Boneyard Reach

Boneyard Beach exists in a state of beautiful decay. This is where erosion has claimed the maritime forest, where once-living oaks now stand as driftwood sculptures in the surf zone. The tree in this image still holds its form—trunk, branches, even the gesture of reaching skyward—but life has long departed, leaving behind weathered wood bleached silver by salt and sun.

I arrived at low tide when these skeletal trees emerge most dramatically from the beach. The long exposure I chose transformed the chaotic surf into misty veils around the driftwood, creating a sense of motion against permanence. In black and white, the scene becomes timeless—it could be yesterday or decades ago. The monochrome emphasizes form and texture: the smooth flow of water against the rough grain of weathered wood, the angular branches against soft sky.

What moves me about boneyard beaches is their reminder of impermanence. These trees once stood in a forest, providing shade and shelter, their roots deep in dunes that have since washed away. Now they serve a different purpose—as perches for shorebirds, as sculptures that arrest our attention, as monuments to the coast's constantly shifting nature. They won't last forever; each storm takes more, each tide wears them down. But for now, they stand as testament to resilience in the face of unstoppable change.

Boneyard Reach honors the ghostly beauty of coastal driftwood forests, where trees continue to stand long after the land that held them has vanished, reminding us that grace can be found even in surrender to forces greater than ourselves.