A nine-and-a-half-mile walk, only to come home with this?

It could have been worse. It's the last day of the year, and I'm out early in a bid to see it out with a photograph. The sky didn't look encouraging from the off, and the weather forecast was more or less spot-on. The tinge of warmth that did materialise in the cloud as the sun rose disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and I was left with endless grey.

Still, at least it was good exercise.

© 2024

In one sixth of an hour

I've been at this photography game for quite some time now, but it still amazes me as to how quickly conditions can change. 10 minutes before this shot was taken it was raining, and the sky was heavily overcast.

© 2024

Good times, not so good times

There are the (admittedly) rare times when all that's necessary is to wave the camera about at arm's length to get good images, whilst at other times it's hard work to get anything usable. Okay, hyperbole regarding that first remark, but today's shoot definitely applies to the second.

All the elements are in place for something memorable to happen as the sun rises over the ocean, but the reality is quite different, and I'm left scratching about making the most of what's available.

© 2024 

Target fixation

It's a calm morning on the coast, with temperatures slightly below average, and although the sky is in a state of flux I'm struggling to find a composition. I'm trying to make something of the tubular framework that sits over the concrete outfall that deals with heavy rainfall in the area, but it's not working. 

The pool of still seawater in the foreground doesn't extend far enough so that I can isolate the structure and make use of the reflection, so I opt to include the pier. I had been so preoccupied with one angle that I almost missed this one. A few minutes later and the cloud cover returned.

© 2024

Gritty day; gritty picture

The beauty of monochrome is that a scene can be photographed under any conditions. It's what you do afterwards that makes the difference. It's an average winter's day, and low cloud rules out any chance of spectacular light as the sun barely creeps into the sky at this time of year. With that in mind, I'm on the lookout for shape and form, and find it with this clump of Marram grass at Branksome Dene beach. 

I gave the image a blue tint and applied a generous amount of "film grain" in post processing, to add to the grittiness of the day.

© 2024 

The tree on the beach

I'm always on the lookout for this kind of thing, especially when dealing with flat light. Looking directly downwards, water that has drained onto the beach has created a shape on the sand that resembles a tree. How nature has the habit of repeating itself.

© 2024

L'heure bleue revisited

I'm becoming quite a fan of shooting in the blue hour, as the hues on display before the sun breaks the horizon at either end of the day can be stunning.

© 2024

On my way home

The few wisps of cloud that were dotted about over the horizon showed some promise for a composition upon my arrival at the beach. But casting a swift 360º look about me as I stood on the shoreline told me things wren't going to get much better, if at all.

Since I had made the effort, I dutifully took a few snaps to validate my being there and headed for home. As always, I keep an eye on my chosen subject for as long as possible, and it was 24 minutes after sunrise that the sky filled-out and became interesting. All I needed then was something of interest for a foreground.

© 2024

On the trail of the lonesome... hawthorn

The tree population on Nine Barrow Down is somewhat sparse to begin with. Anything growing is constantly exposed to the prevailing southwesterly, and the few wind-blown specimens dotted about at the eastern end have now blown over, or at least looking the worse for wear. 

But this lone hawthorn, near the burial mounds, still thrives on the exposed hilltop.

© 2024

From one Down to the next

Storm Bert blew in and blew out again, leaving turbulent atmospheric conditions in its wake. The perfect time for a walk in the hills. 

This view from the western end of Ballard Down overlooks Giants Grave Bottom (in shadow on the hilltop), at the eastern end of Nine Barrow Down.

© 2024

 

L'heure bleue

There's no doubt in my mind that winter light is the best light for landscape photography, mainly because the sun remains low in the sky all day. It gives an extended 'golden hour', but there's a time that is often overlooked by many that can produce equally appealing images, and that is the blue hour. 

That time between twilight and sunrise/sunset; when photographers pack up and go home (or haven't arrived yet); that time when the landscape is only lit by the sky, will often produce something special.

© 2024

In my element

Walking on a daily basis is no panacea, although it certainly has its health benefits. But many psychologists claim that exercise can also be addictive, and I'm beginning to see some truth in that. There are days - especially in poor weather - when I can't resist braving the elements, and roam the local coastline in search of a photograph. 

Maybe it's photography that is the real addiction.
 

© 2024

Nature doing its thing

The thin, pale, red glow between the grey cloud bank and the horizon didn't look particularly encouraging at first light today, and the dawn itself wasn't anything to get excited about. But within half an hour of sunrise the clouds part, and nature turns it on as only nature can.

© 2024

Weather? What weather?

The stereotypical belief that the British are always talking about the weather may have an element of truth to it, but recently that wouldn't have been the case... because there hadn't been any. For the best part of this month, a blanket of grey cloud has sat virtually motionless over much of Northern Europe.

This afternoon the cloud began to break up over the UK as the high pressure system that kept it there moves away, and we see the sun for the first time in ten days.

© 2024

Muddy boots season

It stopped raining just long enough for it to start again, on this morning's hike along the chalk ridge that is Ballard Down, Isle of Purbeck. The regular downpours; the low cloud; the rapidly changing light, are but three things that make me want to get out into the hills with a camera. 

© 2024

Missing out

Frequent bouts of heavy rain - followed by patches of clear skies, is what inspires me the most to get outside with a camera, and this morning has it in spades. The sheer drama of it all is worth the 4am alarm when conditions are this good, and trudging through the torrential downpours to reach a chosen location is all part of the fun. However, there are those I know that disagree with me. 

But then again, they don't get the shots that I get. 

© 2024

Making my own luck

At this time of year the sun has moved round far enough to start rising over the sea, heralding the start of my winter photographic season. A stiff breeze is blowing today, but sky isn't likely to provide anything memorable. There's also several other photographers dotted around the beach in a bid to catch some drama, and all of them are working on tripods with long lenses. In that case, I want something different.

The local pier has a colony of pigeons that roosts on its framework during the night, but descends to the beach in search of breakfast at first light. Positioning myself upwind, it's just a matter of waiting for a dawn dog-walker's dog to espy the flock, and gamely get them airborne. I get off three frames and select the second one for this post. The near-circular lens flare is the (accidental) icing on the cake.

 © 2024

Animal, vegetable, mineral

I've borrowed the title of this post from a 1950s British TV panel show, as it's not immediately obvious as to what the subject of the photograph is. This, or course, this was my intention when I fired the shutter. What initially caught my eye were the patterns caused by the ripples of light, but having uploaded the file for processing, I noticed aspects of the image that suggest that it's a living organism.

It isn't. It's just water draining onto a local beach from a pipe in the sea wall, viewed directly from above in the early morning light..
 

 2024

The Purbeck chalk ridges

 

Walking the chalk ridges of the Isle of Purbeck makes for some good exercise, with stunning views thrown in as a bonus. It's early autumn, and the light during the day is beginning to exhibit promise, as shown in the photographs of Nine Barrow Down.

The top image shows the path that leads to the top of the eastern end, with the Dorset village of Ulwell and Ballard Down in the middle distance. Beneath that, the picture taken at the western extremity reveals the path that descends to the village of Corfe Castle, picked out in the early afternoon light.

© 2024

Frightfulness on the North Lawn

Seaview - the wooden sculpture by Salford-based artist Hilary Jack is situated on the North Lawn of Salisbury Cathedral, and is (predictably) causing a stir from the local community.  Described by some as 'a pile of stacked up wood' or 'unlit bonfire', the temporary artwork is drawing criticism from residents of The Close as well as one or two visitors. 

Jack has described the work as a "dramatic visual representation of the sea reclaiming homes from the coastline in Norfolk", and is intended to highlight coastal erosion due to climate change.

Of the few that I spoke to at the time of taking the photos the general consensus was positive, but try telling that to the locals that have to endure this 'eyesore' until October.

© 2024

Blue Caddy

No doubt at one time someone's pride a joy, an ageing blue Cadillac parked on a side road awaits restoration. Exposed to the elements, nature has chosen its own colour scheme.

© 2024

Ephemeral pareidolia

Walking the surf line on the beach has always fascinated me as a photographer, as you never know what you may find. On this bright morning I'm prowling the area with a macro lens, looking for interesting shapes washed up after some rough weather, but I have to work quickly as the tide is beginning to turn.

Here - and using a bit of imagination - I see a green-winged bird (top), and a horseman galloping across the sands. In both instances, and almost immediately after I fire the shutter, the seaweed images were washed away forever by the incoming waves.

© 2024.

 

In the shade of the chine

Smugglers used them; Robert Louis Stevenson's house overlooked one, and Winston Churchill had a near-death experience by falling from a bridge that spans one: the 3 chines of Bournemouth:

The word 'chine' means 'a deep, narrow ravine cut through soft rock by water', and is peculiar to Dorset and the near-by Isle of Wight. The path that leads to Alum Chine (pictured above) features a suspension bridge, and some suggest this is the bridge that Churchill fell from when visiting the area as an 18-year-old.

© 2024

The bluebells of King's Wood

The spring bluebells are in full swing at this time of year, carpeting the floor of King's Wood, Challock. Getting the timing right for photography is important; leave it too late and the emerging foliage on the beech trees will get too dense and block sunlight.

The wood lies in the Kent Downs Stour Valley area, and is popular with walkers. Choosing a day and time - in this case early morning, and when most people are on their way to work - will find the forest largely deserted. 

 

© 2024

Spring greens

The greens of Spring are different to those of late summer; they're of a lighter tinge as they emerge on the trees and hedgerows. 

April is living up to its reputation for showers and changeable weather, and the north-westerly that has been blowing for the past few days is creating an almost endless stream of light and shade over the landscape.

© 2024

Swanage

The weather forecast for next few days shows promise for some good light, and assuming it's correct, I don't intend to waste any of it. 

Taken from the heights of Ballard Down on the Isle of Purbeck, the small seaside resort of Swanage on the Dorset coast basks in the spring sunlight.

© 2024

Three trees

It's been quite a while since I have visited Eastwell Park, but when I do I always make a point of photographing a group of three trees that stand on a ridge in a crop field.

For whatever reason, one of the set has now gone.

© 2024

How wide is too wide?

Although it's a mental adjustment I knew I would need to make, having renewed access to ultra-wide lenses is presenting more of a challenge with landscape photography than I expected. The ability to include so much of a vista is a distraction. Having dramatic light on the land - and spectacular skies all at the same time - is causing, at least to me for the time being, compositional problems.

Which to include the most of is the dilemma I'm currently faced with. Cutting the image in half along the horizon doesn't often work, but leaving out aspects of a remarkable terrain is frustrating. The landscape shooter's focal length for the 135 film format used to be 28mm, but I can go half that now should the situation demand. The temptation is clear, but trying to cram in all I see is not sitting easy with me. I need to re-educate my eye.

© 2024

Salisbury Rose

 A single rose, possibly left by an admirer at the base of a modern sculpture on the West Lawn of the cathedral.

© 2024

Wide-eyed (and late to the party)

Wide-angle lenses: during my early days of photography I was perplexed as to why anyone would want to make their subject appear smaller (rather than bigger) in the frame. But once I had realised their potential, and learned how to exploit it, the focal length became a firm favourite.

However, my move to digital shooting - marked by the start of this blog - took away that exploitation to some extent, governed by the APS-C sensor in the cameras I have been using. That is until this week.

Late to the party of the mirrorless camera? Possibly, although I did use the Micro Four Thirds system a few years ago, but weight considerations have finally pushed me into the Nikon Z system; the full-frame sensor; and the truly wide lenses that I have missed all these years.

© 2024 

Spring, spring tide

Spring tides (which have nothing to do with the season) occur monthly, varying in height according to the phases of the moon and its proximity to Earth. This afternoon's ebb read as 0.0 on the Admiralty Maritime Data web site at 16:30 hours; the time this photograph was taken.

You can't get any lower than that.

© 2024

Boar Mill Cottage

Boar Mill Cottage - a Grade II listed building - is not quite as old as it may seem at first glance. Built during the late 18th - early 19th century, the castle that dominates the landscape was built some 800 years previously.

The cottage (available as a holiday let) has an attached former water mill, with the machinery largely intact.

© 2024

In like a lion...

In like a lion, out like a lamb - and vice versa - as the saying goes for the month of March. Spring it may be but the thermometer only reads in single digits during the day, whilst strong winds and rain dominate the weather. At least the latter part of the month will be more settled, if the old proverb is to be believed.

© 2024

Winter reprise

It's been the warmest February on record, and it's true that for most of the month temperatures have reached double figures Celsius. But winter is having the last laugh before the onset of (meteorological) Spring towards the end of the week.

Watery suns, gusting winds, and barely-above-freezing conditions are what's on offer, and whilst it feels like spring is just around the corner when the sun shines, winter is reprising its role to see the season out.

© 2024

Almost as long as it took to build

This month - and with some fanfare - it was announced on national and local news websites that Salisbury Cathedral is now without external scaffolding. A major restoration of the cathedral commenced in 1986, and the East Gable (where the original building work was started 803 years ago) was blessed in September of last year. The project of restoration and repair took 37 years to complete; almost as long as it took to build the main building. 

© 2024. 

 

In the bleak midwinter

Winter has arrived, and I'm out long before dawn in sub zero (Celsius) temperatures, and a mind for a bit of experimentation. Tripods still have myriad uses, from long exposure times to precise composition, but their nuisance value is high if hiking any significant distance with one. Enter the Auto ISO function.

Choosing the shutter speed and aperture manually, today I'm letting the camera decide on the ISO setting for a normal exposure; applying exposure compensation as and when deemed necessary. Modern cameras, and modern editing software specific to noise reduction, are getting to the point of making sensor noise a thing of the past.

It also means I can leave my tripod at home.

© 2024

The first bite of winter

Winter proper has arrived, and the thermometer reads 3ºC in spite of the cloud cover. It's even trying to snow. 

© 2024 

Storm Henk

Storm Henk (do they name these things in a bid to desensitise us about their increasing regularity?) blows further north than forecast, although there are still some strong gusts of wind to deal with along the south coast.

It should be noted that these storms are nowhere near approaching the ferocity of a hurricane or typhoon; sea temperatures in Northern Europe are too low to create one. But where they do hit they can cause widespread flooding and some structural damage to buildings.

© 2024

First day; first light.

Starting the year as I mean to carry on? Probably not, but the pre-dawn walks are becoming something of a regular fixture with me, and finding something to photograph along the way is always a bonus. 

© 2024