Droning at Dawn – A Morning at Pontypool Folly

There’s something quite special about Pontypool Folly at dawn. It sits there high above the valley like a quiet sentinel, watching over the rolling landscape and the early risers who are daft enough to be up before sunrise — which, of course, included myself and my good friend Paul Joy.

We met about thirty minutes before the sun was due to show its face. It was one of those classic autumn mornings: crisp air that nipped the fingertips, a faint breeze, and that unmistakable smell of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. The eastern horizon was glowing a beautiful orange, promising a perfect sunrise — though, as nature often enjoys reminding us, there was a thick layer of cloud just waiting to gatecrash the show.

Paul and I set up near the Folly, exchanging the usual morning banter and exaggerated complaints about the early hour. Before long, we each launched our drones into the soft half-light. The hum of the propellers mingled with the dawn chorus — though I’m not sure the local Robins appreciated the competition.

After a few test flights, I decided to wander a little further up the hill, finding a spot near an old dry-stone wall that looked like something from an old Welsh postcard. From there, I sent the drone climbing over the ridge, and the view that unfolded was simply breathtaking. The Folly stood proud amidst a sea of autumn colour, and as the sun fought its way through the clouds, shafts of golden light illuminated the valley below. The results were spectacular — the kind of footage that makes you forget the cold and the ungodly hour.

Paul, on the other hand, wasn’t having quite the same luck. His flights were… well, short-lived, shall we say. Turns out he’d forgotten to charge his drone batteries. The look on his face when the low-power warning beeped must have been priceless — a mixture of disbelief and resignation that only comes from hard-earned experience. We both laughed about it later when we met up again, and he told me about it; I couldn’t resist the odd jibe about “schoolboy errors.” He took it in good humour, of course — that’s half the fun of our adventures together.

Once we’d both finished, we packed up our gear and made a beeline for Greggs — the true reward for any early-morning outing. Over bacon rolls and steaming cups of coffee, we caught up on life, camera gear, and, inevitably, Paul cursing over forgetting to charge his batteries overnight.

It wasn’t the most dramatic sunrise I’ve ever photographed, but mornings like that — shared laughter, autumn light, and a dash of drone drama — are what make these little adventures memorable. The Folly may have been built to stand the test of time, but it’s the fleeting moments like these that really stick with you.