. Some hooded crows lurked in the background, surprisingly camouflaged.

Yet another mink appeared, heralded by the cawing of some alarmed hooded crows, and slunk quickly off.

I walked around the cape of Frenne Odde and tried to rest in the shade of the M60, but it was far too hot. I walked onwards and looked across Frenne Bay towards Årsdale, the day’s destination. On the many rocky outcrops in the bay rested hundreds of gulls and cormorants in the oppressive heat.

I tried to protect myself from the burning sun under the M60, but it sheltered me also from the cooling breeze. The gulls in the bay sat and sweltered under a strong facing light. Bands of reddish seaweed stilled the rippling water (see top).

I jumped off the cliffs again into the water then walked on a little and came to a small landing stage. Here I looked back towards the gulls, this time with the light behind me. The head of one exhausted common gull kept slowly drooping, until he awoke with a start, reminding me of a sleepy life drawing model I once had in England.

Time was running out and so was my water. The day was already late and I had barely reached the halfway point. I walked briskly to the granite outcrop of Hestekløve, where there was a fantastic view back towards Frenne Odde, the colours intensifying in the late afternoon light.

At Hulenakke on my way towards Årsdale, I stopped to paint the golden light before it disappeared. I was hungry, thirsty and annoyed that I had left the last part of the journey so late. I forgot my binoculars and had to run back and fetch them.

I finally entered the harbour with an hour to go before sunset. I thankfully refilled my water bottled and boiled some food. Again, the air was filled with the mechanical maniacal screaming of swifts. Just minutes remained for me to finish off with a painting of the harbour arm, and as the sun finally set my brother appeared to collect me.

KYST 31

Weather report = uninterrupted sun all day. Temperature between 19°C and 26°C. Wind between 2 and 5 m/s from the west.  Visibility: good. Hours of sunshine: 16 hours.

Lessons learned – pacing, try to arrive half way on the trip around midday. And don’t run out of water.

Stops with the M60 = 2

Kilometers walked = 8.77 km

Day lasted = 16 hours, 11 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 30 species (1 new one, greenshank = running total 101)

Other stuff = During the walk I passed the wooden hollowed out bench near Grisby, where my family and I had sat almost exactly eleven years ago, whilst holidaying on Bornholm – which resulted in us moving the year after. The walk between Svaneke and Årsdale was my first on Bornholm and occupies a special place in my heart.

People talked to = 4

In my head – the fantastic party, the chaos of family visits

…se her, denne KYST 30 blog på dansk

se her for introduktion til KYST projektet

KYST 30 Dawn at Vige harbour and, despite the fresh onshore wind, it was already over 20 degrees. The sun broke the horizon and began its journey through a clear and cloudless sky. Nobody was around, but the grinding screams of the energetic swifts filled the air, and a solitary kestrel battled in the breeze (above).

I walked towards Svaneke and paused to paint the five chimneys of Svaneke’s Smokery (one of which was already smoking) – one of the few smokeries remaining in use from the scores that encircled Bornholm a century ago.

Rounding the promonotory at Vagtbod Nakke I came to one of Bornholm’s best preserved coastal entrenchments. These small battlements once encircled much of Bornholm but have now mostly  been flattened or lie hidden under vegetation. Here, however, the small Russian cannons point proudly and unhindered towards the sea, where they once were aimed at the English fleet. Today, I watched sailboats sail past on the strong wind and choppy sea, one of which was skippered by my sister-in-law and her family. Around me the locals walked their dogs.

I painted the dead elm tree just before Svaneke harbour, with the lighthouse in the background. It was burning hot in the sun.

In Svaneke harbour, thousands of tourists milled around in the burning sun. I struggled to find a vantage point in the shade, facing the right way, without the wind in my face. The hordes of tourists and holiday atmosphere felt light years away from my other KYST walks, and I felt uneasy with the attention I received from passersby. I gritted my teeth and tried to capture the energy and light of the harbour before moving swiftly onwards.

Just past the harbour, I noticed how the orange-yellow lichen had started to colonise the old tree with starling nest boxes, a sculptural artwork in its own right. Not long ago my own children had swung from this tree, but it was now much reduced. Happy to be out of the town, I chatted to people about the KYST project.

The lichen covering the granite rocks by the shore was reflected on the chests of the resting common gulls.

I carried on and explored the wild and rocky landscape approaching the lighthouse. The sun was quite low now and I looked back towards the picturesque and historic town of Svaneke, one of Bornholm’s most popular destinations (and the venue for the opening exhibition of the KYST project next year). The church steeple, the Mill and the water tower designed by Jørgen Utzon were all visible. Svaneke means ‘swan bay’ and only later did I notice the happy coincidence of the swan family in the foreground of the painting.

Under the lighthouse I waited out the remains of the day, exhausted and windblown. In front of me, a huge bonfire topped with the effigy of a witch presented a somewhat apocalyptic vision, which fitted well with my mood and the day itself. The witch was meant to have been consumed by flames more than a month previously on midsummer’s night, and one fact that she remained unburnt due to the ongoing drought and resulting ban on open fires, seemed both poetic and strangely portentous at the same time. After an incredible blood-red sunset, my wife and I waited for the appearance of the Blood Moon, yet another symbol of an apocalyptic future.

KYST 30 

Weather report = sun for most of the day, some clouds in the early evening. Temperature between 21 °C and 29°C. Wind between 3 and 8 m/s from the northeast. Visibility: medium. Hours of sunshine: 14 hours.

Lessons learned – it is hard to paint when the sun and wind direction conspire to make it impossible to look towards the sea without being burned.

Stops with the M60 = 1

Kilometers walked = 8.59 km

Day lasted = 16 hours, 18 minutes

Birds seen and heard = 28 species (2 new ones, common sandpiper and canada goose = running total 100)

Other stuff = No warblers singing for the first time in months – rounded my second corner of Bornholm and heading due south from now on.

People talked to = 25 (!)

In my head – party planning, Armageddon…