North Norfolk Coast Photography: Beaches, Tides, and Sunrises
The North Norfolk Coast has always had a pull for me —vast beaches, shifting tides, huge skies, and quiet, weather-worn villages. This month, I joined a small group of photographers led by Suffolk-based photographer Jason Mimms to explore the coastline in all its moods. It wasn’t just about taking photographs; it was about slowing down, watching, and learning how light changes the land minute by minute.
Day 1 – Old Hunstanton Beach & Zig-Zag Groynes
Our first afternoon began at Old Hunstanton beach, walking across wet sand with tripods slung over our shoulders, the air heavy with salt and promise. At low tide, reflections stretched on forever — soft greys and blues giving way to pale golds and pinks. Climbing the huge stones scattered along the beach, I found geometric lines and textures that begged to be photographed. Later, as the tide came in, we found ourselves wading through rising water in wellies, laughing as the sand shifted underfoot. Finally understanding why, they were essential equipment.
Photography roots you completely in the present. Every decision becomes immediate: the movement of a cloud, a ripple in the tide, the sweep of a bird, the passing of a pedestrian. I experimented with filters I hadn’t used before, chasing new textures and tones. Each frame felt like a small discovery — the same landscape, seen differently depending on the glass in front of the lens and the patience behind it.
We stayed until sunset, capturing the last streaks of gold and pink as the sky softened into dusky blues. The zig-zag groynes made for striking compositions, leading the eye across wet sand and with the filters, the incoming tide was making waves look ghostly over the worn wood. My excitement turned to dismay when, in moving aside for another photographer, my camera slipped into the advancing sea.
Despite hurried attempts to dry it, the following morning confirmed what I had feared: the camera was not working.
There’s nothing quite like that slow, sinking feeling of watching your most important and favourite piece of kit disappear beneath a wave. But once the initial shock passed, I reached for my backup: an older body with a single mid-range lens. It changed everything. With fewer options, I had to work harder — moving closer, waiting longer, seeing differently. In a strange way, that limitation became its own kind of freedom.
Looking back, I realise that photography — much like life — is really about adapting. It’s about making the best of what’s in front of you, finding beauty in the mist, and making peace with what you can’t control. I like to think of myself as an opportunist photographer, always working with the moment as it comes, and this experience simply leaned into that approach, reminding me how much creativity thrives in unexpected circumstances.
Day 2 - Thornham – Sunrise & High Tide
The next morning, with backup camera in hand, we arrived at Thornham before dawn. The approaching tide slipped quickly over the paths as the light slowly lifted the colours of the sky and water from purples to lilacs. At one point, I found myself temporarily stranded on a small sandbank, perfectly framed for a photograph but momentarily marooned. Standing in wellies and watching the tide creep in, I realised photography is as much about patience as preparation.
Brancaster Staithe – Afternoon Discovery
Later, we visited Brancaster Staithe. Unlike the previous landscape-heavy sessions, here I focused on “things that caught my eye” — textures, reflections, and intimate compositions in the harbourside. The slower pace and more intimate framing offered a different kind of creativity, reminding me that photography isn’t just about the grand view, but also the small details.
The day closed at Snettisham for sunset, capturing wide horizons, and tidal flats glowing pink and gold. The mid-range lens proved too challenging for wildlife compositions, so instead it pushed me to focus on patterns, shapes, and layers of light rather than reach alone.
There were moments of real adventure too: climbing down steep sea walls, braving soft mud, heading back along narrow paths by torchlight after the sun had gone. Each day was long, but full. I came home tired, salt-streaked, and quietly elated — with memory cards full of shifting skies, silver horizons, and the stillness that only seems to exist between tides.
Day 3 – Wells-next-the-Sea
The final morning started even earlier at Wells-next-the-Sea for sunrise. The sky shifted from pale lavender to gold. Here is where I felt most hampered by the single mid-range lens, I had to discover new ways to capture the vastness of the coast — leading lines in the sand, and the light on the beach huts.
Perhaps that’s what I love most about photography: it’s never just about the picture. It’s about being present long enough to notice what others might pass by — the line of foam on wet sand, a gull suspended against the wind, the quiet before the next wave arrives.
The trip also reminded me that fitness matters. Those pre-dawn starts, the climbing and carrying, the wading and waiting — all of it takes energy. As I look ahead to Guyana, I know I’ll need more of that stamina. The light there will be different, the challenges new, but the same patience and awareness will apply. Each place, in its own way, teaches you how to see.
Bringing Norfolk Home
If you’d like to bring a piece of Norfolk home, explore the Print of the Month or browse the full gallery collection. Each photograph captures a fleeting moment of light, tide, and atmosphere — a memory to treasure on your wall or in your life.
For more behind-the-scenes stories from the gallery and travels, subscribe to the newsletter. I’d love to hear from you too: which Norfolk moment would you most like to bring home?
