The benefit of insurance...

I'm not overkeen on selective colouring of photographs, but I thought I would round-off the year with something a little off-beat.

The weather forecast - admittedly from yesterday - hinted that the persistent strong winds and rain would clear around sunset, so I thought it might be a nice to capture the moment with my camera - you know the idea; the romantic notion of the sun setting on 2012 sort-of-thing. This would tie-in nicely with tomorrow's planned dawn shoot (you know the idea; the sun rising on, blah blah...), where again, the conditions are predicted to be good. Unfortunately it was not to be.

By 3.30pm it was blindingly obvious that I wasn't going to get any spectacular light, even though the rain had stopped by then, so I packed up and went home. If it's not beginning to happen 30 minutes before the sun goes down, then it's not worth waiting. Fortunately, I had taken a series of "insurance shots" (so I at least got something for my efforts), and photographed the small bunch of flowers, left some days previous on Boscombe Pier, in memory of four surfers who once frequented the area. I had already made the decision before taking the photograph to isolate the wilting blooms on the deserted pier with shallow depth of field; the post production colour/mono decision coming much later.


Happy New Year.



24-70mm f/2.8G AF-S Nikkor. 1/100 second at f/4.5. ISO 400


© 2012

24 from 2012...

A selection of photographs from the year - and a few that haven't seen the light of day until now.









        

                 

                   

                

             

                                                    

              

                                          

       

All photographs © 2012 

22 minutes...

Christmas is, effectively, over, and I have spent the most enjoyable one in years with fellow photographer, Nic. Some of the day itself involved travelling, so there was little opportunity for any shooting after my arrival, but we found the time on Boxing Day to visit Oare marsh on the south bank of the Swale Sea Channel, Kent.

Although the general conditions were better than the day before; i.e., not raining, I was still not seeing anything too inspiring. Not to say that the experience of being there wasn't enjoyable in itself, it certainly was, but by early afternoon the next front of unsettled weather was rolling in from the West, taking the light with it.

The same could have happened today, were it not for a very late break in the cloud just before sunset. We had decided to take an afternoon walk, no matter what the weather (it did rain for a while at one point), suggesting to each other as we walked just how good that sky would be (points with finger) if only the sun was shining onto those brooding clouds; or, composition of the landscape itself if only we had the right light.

If only. That late in the day you have two options: either give up and go home, or sit it out until you know the sun has set in the hope you might get a bit of drama. Either way, it won't take long. Occasionally, adopting the latter approach pays handsome dividends, and it is just as this decision was being made that the sky lightened to the south west. Experience told me to hang on to see what would  develop... and it paid-off. For around twenty minutes the late afternoon sky began, at first, to glow; reveal clear patches of blue; and finally produce as much dramatic light as the outdoor photographer could wish for.

I started to work as quickly as I could, attempting to take advantage of the glory that nature was throwing at us. I'm so engrossed in what I'm doing that I fail to hear Nic calling me from a distance to get me to climb higher on the hill to see what she sees, but I don't hear he at all. It was all over as quickly as it began, but not before I managed to catch the essence of the winter sunset. Beautiful.



24-70mm f/2.8G AF-S Nikkor. 1/320 second at f/8.  +1 stop EV compensation. ISO 400. Monopod.


© 2012

Having fun...

The weather continues to see-saw erratically, with more heavy rain causing landslips on some parts of the coast of Dorset. On top of that, flooding returns to cause disruptions and misery at one of the busiest times of the year. There are some, however, that are all too keen to take advantage of the inclement conditions; water sports enthusiasts, for one... and photographers for another.

I'm only using one lens for the job, today - a telephoto zoom - to cover as many bases as possible, and a protective filter over the front element purely to assist in the cleaning of the front element of rain - inevitable, in such conditions. Ordinarily, I eschew the use of such attachments, but when their use is practical I have no compunction in doing so.

It is very late in the day - and in the descending gloom - that I find the best of the action available, but even shooting with the lens wide open it is difficult to get sharp images as I am jostled by the gusting winds; the shutter speeds being so slow. So I elect to stop-down the lens a touch and ramp up the ISO setting to compensate. I also deliberately underexpose ⅔ of a stop from the meter reading to give me much needed shutter speed, and to add to the overall mood. I have already decided to convert to mono before I take any shots (the ISO number helped dictate this), and add simulated film grain to the picture in post processing to help convey the grittiness of the scene.

I do so love shooting in such weather.



70-200mm f/2.8D EX Apo Sigma lens. 1/250 second at f/4. - 0.67 EV compensation. ISO 1600


© 2012

The Winter Solstice...

One of my favourite days of the year (weather permitting) for photography, and everything weather-wise points to making the effort for an early start, today.

By early start, I mean a reasonably early start - at a civilised time - since I don't have to get up in the middle of the night to get the early light (one of the main reasons I like shooting in winter). The only drawback is the cold, but even then, it's quite mild for late December, despite clear skies.

I arrive in plenty of time before the main event, and as I set up with as much focal power as I am able to muster, I spy a local kestrel swoop down onto the beach, and then fly up to perch atop a lamp post, not twenty feet from me. Of course, the only ingredient missing from the mix is light itself, as the sun has yet to break the horizon. Nevertheless, I still take a number of shots 'just in case', although shutter speeds are low in the gloom. The Vibration Reduction system that is built into the lens helps to a small extent, but it is not infallible. Despite my best efforts I feel that the shots are not coming together; confirmed when I view the files on my computer screen. I delete the lot. Not to worry. I feel there will be other opportunities (the end of the world not withstanding).

But it is our star that I'm really interested in, and although not visible at the predicted time of rising, it makes its appearance over Poole Bay, Dorset, at 8.10am (photo). I have to work quickly under such conditions as the orb move surprisingly quickly under such magnifications, and the shoot is finished in a little over two minutes. After that, it is just too bright, and the effect is lost.


300mm f/2.8 AF-S VR Nikkor with TC-14EII converter. 1/2000 second at f/5.6. ISO 400. Monopod


© 2012

Blue...

In stark contrast to the dramatic directional light I was treated to the last time I walked the seafront with my camera, today's late afternoon sun was heavily diffused by cloud. This softening effect is particularly good light for outdoor portrait photography, but is equally useful for a range of subjects; in this instance, a seascape.

Being blessed as I am to live so near to water (both sea and river), I never become jaded with its qualities in good light. In fact, I could shoot water and its properties all day long when the light is right. That last part being crucial, since water will take on the shades and tones of the sky above, and today the weakness of the light makes all the difference.

A mild day for the time of year; and as windless as it ever gets on the coast, I spend an hour or so making numerous photographs of the pastel hues on offer; waiting the the cloud formations to develop; waiting for the waves to mirror the sky; waiting for the light. By the time I took this photograph the sun had already set.

24-70mm f/2.8 AF-S Nikkor. 1/50 second at f/8. + 0.67 EV compensation. ISO 400

© 2012

Green...

From the bright, raw winter days of early week, we descend into a low pressure system come Friday. Not to say that it isn't warmer as a result, but an hour after sunrise this morning it was still somewhat dark, as the rain - lashed by the wind - beat against my windows. This kind of weather, to me, is manna from heaven as far as photography is concerned, and I start making plans to visit the beach during mid afternoon, so all that lovely gloom coincides with low tide. Well, that was the plan...

Except that shortly after mid-day, a pale sun filters through the clouds and the mood changes once again. So, leaving it relatively late in the day before I venture outside with a camera, I pack two zoom lenses - an ultra-wide and standard zoom - and set off for the coast.

As so often happens on such days, the strong westerly wind keeps most people away, so I have all that glorious later afternoon, winter light to myself. In fact, I would be inclined to describe it as my favourite light: a low sun illuminating the underside of cloud, and almost always moments before sunset. Beautiful.

But it's the green netting - installed by the local council each year in an effort to keep wind-blown sand from burying the promenades - that catches my eye; the last rays producing a dayglow effect that makes the shot.


24-70mm f/2.8 AF-S Nikkor. 1/200 second at f/8. ISO 200. Monopod


© 2012

12/12/12...

I'll come clean: I took this shot so as to have something to post on this once-in-a-lifetime; and last repeating date this century. For some it will be considered a lucky date: for other it foresees the end of the world - although that is also interpreted by some as the 21st of the month, so we have a bit of time yet.

To be honest, I hadn't given the calendar date any prior thought, although it would have been nice to be set up somewhere, and take a photograph as all the twelves of the day lined up (twelve minutes and twelve seconds past mid-day), but it is now an opportunity lost forever to this particular photographer. There won't be a similar date to celebrate until January 1st, 2101, so make a note in your diary and don't miss out!

                                                     *************


12-24mm f/4 AF-S Nikkor. 1/640 second at f/8.  -1.67 EV compensation. ISO 125. Monopod


© 2012

(Not) trampled underfoot...

Just as I did yesterday, I spend the first two hours of daylight today with my camera, beside the Dorset Stour. The recent spell of high pressure has kept the skies clear, allowing overnight temperatures to drop below zero and produce photogenic frosts. Yesterday's shoot was less than inspiring - I didn't use any of the few photographs I took - but today was a different matter, and governed solely by lens choice.

I had a super-telephoto lens packed for primary use, but I also slipped a 50mm prime into the bag (only just enough room for it) before I set off into the gloom of pre-dawn on my mountain bike. I prefer this way of travelling when shooting locally, and although it restricts just how much gear I can take with me, it is more than compensated for by the flexibility it allows of where I can go; and how quickly. The latter choice of optic proved to be a wise move since I was still, primarily, looking for otter as the sun broke the horizon. But as so often in recent months, they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, I attach the standard lens and concentrate on the frost-covered fallen leaves that litter the more sheltered areas of the river bank.

To do this, I shoot from a monopod, as it aids composition and keeps the camera nice and steady in the relatively low light. This technique involves having to bend almost double to get low enough, and to avoid kneeling on the cold, damp ground. As I work, I am approached by a lady walking her dog, and she asks me if I have fallen off my bike (it's laying in the grass, nearby), and am I okay? To her, it must have looked like I was in some sort of pain and distress! Still, nice that a complete stranger had the compassion to ask after my wellbeing. I was, of course, perfectly fine.

Getting in so close can be a tricky affair, and I have to be careful where I tread when looking for pleasing arrangements and compositions, since once I step somewhere it is effectively taken out of the equation to be photographed; the frozen effect being flattened by a muddy boot. It is something you learn to do yourself with this type of photography; not to trample your subject underfoot.



50mm f/1.8 AF Nikkor. 1/100 second at f/5.6. - 0.67 EV compensation. ISO 400


© 2012

The last leaf decides...

Look, look! Look at this picture. Richard made this all on his own. Obviously, he is not writing this else it would be intelligent and he would be telling you about ISOs and AF-Ss and ASDAs and UFOs and F/2s or 3s or other numbers or monocycles or summin. I, however, know nothing of these things. But I have made him publish this post whether he likes it or not.

I can tell you that this is such a beautiful shot, taken with a beautiful eye, by a beautiful person, and is one of many to come, I hope. After all,
I love this style of photography. Don't you?

Such an inspiration to me.

N


in one gust
the last leaf decides:
gone

by Robert Henry Poulin



300mm f/2.8 AF-S Nikkor. 1/500 second at f/2.8. - 2 stops EV compensation. ISO 400. Monopod (RB)


© 2012 

A lesson learnt...

Expect the unexpected, they say (whomever they are). You do sometimes need eyes in the back of your head when out photographing wildlife, and even then it is all too easy to miss shots.

I roam a good stretch of the Dorset Stour, today, and whilst preoccupied with other, more mundane things, I miss a pair of mute swans in flight against a clear blue sky; numerous fly-pasts of a kingfisher; two grey herons and a little egret - the last two spooked upon my arrival at a bend in the river.

But it's the truly unexpected; the sighting of an otter, that makes my day. I first see it as it surfaces and dives in one smooth action, to my left. I am already set up with a super-telephoto on a monopod, and am stood still. In other words: I am ready. I recognise it immediately for what it is... and wait. Nothing. I cautiously approach the spot on the river bank closest to where I saw it in an effort to catch sight of it again, but it had gone. This wasted precious seconds. Thinking ahead, I then choose to add a tele-converter to the lens should it reappear, and walked back to my camera bag to fish it out. It is as I'm attaching the said converter to the camera body that the otter surfaces again, not twenty feet from me, and swims parallel to the bank for several seconds, watching me as it does... then dives again. This happens while I have no lens attached to the camera, so I get no shots. The otter surfaces for a third time before I lose it altogether, but this time it is just a dark shape under some overhanging branches. Instead of using the (adequate) lens I had on the camera already, I opted to gamble.. and lost. A lesson learnt.

                                                                                    **********************

I first started looking for otter at this location in March of this year, and although there were many anecdotal accounts of their presence, I had not so much as even glimpsed one. Although I wasn't able to photograph it, seeing one in the wild for the first time was quite an experience. I must try harder, next time.

However, all was not lost for the shoot. The arrival of a Chiffchaff later in the day (image), helped to compensate to a large extent, and it is seen here feeding on a Buddleja bush, that itself is growing directly out of the stonework of the old bridge at Iford, Dorset.



300mm f/2.8 AF-S VR Nikkor with TC-14EII converter. 1/2000 second at f/5.6.  -0.33 EV compensation. ISO 400. Monopod


© 2012

Red berries and sunlit reeds...

It is surprising, even in the depths of winter, just how much colour - and life - can be found in nature if you are prepared to look for it. Whilst most think that the advent of autumn sees plant life shut down for the duration, there are some species; Holly, for example, and the Rose Hip (right) that produce their most striking displays during the winter months. Because of this, the former evergreen has always been a popular decoration for the Yuletide season. Although it is possibly too early to be thinking about spring, there are numerous buds appearing on some trees. The cycle never stops entirely.

I am travelling with a fast super-telephoto lens, today, purely for its pictorial qualities rather than reach. Temperatures on this clear afternoon are hovering a couple of degrees above zero Celsius, and once again I am down by the river. Although suitably clad head to toe in everything thermal, I don't hang around for long: the light I want to use for the shoot is fast disappearing behind the tree line, and I have to work quickly.

I never quite felt I did justice to some of the subjects I photographed two days ago at the same spot, so there is always the opportunity to get the same thing - only different. I use the lens close to wide open, for the wonderfully shallow depth of field. It allows me to isolate the red berries agains the sunlit reeds of the far river bank, while the impressionistic blur of the nearby foliage gives a perceived depth to the picture.


300mm f/2.8 AF-S VR Nikkor. 1/1250 at f/4.  - 0.33 EV compensation. ISO 400. Monopod


© 2012

Hedgehogs on sticks and specular highlights...

My photography of late was getting a little bland, in my view, and it needed a bit of a shake-up to get things moving again. I had decided, before I left the house, to try a more creative approach, and packed three fast aperture lenses for the job. I had a location in mind - the Dorset Stour - but even when I arrived I still had no real  conception of what I would do. I needed to be inspired.

There was still a bit of localised flooding from all the recent rain, and my intended route on a mountain bike looked less-than-inviting when I arrived, so it seemed that the shoot would be less than successful. Quite why that should be (since I still had no idea as to what I wanted to achieve), was adopting a defeatist attitude. I needed to pick a subject and work it.

I started taking pictures of teasels (or hedgehogs on sticks, as friend and fellow photographer, Nic, calls them), shooting wide open for some creative blur, but it's not until I start to frame them as silhouettes, set against the specular highlights of the sun reflecting off of the river, that I start to see the possibilities of something good.

From this point on, things start to work for and against me in roughly equal measure. Autofocus refuses to work; the lens continually hunts for focus, and exposure is largely guesswork (in spite of the histogram). Switching to manual focus solves the first issue; experience and a large chunk of luck, the second. What I'm after is a pleasing pattern created by the what the Japanese refer to as bokeh; allowing the out of focus highlights to add significantly to the pictorial quality of the image. I make a good number of photographs, since there is no way to accurately predict when the fast-flowing water will produce the desired effect, and pick the one that jumps off the screen when opened in Photoshop. There is little in the way of colour in the final shot, so I convert it to mono using the Gorman-Holbert Method; adding the subtle blue tone during the process.

The best way I know how to kick-start my photography: Do something different.


300mm f/4D AF-S Nikkor. 1/3200 second at f/8.  -1.33 EV compensation. ISO 125. Monopod


© 2012

Artist block...

It's quite late before I make the decision to write a blog post about today's afternoon shoot by the sea. The reason is, I'm struggling to select an image from the 134 frames of cloud formations over Poole Bay, Dorset. There are the usual repetitious sequences; the outright duff shots; the one or two that didn't quite make it despite my good intentions, but nothing jumps out at me from the screen; nothing seems to be an obvious choice. There are, however, a number of decent enough photographs to spur me on to actually process the images for archiving. The thing is...I'm just not inspired.

Strange, really, since nature treated me to dramatic cloud and light all afternoon - and I didn't even get wet - since all the rain that did happen happened out to sea. Still, it could be worse: I have, on at least one occasion to my recollection, deleted an entire day's shooting - without backing anything up - for the reason mentioned above. Inspiration (or the lack of it).

I feel sure that some day I will look back on folder #881, and wonder why I didn't think there was anything of value contained therein, but for now I will simply add the image that had (possibly) the most drama, and leave it at that. Maybe I will have better ideas tomorrow. Maybe I need a rest.


12-24mm f/4 AF-S Nikkor. 1/640 second at f/8. - 0.33 EV compensation. ISO 200


© 2012

A second bite at the pyrotechnic cherry...

A chance conversation a week ago gave me the opportunity to make amends for a disastrous shoot I had last month, when I returned home from photographing a fireworks display with not one useable image. It happens, if you are not fully prepared (I wasn't), and I put it down to experience (and behind me), and set about the task of capturing the display scheduled for early evening on the end of Boscombe Pier, Dorset.

The event was part of the Boscombe Christmas Carnival, and I set up my tripod on the beach adjacent to the pier, while live music was played from the balcony of the Urban Reef Café on the promenade. I make the mental note of the tenacity of the performers - playing outside on a December night; something I would never have warmed to under such conditions - and wait for the off.

This time I know I am getting the results I am after, although it soon becomes apparent that I am a touch too close to the proceedings for the lens I am using. But it's not really about that; it's more about showing myself that I can work in the darkness and get results. To cap it all, the majority of frames are useable, and convey the scene nicely. Well done, me!

It's what I do after the smoke clears that gives me the best sense of achievement, though, as I turn my lens out to sea and start making long exposures. I hadn't planned on doing this; it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but since I was already geared-up for such shooting I thought I would give it a try. I am, of course, having to guess exposure (the camera's meter won't work in such low light levels), and I count 'elephants' to help gauge how long I need to keep the shutter open for to allow sufficient light buildup from the nearby beachfront buildings. This is helped by the fact that I am able to assess the results immediately on the screen of my camera - something I was not able to do when I last tried the technique in my film days (quite why I have left it so long to try it digitally is beyond me). I make no attempt to correct for colour balance during the exposure, allowing the warm light to contribute to the overall effect. I like the way the subject stands out against the unexposed blackness of the water, and the fact that the breaking surf has turned a milky white because of the long exposure.


24-70mm f/2.8G AF-S Nikkor.

Top: 3 seconds at f/11. ISO 400
Below right: 30 'elephants' at f/8. ISO 400
Tripod and remote release.


© 2012