The S Bend
Now and again we all have one of those times that transcends the rest of our adventures in the world of landscape photography. Sometimes they're completely unexpected, such as the evening I spent alone on the beach at low tide at Gwithian last August when the sky was illuminated with layer upon layer of blue, purple and orange stripes. On other occasions, arriving at the place where you've been losing yourself in daydreams for months, even years beforehand to discover that it's just as unimaginably wonderful as you'd hoped can also bring memories that will last forever. These are the moments that find you leaving the scene with a grin on your face that just will not go away. They're the moments that still bring a rosy contented glow when you return to them in idle thoughts from time to time.
In the case of the latter, two occasions spring readily to mind for me without further consideration. One was on Diamond Beach in Iceland the summer before last, and the other was when Lee, Dave and I stood on the slopes of Beinn a Chrulaiste on a cold clear morning in February 2018 overlooking the magnificent Buachaille Etive Mor. Dave and I were raised in a household where nothing much ever happened before midday and a fit of sloth would often rule the afternoons too, so getting up before 6am to have breakfast and prepare to yomp up the side of a snow covered mountain isn't something that comes naturally to us. It's why if you were really bored you could probably go through my entire Flickr stream, count the sunrise images on the fingers of one hand and still have enough digits left over to tell me what you think of them. I genuinely wish I were a morning person - honestly I do - but I don't think it's ever going to happen without the use of illegal substances and more coffee than is good for a person. At work, Katie has given up trying to ask me anything before 9:30 in the morning.
So for once we'd overcome this aversion to pre-dawn hours and struggled to this lofty viewpoint to capture panoramic images of the Buachaille - we'd seen Tom Heaton doing exactly the same thing on YouTube a year or two earlier and from that moment we'd solemnly resolved to undertake the same mission. So often the conditions will let you down at a moment like this in Britain's fickle climate, but this time everything was as promised. There was snow, but not so much of it that we couldn't get to where we wanted to, arriving well before the sunrise to a sky full of soft winter pastels. I'm not sure that however long my fingers hover over this keyboard that I'll find the words to describe the feeling at looking over this view.
www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/49753399683/in/datepo...
Later on the sun began its climb and the land began to fill with golden light. It meant another panoramic episode of exactly the same view, and with that an enormous tif file from which I was able to dive into the landscape and crop down (although I don't recommend pixel peeping) to only show the enticing curve of the A82 that slices its way through the scene, gradually darkening as it makes its way north and descends through the Glencoe pass towards Fort William. If you're a long distance hiker, you might recognise this scene as the West Highland Way briefly follows the course of the road before rising to the north east along the Devil's Staircase and making that hellish descent into quiet Kinlochleven.
It's a day that I don't think any of us will ever forget. On a cold Friday February morning when most of the world were going about their usual business, we stood here watching. For a moment we could pretend that we were no longer part of that world below us as we smiled at each other and whooped with joy at the very special memory that we were making. These are the standout moments that make you know why you love landscape photography so much.
As it turned out, it was the beginning of three fantastic days in this extraordinary winter world, with the rest of the trip bringing us to one outstanding location after another. It's on dedicated trips such as this that you can really lose yourself in photography and not worry that your private heaven is finding your co-traveller looking at their watch repeatedly. Now we just need this pandemic to pass so that we can plan the next one.
The S Bend
Now and again we all have one of those times that transcends the rest of our adventures in the world of landscape photography. Sometimes they're completely unexpected, such as the evening I spent alone on the beach at low tide at Gwithian last August when the sky was illuminated with layer upon layer of blue, purple and orange stripes. On other occasions, arriving at the place where you've been losing yourself in daydreams for months, even years beforehand to discover that it's just as unimaginably wonderful as you'd hoped can also bring memories that will last forever. These are the moments that find you leaving the scene with a grin on your face that just will not go away. They're the moments that still bring a rosy contented glow when you return to them in idle thoughts from time to time.
In the case of the latter, two occasions spring readily to mind for me without further consideration. One was on Diamond Beach in Iceland the summer before last, and the other was when Lee, Dave and I stood on the slopes of Beinn a Chrulaiste on a cold clear morning in February 2018 overlooking the magnificent Buachaille Etive Mor. Dave and I were raised in a household where nothing much ever happened before midday and a fit of sloth would often rule the afternoons too, so getting up before 6am to have breakfast and prepare to yomp up the side of a snow covered mountain isn't something that comes naturally to us. It's why if you were really bored you could probably go through my entire Flickr stream, count the sunrise images on the fingers of one hand and still have enough digits left over to tell me what you think of them. I genuinely wish I were a morning person - honestly I do - but I don't think it's ever going to happen without the use of illegal substances and more coffee than is good for a person. At work, Katie has given up trying to ask me anything before 9:30 in the morning.
So for once we'd overcome this aversion to pre-dawn hours and struggled to this lofty viewpoint to capture panoramic images of the Buachaille - we'd seen Tom Heaton doing exactly the same thing on YouTube a year or two earlier and from that moment we'd solemnly resolved to undertake the same mission. So often the conditions will let you down at a moment like this in Britain's fickle climate, but this time everything was as promised. There was snow, but not so much of it that we couldn't get to where we wanted to, arriving well before the sunrise to a sky full of soft winter pastels. I'm not sure that however long my fingers hover over this keyboard that I'll find the words to describe the feeling at looking over this view.
www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/49753399683/in/datepo...
Later on the sun began its climb and the land began to fill with golden light. It meant another panoramic episode of exactly the same view, and with that an enormous tif file from which I was able to dive into the landscape and crop down (although I don't recommend pixel peeping) to only show the enticing curve of the A82 that slices its way through the scene, gradually darkening as it makes its way north and descends through the Glencoe pass towards Fort William. If you're a long distance hiker, you might recognise this scene as the West Highland Way briefly follows the course of the road before rising to the north east along the Devil's Staircase and making that hellish descent into quiet Kinlochleven.
It's a day that I don't think any of us will ever forget. On a cold Friday February morning when most of the world were going about their usual business, we stood here watching. For a moment we could pretend that we were no longer part of that world below us as we smiled at each other and whooped with joy at the very special memory that we were making. These are the standout moments that make you know why you love landscape photography so much.
As it turned out, it was the beginning of three fantastic days in this extraordinary winter world, with the rest of the trip bringing us to one outstanding location after another. It's on dedicated trips such as this that you can really lose yourself in photography and not worry that your private heaven is finding your co-traveller looking at their watch repeatedly. Now we just need this pandemic to pass so that we can plan the next one.