On a warm, late October afternoon along the coast of northern Spain, I pulled out my camera and tripod, walked out of my hotel room and down to the beach. It had been quite a while since I dedicated time to take images, and as I walked into the warm, waning light, my senses came alive. The smell of the salt water seemed heavier, the crunch of my footsteps just a little louder, and the light was even more beautiful. It was then that I realized that I have developed a relationship with light in my many years now as a photographer. It felt like I was seeing an old friend again. In my busy time of running a photography and videography business, and in marketing my book, I had spent little time recently shooting in the golden hour.

Snapping my tripod into place, I set up for the first shot, and then the second and third. I spent a couple hours walking slowly, shifting perspectives, shooting and reshooting images, all the time instinctively absorbing the changing light. It was spiritual. It was magnificent. I have always loved late afternoon, perhaps because I was born about an hour before sunset on a cold winter’s day. This is my preferred time of day to shoot. I don’t particularly like the golden hour of the morning, and it is for a variety of reasons. But chief among those reasons is the feeling that as the time goes by, I am losing light rather than gaining it. Late in the day, the light just seems to get better and better, and even after sunset, wonderful pinks and oranges and blue colors paint the sky. And then there is blue night, or nautical twilight, that magic 40 minutes or so before black envelopes the sky.

So, as the light dimmed, I covered my camera, folded my tripod and paused to breathe the cool evening air. And I promised myself that I would come back soon to visit my old friend again.