Today’s Trip to Bigbury-on-Sea: Why a Simple Sunrise Nearly Didn’t Happen

A sunrise at Bigbury-on-Sea became more than a photography outing—it was a quiet act of pushing back against a difficult year. Despite nearly giving in to a deep mental fog, I made the 6am drive and was rewarded with calm tides, soft dawn light, and three images I’m truly happy with. Shot on the GFX100S II with minimal edits and a Portra film emulation, the morning reminded me why photography is often as much about healing as it is about making pictures.

There are mornings when the biggest battle isn’t with the weather, the tide, or the light—it’s with yourself. Today was one of those mornings. My trip to Bigbury-on-Sea very nearly didn’t happen, and if I’m honest, that has been the pattern for much of this year. I’ve been stuck in a blue funk for months, drifting through days without energy or motivation, and even photography—my usual escape—felt heavy. That’s the thing about those quiet internal storms: they rarely announce themselves, but they shape everything.

So when my alarm went off at 6:00am, the temptation to roll over and ignore it was strong. The room was warm, the bed was comfortable, and the idea of facing the outside world felt like wading through wet cement. For a few long seconds I considered abandoning the plan altogether. But something—probably the faint memory of previous mornings when photography had grounded me—pushed me upright. I pried myself out of bed, grabbed my gear, and walked out the door before I could change my mind. In the rear-view mirror, the sky was still a deep, blue-grey wash of pre-dawn, and the roads were already busier than expected.

The drive to Bigbury-on-Sea takes about forty-five minutes. Usually, that journey is a time to settle into the day, but today it was a slow, heavy slog. Traffic was surprisingly thick for that time of morning, and by the time I reached the coast, I realised I was later than planned. I’d hoped to arrive well before dawn, giving myself time to scout compositions and settle into the calm of the shoreline. Instead, it was only about half an hour until sunrise when I pulled into the car park.

Despite the slight frustration of being behind schedule, stepping out of the car brought a subtle shift. The air was perfectly still. The sea was calm—eerily calm, the kind of gentle, glassy surface that seems to mute the entire world. I had visited Bigbury at almost exactly the same time last year, and the conditions were nearly identical: clear skies, no wind, soft light forming at the horizon. It felt like stepping back into a memory.

I had originally planned to shoot somewhere entirely different, a location that would have needed a little more texture in the sky and some movement in the atmosphere. But the conditions were too serene for that plan—too still, too empty. So Bigbury became the obvious choice, even if it wasn’t what I had imagined when I went to bed. Sometimes the landscape makes the decision for you.

A Familiar Shoreline, But Never the Same

Bigbury-on-Sea is one of those places that rewards repeated visits. It’s familiar, iconic even, thanks to the tidal causeway leading to Burgh Island and the unmistakable silhouette of the art deco Burgh Island Hotel rising above the coastline. Yet each visit holds a slightly different mood—tide, weather, season, and personal headspace all conspire to change the way the scene feels.

This morning the tide was fully in, which was exactly what I’d hoped for. High tide at Bigbury creates a beautifully minimalistic foreground—water washing clean over the sand, small ripples breaking gently at your feet, and an uninterrupted leading line towards the island. With calm conditions and no wind, the water surface had a soft sheen that reflected the early colours of dawn. It was a landscape photographer’s blank canvas.

What I didn’t get, though, were the clouds. I had envisioned a soft, scattered pattern of mid-level clouds, catching early pinks and golds behind the hotel. I wanted the full cinematic sky—something to anchor the island and frame it in colour. Instead, the sky was almost completely clear. Just a faint haze, barely enough to capture the drama I had in my mind’s eye.

And yet this is what so many photographers will tell you: you have to visit a location multiple times to get the shot you imagined. Today wasn’t the shot. But it was still worth every second of being there.

Settling Into the Work

I carried my Fujifilm GFX100S II, set up my Manfrotto tripod, and made my way down to the shoreline. With the tide right up to the edge of the beach, I positioned myself as low as possible—close to the water, but not so close that a rogue swell would catch me out. Stability is essential with a camera like the GFX, especially when working with long exposures or precise compositions, and the Manfrotto handled it beautifully. Today wasn’t a day for dramatic shutter speeds; it was a morning for gentle light and still surfaces.

I found myself repeatedly drawn to the 65:24 crop, inspired partly by anamorphic framing and partly by the way that ultra-wide ratio suits the horizon at Bigbury. The island seems to sit more comfortably in that panoramic sweep. It stretches the landscape, gives it room to breathe, and helps balance the quiet simplicity of the scene. The composition becomes less about height and more about space—space in the frame, but also the emotional space that mornings like this bring.

Working low to the ground allowed me to capture the subtle textures at the water’s edge: the faint ripple of a wave, the thin line of white foam dissolving into the sand, and the gentle pull of water as it retreated back into the sea. Even without clouds, the pastel tones of dawn played softly across the water’s surface. Every few minutes I adjusted my position, trying to capture the exact balance of light and shape.

There’s something deeply meditative about photographing a slow sunrise. The world wakes in gradients—first blue, then lavender, then the faintest peach tones that eventually warm into gold. When you’re behind the camera, you’re forced to slow down and notice these details. The process becomes as much about being present as it is about creating images.

Three Images Worth Keeping

By the time the sun finally broke the horizon, casting a sharp glow across the water, I had already taken a small series of frames. I don’t shoot excessively, especially on mornings like this. I tend to move slowly, consider each composition, and take only what feels meaningful. Out of everything from the session, three images stood out—the ones I’m genuinely happy with.

The edits were minimal. I processed them in Lightroom, applied only small adjustments for exposure and colour, and then used a Portra film emulation through Dehancer Pro. I’ve noticed that many film landscape photographers turn to Portra for scenes like this—soft light, pastel colours, calm water. Portra has a natural ability to render warmth without exaggeration, to hold contrast gently, and to give the image a quiet emotional quality. On digital files from the GFX, it adds just enough character without overwhelming the subtle tones already present in the scene.

The combination worked better than expected. The photographs feel honest to the morning—soft, contemplative, and understated.

The Real Reason This Morning Mattered

As much as this post is about Bigbury-on-Sea, the tide, the light, and the photographs I made, it is equally about something more personal. Today wasn’t just a photography session; it was an act of pushing back against the heaviness that has overshadowed much of this year.

There is a line from the Faithless track God Is a DJ:
“This is my church. This is where I heal myself.”

For me, that place is the coastline at sunrise. It always has been. There’s something about watching the world change colour that makes everything feel more possible. The act of simply showing up—getting out of bed, grabbing the camera, stepping into the quiet—can shift something inside you. It doesn’t fix everything, but it creates a small space for clarity.

Today, that clarity came in the form of three photographs, and the reminder that even on difficult days, there is still beauty worth witnessing.

Returning to Bigbury—and to Myself

I often talk about photography being more about the experience than the final image, and today reaffirmed that belief. Yes, I came home with photos I’m pleased with. Yes, the Portra emulation worked beautifully. But the real value came from being there—standing on the sand, listening to the quiet movement of the tide, watching the colours shift across the sea.

It reminded me that creativity doesn’t demand perfection from the world. It simply asks that we turn up.

There will be other visits to Bigbury-on-Sea. There will be mornings with dramatic clouds, wild wind, stormy light, or mist creeping over the tide. I’ll return when the conditions promise that shot I’ve imagined—all moody tones and cinematic skies behind Burgh Island Hotel. But even if none of those plans work out, mornings like today are still worth every moment.

Because today, I overcame something intangible yet suffocating. Today, I didn’t let the funk win. Today, I gave myself the chance to breathe again.

Photography may not fix life’s challenges, but it does offer moments of clarity, connection, and grounding. And sometimes that’s all we really need.

As the last lines of the Faithless song say—and as this morning quietly confirmed—
this is my church, this is where I heal myself.