Issue 45
At Readymoney
The day began with the sun crawling up the hills Fowey is built on, painting the ancient buildings in umber hues. I prefer to savour moments like these — nature painting, Juno cuddled in a warm blanket, me with a Cup-of-Jo — and leave the camera in its bag.
When we judged it warm enough, we walked to Readymoney Cove along the section of the South West Coast Path that skirts the town.
Readymoney is a beautiful little cove where the local women come for an early swim. The group greets each newcomer warmly — this stranger included, his bouncy dog tearing around their beach burying stones and chasing sticks — before returning to the morning’s gossip. Today’s topics: their respective husbands and the local sewage system. The men attracted opprobrium on par with the pipes.
To be fair, the smell was hard to miss. So was the droning of the pump unblocking the line that drains into the Fowey River a hundred metres away. One could only imagine what their menfolk had been up to.
I considered the scene. Sharp highlights bouncing off the water; mid-toned shadows. Easily within Tri-X 400’s tone curve if I pulled exposure by two stops. My light meter confirmed it.
What I saw was calm village life: heads bobbing serenely toward the buoys that mark safe passage for the ships that come infrequently. What I knew was the unholy trinity that combines to spill sewage into this cove during extreme weather: a combined sewage and storm overflow pipe, the Fowey River runoff and the Readymoney Stream.
Juno didn’t venture in. I’d like to think her keen senses suggested caution. The truth is more prosaic: she is cat-like in her aversion to water.
— Johan du Preez