It was late afternoon when we set off back to Manji. We had driven across to have lunch with my
parents, my sister and her husband, their two children, and my brother-in-law’s
parents. They had all come down for the
Christmas week. It was a hot day, but
fortunately as a beachside town, Busselton gets an early sea breeze. After a leisurely and decidedly delicious
lunch, accompanied by a glass of bubbles of course, our two young nephews
opened their belated Christmas presents – remote controlled helicopter balls! Then it was off to the beach for a swim. The water was alluring with a bright mix of blue and
turquoise and the bright afternoon sun made the surface sparkle intensely. It was very refreshing as the mercury had just
hit 38 degrees (just over 100 in the old scale). Then it was a double serving of my mum's famous Christmas pudding before hitting the road.
As we approached the final turnoff to Manji a beautiful
double rainbow appeared in the east, the direction we were about to turn. As we drove along the beautiful Karri lined
road, the double rainbow was ahead of us and the glorious rays of sun followed
us from behind, sparkling in the high reaches of the Karri canopy. The rain was nowhere to be seen!
As we continued our journey eastwards, the rainbow suddenly vanished and the clouds were smouldering with a mysterious salmon colour directly ahead. The golden sunset continued behind us whilst to the north east there was a sheet of grey clouds. The feeling was extraordinarily eerie.
As we continued our journey eastwards, the rainbow suddenly vanished and the clouds were smouldering with a mysterious salmon colour directly ahead. The golden sunset continued behind us whilst to the north east there was a sheet of grey clouds. The feeling was extraordinarily eerie.
Mysterious salmon-coloured clouds ahead. |
Golden sunset behind us. |
Suddenly, there was a strike of lightning in those
gloomy grey clouds in the north east. Perhaps
the Mayans were a few days out. Was this
the end of the world?
Standing on the veranda back in Manji the lightning intensified. It was covering almost half the eastern side of the sky from north to south. Although we could barely hear the thunder initially, it steadily intensified with each strike. Keen to take my first opportunity to photograph a lightning storm, I seized my tripod, Canon 40D DSLR, and shutter release cable. Daughter number three decided soon enough that she would be my trusty assistant. Although I had not photographed lightning with my DSLR camera before I knew the basic principles. The camera is mounted on the tripod so that long exposures can be obtained, and this requires the use of a shutter release cable for best results. Most of these shots are 30 to 40 seconds of exposure. Daughter number three was enthralled by the whole shoot that we did together.
As the storm got closer the wind started gathering force and
each strike of lightning became more intense.
Eventually, the rain forced us back onto the balcony where we gazed
intently at the awesome demonstration of nature’s power.
And then it really pelted down! The sound of the beating rain on the tin roof
was like a thousand symphonies being played – all at the same time, quite discordant!
The lightning show lasted some three to four hours. For how long the rain drenched the parched
land we cannot be sure, for despite its discordance, its pulsing rhythm on the
roof soon lulled us to sleep.
Scared Potter? A fear of thunder and lightning - that's called astraphobia, and is also known as astrapophobia, brontophobia, keraunophobia, or tonitrophobia.
Want to study thunder and lightning? You would be a fulminologist!
No comments:
Post a Comment