Barely any colour left in it. The far headland had given up being a place and become a smudge, which is one of the better things dusk does to a coastline.
There is a point most evenings when the sea stops reflecting and starts absorbing. Before it, every ripple is a small mirror and the water is the brightest part of the frame. After it, the water goes matte and heavy and the sky takes over. This was about four minutes after that.
The four minutes are the whole thing
I have learned to stop shooting when I think I am done and then wait a quarter of an hour. Almost every photograph I actually keep from an evening comes from that extra fifteen minutes, when the light is technically worse and everything looks better.
The best frame is usually the one after you decided to leave.
Practically, this means a tripod, because by then you are into exposures long enough that the tide blurs. It also means being cold, and accepting that you will drive home in the dark. I have never regretted it. I have frequently regretted leaving.
Nothing else to report. The beach was empty, the water did what water does, and I was back at the car by eight.
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