Harry's Photography Thoughts

On the charmingly sunny spring day that was Thursday 2nd April 2026, an idea came to me. That idea quickly formed into an impromptu expedition and, in the end, would change my life. Yes, that sounds hyperbolic, but it is often the smaller things in life that have the bigger impacts, from my experience.

At this time, the violent winds that had been tormenting Menorca for some weeks were beginning to gradually relax. Somebody told me that this particular day, the 2nd, would be ‘the final day of strong winds’. The photographer in me realised that I needed to take action; it was an unprecedented opportunity to capture on camera something that I had been seeking to photograph for a long time: violent, crashing waves.

That very same person recommended I visit Sa Mesquida, as its rugged northern cliff terrain allows for panoramic views of the rumbling, thrashing ocean in these windy times. Leaving immediately was not so much an idea as it was an impulse, one that came from within me as forcefully as those gusts of wind tearing their way over the island. It was pure instinct, almost a reflex; ‘I must go to Sa Mesquida’; I didn’t even think. I just went.

I borrowed a bicycle and, mixed in with plenty of walking and pushing, climbed the hill up out of Mahon and past La Mola on the way to Sa Mesquida. We had been to Cala Sa Mesquida once before on a warm, calm day and remembered it to be a truly delightful spot, a jewell in the world. Nonetheless, this time I was visiting alone, my only company being my beloved Praktica PM3 loaded with an almost-finished roll of Kodak Ektachrome, and an exciting new roll of Ilford Ortho 80 Plus. In the days before, we had visited Ciutadella with that very same roll of Ektachrome… of course, this scenery would provide a delightful contrast.

A View of the Harbour of Ciutadella, April 1st 2026

The journey to Sa Mesquida that day was an enormous physical challenge. I needed regular breaks to cope with both the incline and the wind pushing me downwards, almost as if fate were putting me through some strange hero’s trial where I would have to earn the reward of witnessing the elements wage their wars. I pushed through, despite this, with a deep intuition that it would all be worth it; that the photographs of today would be some of my best work yet; that I needed to be there on that day, and that nothing could stop me. How happy I was when I arrived at the point of the road that looks down upon Sa Mesquida! Before gleefully descending the easy hill that leads all the way into Sa Mesquida, I retrieved the weighty vintage zoom lens from my backpack, climbed a variety of rocks and waded through a mixture of coarse patches of vegetation to capture my first shots that day: cliff views from above.

Sa Mesquida, emerging from the hills

The Cliffs In The Opposite Direction

Triumphant View of Sa Mesquida from the Road

The Many Layers of Humanity and Nature Within This Place

Upon Arriving at the Base of the Hill, I was greeted with crashing waves

These stupendous, foaming waves were a delight to the senses, and the wind was fierce

I found the contrast between the deep blue waters and the darkened rocks, white houses and scatterings of driftwood on the pebbles fascinating.

In particular, I kept looking at the white house on the rock in the centre of the village, accessible via a flimsy footbridge. It has a timelessly Romantic atmosphere about it.

Cycling through the village at a lazy pace, I discovered this very interesting and expansive view of the Torre, decorated with the presence of an empty playground.

Eventually, I cycled up the steep and winding road to the car park, and began my descent toward the beach. 

To my right was this view. A view so spectacular and striking that it may very well end up as a postcard in the future…

After much time and effort, I arrived at the bottom of this hill and had finally and truthfully ‘arrived’. At this point, coincidentally, I had also run out of Ektachrome.

With great excitement, I changed to my roll of Ortho 80 Plus. This was something I had been planning for some time. Having seen the work of others who had utilised this fascinating, orthochromatic black and white film stock, I had planned in my mind many weeks in advance that this would be my ‘cliffs film’. Furthermore, over the past six months or so, black and white photography has become more and more exciting, meaningful and ‘natural to me’, so I was deeply excited to be shooting in black and white simply for its own sake. 

Sa Mesquida, a view from the beach, in full regalia and emitting an aura of pure majesty.

Here we see the violent stirrings of the waves rising and falling like the breath of an enraged tiger.

Whilst the beach was beautiful, albeit uncomfortable due to the sheer force of the wind, I had no reason to stay there. Instead, my main objective had formed in my mind many hours before on my cycle over: ‘climb the hill to the top this time’, a hill I have later come to discover as being named ‘Es Pas Gros’. Before, I had only climbed up to the point where one can find small, cozy caves, with charming ocean views, graffiti and an old mattress or two. On this day, however, despite the exhaustion from just getting there and the wind’s attempts to dissuade me, I had this strange, unlimited energy flowing through my veins that willed me to go to the top of the hill. ‘I must see what is at the top’ was the only thought in my mind, if that (again, it was more of an instinct than an idea). I began my climb, and stopped along several times to witness, and indeed capture on camera, the sublimely breathtaking panoramic views from Es Pas Gros.

From the entrance to the caves, the view of Sa Mesquida is already expansive and jawdropping

To the left, when one climbs up a little further, the Mediterranean seems endless. Indeed, timeless.

From the very top, the absurdly panoramic view is enough to stop one’s heart in its beauty, power and majesty. I believe Kant called this sensation ‘The Sublime’.

The Harmony of Menorca

This slice of the panorama stood out to me so much that I changed to my delightful little Soligor 135mm telephoto, so that I could isolate this section of view precisely. Here, we see that central black rock, home to the aforementioned mysterious white house with the flimsy footbridge. The blackness of this rock and its fortitude against the barrage of white, foaming waves inspired me deeply. Though it seems timeless, endless, this rock has been shaped by thousands of years of aquatic bombardment, and indeed will continue to be shaped by it thusly; yet, it happens so slowly that, to us, these black rocks and cliffs stand as timeless monuments, ancient Gods of the island. In addition, the white houses and shining roads of Sa Mesquida almost seem starkly juxtaposed against the scene taking place before them; they seem to be in a state of tranquillity, bystanders, almost as if they were watching the whole thing behind glass in perfect safety. Despite this clear contrast, nothing is out of place in this scene, each element is a unified harmony of mankind and nature; for me, this is one of my favourite images of the day as I see it as a microcosm of that very same harmony which is the spirit of Menorca.

Behind me was an equally spectacular view though, instead of the eye landing on the harmonious design of Sa Mesquida, one instead gazes into infinity. Infinity, however, is punctuated with a fantastically textured terrain of jagged dark rocks and specialised flora, so hardy that it can survive and even thrive against the elements.

After some time meditating, whilst seated high above in the midst of primordial peril, I slowly got up and began my descent, eyes fixated on infinity.

I sat down once again, at this point exhausted. In the centre of this image, one can see a lone flower facing the ocean defiantly, somehow standing upright in spite of the ravenous winds tearing south into the island. This flower led me into a train of thought; my mind had been a deserted train station up until this point.

I gazed out wistfully  at the gunpowder-grey cove below me, watching the waves batter every rock that stood in their way. Sitting, I too was part of that landscape.

The little white house by the beach.

This solo trip to Sa Mesquida was truly life changing. I felt ‘fulfilled’, but not in the usual sense. I always feel fulfilled, that I have everything I need in this life, that everything is exactly as it is meant to be. But, in this moment, it was different, more intense. I not only felt that, by exploring these cliffs, I was doing the exact things I was meant to be doing, but that I was already ‘doing them’. This might not make sense, so perhaps I can elaborate with context.

Maybe it is ambition, maybe it is dissatisfaction, but throughout my school, university and, currently, professional days I have felt a ‘stuckness’, or a sense of ‘not belonging’. It is hard to describe, but there has always been this almost indescribable yearning within me to be wild, to be a ‘wild man’ as I call it. Not ‘wild’ as in ‘do whatever I want and screw everyone else, let’s party all night!’, but rather a freedom, an ‘untamed’ life. An inner explorer and adventurer that wishes for no more than oneness with the Earth. I have always had this strong vision of myself, a man in the wild, unkempt but free, completely in the moment without worry for past or future. It’s something I’ve always strived for, a destination, someone whom I must ‘become’. 

What was so life changing about this moment in Sa Mesquida, surrounded by the full, vibrant display of nature’s power, was the realisation that ‘I am already here’. In that moment I was the ‘wild man’, ‘I am the wild man, I am already here and always was and always shall be.’ It might not be every single day that I am wandering cliffs, but on that day I was, and in my heart I always am. I may be at work, or commuting, or fulfilling an annoying obligation of some sort that I agreed to, but inside I am always ‘wild’. There is no need to wait to ‘become’ something I already am.

After this moment of reflection, I continued descending the hill in order to reach the cove. Initially though, I decided to go to a secluded area behind some rocks adjacent to the cove to relieve myself outside of sight. How fortunate I was that I had the urge to pee that led me to stumbling upon this secluded micro-cove…

The Wild Man

In this place, I discovered a beauty that was completely unexpected. The sharpness and blackness of the rock was piercing, timeless, otherworldly. I had stumbled into a landscape that, whilst miniature in comparison to the surrounding eternal, was grand, enormous in its impression on me. This above photograph is simply what it was, unfiltered, exactly as it was. The waters were violently beating upon the stoic rocks, the sea was bubbling and fomenting into the infinite ether of sky, all around was chaos and stillness mingled into one sensation. This image is one of my favourites I’ve ever taken not due to its composition, or its innate and timeless beauty, but due its meaning to me. I took this picture without thinking, it was completely spontaneous. I had my 28mm lens on, I didn’t even meter it (just guessed based on sunny 16), and I simply allowed this moment to ‘be’.

I did not stop there, however, as at this point I was almost in the sea itself; it was an eye to eye confrontation.

Behind me was the rocky cove, bursting with the sea’s explosive intent.

To the right, the stirrings and grumblings of the deep would intermittently erupt in great icy splashes against the nearby rocks. 

Before me, however, to the right again, was a closer and much more explosive display of the sea’s power.

I climbed along the rocks, closer and closer, more and more sea spray splattering me, yet I pressed on.

It was with my trusty 50mm Yashica Yashinon that I sought to capture these white, raging splashes and crashes against the stubborn, unmoving rocks.

Explosion after explosion battered the rocks, and I just got closer and closer, very nearly touching with my feet the writhing inferno of water that was the sea that day.

Eventually, I got too close… and got splashed up to my shoulders with freezing cold sea water, very nearly getting dragged into it. The danger did not affect me, for I was so full of purpose and adrenaline that nothing could phase me.

However, that freezing cold, climactic splash of water over my body suddenly awakened me from the photographer’s trance I was submersed under. My legs started shaking, I realised that if I kept going I could very well drown. I was terrified in an instant. I could barely stand. The water was rising again in attack formation, ready to deliver a horrifying, overwhelming splash. I had no counterattack. My stomach was dangling at my feet. I ran. I sprinted, hopping like a crazed crab across the slippery rocks. I ran, despite all the exercise that day; I had gone way too far this time. This was genuinely dangerous, frightening… ‘why didn’t I just use the telephoto’, I reprimanded myself.

Coincidentally, I had also emptied the entire magazine on this set of waves; I have selected my favourites, but there are several more of these sea splash photos that inevitably ended the 36 frames I had on the Ilford Ortho. 

After the photography was finished, the rest of the afternoon was fairly simple. I needed to walk back to my bike and gear myself up for the long slog back to Mahon (with a pleasant downhill portion of the road for the majority of the ride). I was thoroughly exhausted, but waiting for a sweaty, splashed silly, mystically-inspired me were Vermuts with the finest company on a pleasant, slightly chilly April’s evening in the harbour. Such a contrast! (or is it?)

Like clockwork, the wind began to dissipate into a familiar, refreshing Menorcan sea breeze over the days that followed, and none of my other postcard adventures were quite so vigorous and wild as the one that had taken place in Sa Mesquida that day. From that little expedition, I took home more than just photographs: a reinforced sense of self. The spirits of the air, earth and water had comingled with my own inner fire, and had left a deep impression within. Sa Mesquida and the thundering winds of the North are wild; I too am wild. The photographs are evidence.