Walking the shoreline when the water goes out, mostly with a camera that still takes film.
The lowest tide of the month came just after sunrise. Ochre sea stars clustered under the overhang where the rock stays wet longest, and a small octopus pulled itself back into a crack before I could focus. Two rolls of Portra 160, most of them probably too dark.
Switched to a stand development routine: one hour, gentle agitation at the start and halfway. Grain is softer and the highlights on wet sand finally hold some texture. The kitchen smells of fixer for a day afterwards, which nobody else in the house appreciates.
For years I only looked at the height column. The time between the low and the next high matters just as much: a slow flood gives you an extra half hour on the outer rocks, a fast one leaves you wading back. Now I write both on the back of my hand before leaving.
Found an old rangefinder with a stiff shutter at a weekend market. After a cleaning it fires at every speed except the slowest two, which is fine for daylight on the beach. The viewfinder patch is dim, so focusing is half guesswork.
This is a personal notebook, updated whenever a good tide and a free morning line up. No comments, no newsletter, no tracking.