Welcome back, and thanks for joining me for another month in this series – your feedback on the February images and their stories was great to read.
Last month, the focus was on quiet connections – the subtle moments and influences that shape my work.
This month, the attention turns outward, to the familiar places that have long been part of the island’s landscape, and the ways in which light and perspective reveal them in their most captivating form.
This March entry features Ventnor Cascade and St Catherine’s Oratory (The Pepperpot) on the Isle of Wight.
These are the stories behind this month’s photographs.
Ventnor Cascade
Before I even had an idea that this would become my livelihood, I stood at the top of Ventnor Cascade, and took a shot with my DSLR camera and fisheye lens, attempting the scene during the day. It was a version I was never happy with, but even then, I could see the potential this spot had. I didn’t yet have the right equipment, the timing, or the knowledge to bring it to life.
At the time, though, photography was less about refinement and more about escape. Dealing with anxiety meant long walks along the cliffs and all around Ventnor and St. Lawrence, camera in hand, capturing whatever drew my attention.
So I reinvested money from early print sales into a Canon L-series wide-angle lens. Suddenly, the scenes I’d been carrying in my head felt possible. The distortion was gone, the light rendered more naturally, and I could finally begin realising the shots I’d imagined.
Much of what I do involves an enormous amount of patience, and this shot was no exception. There are so many factors that need to line up to create that perfect moment. The time of year, the weather conditions, and even a normally busy area having an unusual stillness. Taken in December 2015, this was one of those times where everything finally came together.
As I stood there that evening, ready to capture the shot, I was rewarded. The angle of the winter sun lined up perfectly over the bandstand. Clouds refracted the light, and a deep orange glow spread across the entire seafront, lifting the gardens in the foreground. It was one of those rare evenings where everything is lit in the same warmth – the kind of light you wake up to sometimes, when the curtains are open and the sunrise paints the whole room pink or gold. That same sense of being completely bathed in colour is what made this moment special.
The Cascade Gardens themselves remain much as they’ve always been, but that evening offered a perspective I hadn’t seen before— a fleeting combination of light, season, and timing that finally matched the vision I’d carried for a couple of years.
The Milky Way Over St Catherine's Oratory
The Island is filled with history, woven together through storytelling. Passed down from generation to generation, these tales have become part of our shared memory. Every corner seems to hold a myth, a tall tale twisted with time yet rooted in truth. One in particular, though, is entirely true— and no less remarkable.
St. Catherine’s Oratory, known locally as The Pepperpot, has stood the test of time on the Isle of Wight. Local landowner Walter de Godeton was found to have plundered casks of wine from a shipwreck. The Church threatened to excommunicate him, so in 1328 he built the Oratory as penance— a beacon to guide ships and honour the lost, still standing as a witness to the changing landscape below it, almost seven hundred years later. Indeed, it is often referred to as the finest surviving example of a medieval lighthouse in Britain.
When I set out to photograph it that night, I wanted to honour its original incarnation as a lighthouse. I set a ten-second delay, giving me just enough time to run into the tower to shine the light from within before the exposure began, then switched it off. As I stood inside the Oratory, my back to the wall, waiting for the exposure to finish, the darkness closed in around me. My eyes slowly adjusted, and that’s when I saw it – the rising crescent moon was directly opposite, centred perfectly within the archway. I had been so focused on capturing the Milky Way that I hadn’t even noticed the moon slowly climbing into view. But there it was, glowing softly in the night sky, almost as if it had slipped in unnoticed. It was one of those quiet, unexpected moments when something beautiful reveals itself. I will never forget it.
When I returned to my camera, I was pleased to see it had come out exactly as I had envisioned: the Oratory lit from within, shining a bright light in contrast to the Milky Way stretching across the sky, set against a subtle orange glow on the horizon from distant lights in France, 68 miles away. I am often asked whether the colours in the Milky Way can be seen with the human eye. They can, but the core appears as a glowing white cloud against the sky’s otherwise deep black canvas. The camera, however, captures the full spectrum of colour, revealing what is invisible to our eyes – much like the Aurora.
The sense of timelessness is ever present. Pair this with the expansiveness of the Milky Way and the night sky, and it becomes a landscape that could exist in any time. Imposing and ancient, a monument to the past and yet pointing to the skies like a rocket ship. Familiar landmarks can quietly transform when the conditions align.
Thank you for taking the time to read and follow along. These images have been a quietly important part of my journey – moments that have shaped me not just as a photographer, but as a person. I hope their stories have given you a glimpse of the experiences and influences that continue to guide my work, and I look forward to sharing the next chapter with you.
We often don’t notice it in the moment, but the right person at the right time can change everything. I hope you’ll take a moment to appreciate those who have quietly sided, supported, or believed in you along the way.
Thanks again and I’ll see you again next month!
Living in a town it’s something I will never see for real myself, so thank you for sharing this video Chad, it’s truly amazing. Who would have thought you’d see them this far south.