The Strange Man of the Woods
"Seen anything interesting?" I knew where the question was leading. Whenever anybody asks this, you know they think you're trying to photograph an unseen bird or a squirrel racing through the trees above your head. You also know the truth is going to draw that oh so familiar faintly worried expression. They were the only couple I'd seen, or indeed would see as I skulked beneath the very wet canopy and as always I resisted the response I'd like to have given. If I'd said it they'd have just thought I was even more weird than they probably already did. "Yes. All around us right now. Trees, bluebells, wild garlic. What? Can't you see them?" Politely I responded. I was just enjoying the trees and trying to take a passable photograph of them. Then rather stupidly and without due qualification; "I'm a woodland photographer you see." It never comes out right. They smiled politely in return and moved on - ever so slightly more quickly than the pace at which they'd arrived at the place where they'd found the strange man standing midstream in his wellies peering vacantly into the distance.
If you're reading this, there's a good chance that you understand, because perhaps woodland makes you feel the same way. If I could choose any single environment in which to let my sensory organs run riot, this is it. Birdsong, whispering leaves and a rushing stream - what more do you really need? Nigel Danson said exactly the same thing in his latest YouTube offering this morning - he always sums these things up well. And as for the trees themselves - well we wouldn't be here without them would we? Try telling that to the president of Brazil. At least his lumberjacks can't get their bandsaws on this little patch of heaven on the west side of Camborne. There's a sense of permanence about trees that almost nothing else alive can match. I wish I knew more about them and I'm resolved to spend more time learning how to photograph these environments.
It was Saturday. The grey sky was full of wind and rain and I was on the verge of staying home like most other people surely would. But as I'd headed up to the bakery for my weekend pasty treat, I noticed how brightly the new leaves shone on the soaking wet beech trees. And so I resolved to come here to see how the colours looked, hopeful that the bold limes would contrast neatly with the bluebells, which had finally sprung to life after a week of damp conditions. The colours were so vivid I almost needed sunglasses, especially once I'd decided to use the polariser. In fact I ended up reducing the saturation in this umpteenth edit of a scene that might look familiar if you noticed my last post. Familiar yet different.
It was a strange visit. You're never sure if you're truly alone in the woods, and as I approached the area dominated by two huge sets of mossy boulders I spotted what looked like a bright blue sleeping bag in the hollow of the larger one. Unsure whether someone was watching me from a hidden space I moved on. Picking another composition a lump of dead branch thudded heavily onto the ground nearby, wrested from somewhere above by the strengthening wind. Any closer and my thin hat wasn't going to provide much in the way of protection against falling pieces of dead timber. Suddenly being alone felt lonely. The camera was soaking wet and it was time to go home.
The Strange Man of the Woods
"Seen anything interesting?" I knew where the question was leading. Whenever anybody asks this, you know they think you're trying to photograph an unseen bird or a squirrel racing through the trees above your head. You also know the truth is going to draw that oh so familiar faintly worried expression. They were the only couple I'd seen, or indeed would see as I skulked beneath the very wet canopy and as always I resisted the response I'd like to have given. If I'd said it they'd have just thought I was even more weird than they probably already did. "Yes. All around us right now. Trees, bluebells, wild garlic. What? Can't you see them?" Politely I responded. I was just enjoying the trees and trying to take a passable photograph of them. Then rather stupidly and without due qualification; "I'm a woodland photographer you see." It never comes out right. They smiled politely in return and moved on - ever so slightly more quickly than the pace at which they'd arrived at the place where they'd found the strange man standing midstream in his wellies peering vacantly into the distance.
If you're reading this, there's a good chance that you understand, because perhaps woodland makes you feel the same way. If I could choose any single environment in which to let my sensory organs run riot, this is it. Birdsong, whispering leaves and a rushing stream - what more do you really need? Nigel Danson said exactly the same thing in his latest YouTube offering this morning - he always sums these things up well. And as for the trees themselves - well we wouldn't be here without them would we? Try telling that to the president of Brazil. At least his lumberjacks can't get their bandsaws on this little patch of heaven on the west side of Camborne. There's a sense of permanence about trees that almost nothing else alive can match. I wish I knew more about them and I'm resolved to spend more time learning how to photograph these environments.
It was Saturday. The grey sky was full of wind and rain and I was on the verge of staying home like most other people surely would. But as I'd headed up to the bakery for my weekend pasty treat, I noticed how brightly the new leaves shone on the soaking wet beech trees. And so I resolved to come here to see how the colours looked, hopeful that the bold limes would contrast neatly with the bluebells, which had finally sprung to life after a week of damp conditions. The colours were so vivid I almost needed sunglasses, especially once I'd decided to use the polariser. In fact I ended up reducing the saturation in this umpteenth edit of a scene that might look familiar if you noticed my last post. Familiar yet different.
It was a strange visit. You're never sure if you're truly alone in the woods, and as I approached the area dominated by two huge sets of mossy boulders I spotted what looked like a bright blue sleeping bag in the hollow of the larger one. Unsure whether someone was watching me from a hidden space I moved on. Picking another composition a lump of dead branch thudded heavily onto the ground nearby, wrested from somewhere above by the strengthening wind. Any closer and my thin hat wasn't going to provide much in the way of protection against falling pieces of dead timber. Suddenly being alone felt lonely. The camera was soaking wet and it was time to go home.