Midnight in the Ogwen Valley

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A look at the forecast for the Bank Holiday weekend suggested it would be a good time to head up North to Snowdonia so I did just that and the conditions didn't disappoint. Wall to wall sunshine and warmth by day giving way to clear moonless nights. Trying to combine hobbies doesn't always work out too well. I went walking and scrambling with friends during the day and in such circumstances I rarely get in the zone or position to take photos. I managed some phone snaps in the blazing sunshine but by the time the light began to turn golden, we'd headed down to get a well deserved ice cream and collect our medals. No complaints from me. But as I've discussed here before, going to take photos requires solitude which is usually for the best as it can be a maddening process getting a good shot; Many minutes pass by experimenting with different angles or walking back and forth and around and about trying to get a composition just right, often followed by curses before walking off then returning to the same spot because a more attractive cloud has drifted into the scene when my back was turned. It's not that enjoyable for someone who expects a walk in the style of a normal person especially as more often than not, the results don't please and never see the light of day. This is the only picture worth sharing here after a few days spent in Snowdonia.

At night I said my goodbyes and found my solitude in the Ogwen valley. Stood opposite the grand peak of Pen yr Ole Wen, waiting until nearly midnight before the last of the days light had faded away and let all those stars shine in the deep blue darkness. Adding to the magic of that night, as the last cars headed home down the valley, the aurora lent purple to the palette and a green smudge across the horizon above Bethesda and Bangor.

This shot is taken only a hundred metres or so away from where my last Snowdonia picture was taken in my post from 12th February. Promise next time I'll go somewhere else!

Live Music: Twin Bandit and Sky Barkers

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On Thursday at The Meadow in St Davids, I went along to take some pictures of Twin Bandit (a folk duo/band from Vancouver, Canada) and local duo Sky Barkers playing some beautiful tunes. We don't often get live acts making the effort to journey all the way to play for us in Pembrokeshire so it's been lovely to have Boia Gigs attract some quality acts to St Davids.

Twin Bandit are on a European tour and had been in London the previous evening before flying to Amsterdam the following day; from Britain's largest city to it's smallest before hitting mainland Europe, we appreciated the effort! Be sure to check them out if they are in your neighbourhood.

The Meadow is also recommended as a great place to get fed and watered if you're in St Davids.

“You have a talent for capturing expression and the feeling of that show. We are so grateful, it was a beautiful night and it’s such a joy to remember it by these pictures!”
— Twin Bandit

Panning for gold

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Soundtrack: Kurt Vile - Goldtone

Sometimes (often) I get a bit lost for inspiration; I stand in the kitchen and munch on cashews or glug a cup of tea mulling over where to go and no place appeals. I slowly get my stuff together and sit in the car growing frustrated at my indecision, feeling like I've exhausted all local options, feeling like I can't face the process of finding a spot and creating an image. The light will be bad, the wind will be too fierce, the tide will be wrong.

The light is threatening to disappear.

When the situation starts to become ridiculous I start the car and drive. Left or right is the first decision and the next junction comes before I've reached a conclusion. I start to get a little despairing and often it turns out to be the best recipe for a decent shot. A 'f*ck it' attitude is often useful creatively. Head to the coast, park the car, grab the camera, leave the tripod in the car, watch the sun go and the last light turn to a thin band on the horizon. Golden Hour turns to Blue Hour; waves race out of the gloom. Start shooting.

Panning the camera from one side to the other gives this effect. Waves, clouds and horizon are rendered in silken tones and a sense of the atmosphere of standing beside the water in the gathering gloom is conveyed. Don't you think?

I often listen to music to help find inspiration. The above tune seemed to go well. Thanks to Kurt Vile.

Following John Piper's lead in Snowdonia

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I've spent a bit of time in the hills recently. A trip to Snowdonia a couple of weeks ago and the Western edge of the Brecon Beacons this weekend. Below is a shot from the Snowdonia trip, a view down the Ogwen Valley.

The artist John Piper painted many scenes in Snowdonia and I had in mind his paintings whilst wandering around up there as the palette at this time of year is typical of his work. He ended up spending time there after initially being sent on an uncompleted commission to draw the interior of Manod Mawr quarry where artworks from the National Gallery were stored during the Blitz. He fell in love with the area and rented a house in the Ogwen valley during the winter months.

More info on John Piper

The light was fairly flat for me this time but Piper understood the importance of immersing yourself in the landscape and here’s two fantastic quotes for anyone trying to understand how time to fully absorb the nature of a scene is essential to interpreting it...

“Each rock laying in the grass had a positive personality: for the first time I saw bones and the structure and the lie of the mountains, living with them and climbing them as I was, lying on them in the sun and getting soaked with rain in their cloud cover and enclosed in their improbable, private rock-world in fog”

“The rocks can look grey in a leaden light, and then do not, commonly. Against mountain grass or scree, against peaty patches near tarns, on convex slopes, in dark cwms, the same kind of rock can look utterly different, and changes equally violently in colour according to the light and time of year. The rocks are often mirrors for the sky, sometimes antagonistic to the sky’s colour.”

I’ll be returning to spend more time in Snowdonia to follow Piper’s lead and hopefully get better light and more drama.

Blue Planet II

As I'm sure everyone knows; the BBC natural history programmes are very special pieces of television and Blue Planet consistently delivers incredible footage. Very often we are witness to animals and behaviours that are stranger than fiction and this series hasn't disappointed. Scenes like this one below are brilliant examples of how nature, given millions of years to evolve, can create such breathtakingly beautiful creatures with abilities and environmental adaptations that are truly fantastical. My only wish is that these scenes inspire and persuade those people with influence to do all that is possible to protect these ecosytems which have developed to be perhaps the most amazing examples of life in our or any other galaxy. To allow a species or ecosystem to become extinct is to turn the clock back to zero and squander many lifetimes of evolutionary development. The plants and creatures on this planet are truly it's most precious jewels and losing them is a colossal tragedy.

A trip to Iceland and thoughts on solitude in landscape photography

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I've not long returned from a short trip to Iceland. We only had 6 days start to finish and with the limited daylight time on a trip towards the arctic regions in Winter it meant we were crossing our fingers for good conditions and also for clear night skies coupled with some geomagnetic activity to give us a chance of seeing the aurora... not too much to ask surely! We got lucky: although we had conditions ranging from blue skies and sunshine to a raging Atlantic storm, we had good windows of weather and crucially some of these windows came at night. Also, we were blessed with some intense aurora activity coinciding with the periods of clear skies. A miracle!

Given our limited time on the island we made our way to the Snæfellsnes peninsula as we'd read that it was a great way to see plenty of the features of the island in a relatively small area. Lava fields, fishing villages, rugged coast and mountains are all packed into this small finger of land on the West of the island. We stayed at Grundarfjörður and arrived after a sunny drive but the following day brought brutal winds which meant sightseeing was abandoned in the afternoon after the wind had made us question how strong a gust was needed to flip our vehicle off the road. The following day brought more settled weather and that evening we ventured out to have a look to see if there was any aurora action.

We headed for a view of Kirkjufell, the iconic hill that rises out of the sea just west of the town and which can be nicely framed with a waterfall in the foreground. We weren't disappointed and the first time I’ve seen the lights properly aside from some horizon-anchored smudges in the skies of Pembrokeshire was a special experience. It’s a strange event that people will often describe in bombastic terms but it’s really a very serene phenomenon. Aside from the noise of the tumbling waterfall the lights appear silently as what appeared to be some wispy light cloud against the night sky but soon developed into a cord of light that crossed the sky and slowly undulated and swayed around the heavens. We had a good chance to gaze skyward and enjoy the moment whilst also taking some photos as the lights remained for a while until gradually fading away.

In the next couple of days we explored the area around the Golden Circle of attractions. Geysars, huge waterfalls and volcanic terrain all make for a fascinating landscape but were mostly viewed quickly after a scamper from the car in full waterproofs!

On our last night in Iceland we ventured out on the West coast of the Reykjanes peninsula where the intensity of the aurora really was awe inspiring. The increased level of geomagnetic activity meant there was really powerful curtains of light across the sky and at times, directly overhead a corona where green gave way to red and yellow shades that seemed to be falling from the sky. This time the soundtrack was the pounding waves upon the rocky shore and the sweep of the beam from the nearby lighthouse added to the atmosphere.

I have a funny relationship with some of these shots as one or two feel tainted in several ways. Anyone who follows landscape photography accounts online will probably know Kirkjufell, the most photographed mountain on Iceland. It’s easily accessible and a popular spot with photography groups so I’ve seen the view countless times. On the night we went there, further up the path a workshop leader was barking instructions at his students who were all gathered in the same place to get the same shot. I’m not exaggerating when I say he was like a drill sergeant so I shuffled past in disbelief, into the darkness and found a quiet spot further down the falls. He was the complete antithesis to why I enjoy this kind of photography. For me, solitude is important when engaging in landscape photography. It gives a chance to fully immerse yourself in your surroundings and although I'm trying to capture a particular moment, there is also an appreciation of the changing scene in front of me. I also find it sad that people wish to only collect their version of a shot they have seen countless times before. It feels to me like social media has reduced the planet to only these iconic sights. Like Bruce Lee said... “it’s like a finger pointing a way to the moon, don’t concentrate on the finger or you miss all the heavenly glory”. But at the same time; the spot was on our doorstep, it was an amazing night and maybe this is the most incredible shot I’ve ever taken so I have to try and accept the positives!

Anyway, here are a selection of shots from the trip...