When the Skye is grey.

If you want dependable weather, you should think twice about booking one of our Autumn Gold landscape tours. But do you know what? The more I work in so-called ‘bad’ weather, the more I’m starting to enjoy it (see previous blog post). It’s not that I particularly like grey skies or pouring rain (and don’t get me wrong, it’s not like that all the time!), but I do relish the challenge of making something from nothing, It doesn’t always work, but if you persist…and more to the point, if you’re prepared to persist.

Our Ultimate Autumn Gold landscape tour has become an annual event and despite going through a number of changes over the years, the tour fundamentally remains about making the most of this melancholic time of year. I’ve got to say, I love it!

The Cairngorms is a mosaic of forest, moorland, river, loch and mountain. It’s a rich landscape with something for all photographic tastes. Skye is much more solemn and could be described as bleak, although I’d prefer brooding. The cocktail of 4 nights in each location does it for me thank you very much.

Much to the relief of several of our (not so) hardy group (mentioning no names) we only managed 2 early starts with little promise of a decent sunrise on most days. It always surprises me however that although deprived of the ‘classic’ conditions we all yearn for, there are shots to be had if you shun your creative straightjacket. Loch an Eilein at dawn would have been nice, ditto a misty Glenfeshie but it was not to be and we bravely persisted with what was on offer from the weather gods. Loch Insh was briefly majestic and our favourite beech forest glowed in autumnal splendour.

Moving to Skye via Glen Affric (where the sun shone) the forecast was for heavy rain. How come the forecast for rain is always right? Why can’t they forecast misty dawns with the same accuracy? An attempt at the Old Man of Storr was akin to a bad day on Everest with horizontal rain and gusts of wind that bordered on dangerous. Many of our intrepid group climbed the whole way, got their cameras out, immediately put them away and descended with dignity (and cameras) intact. Slighachan worked well though as did Trotternish eventually and although there is a thin line between edgy conditions and outright crap, we trod the right side of that line for the most part.

I’ve never been one for chocolate-box landscapes, preferring instead the moody and broody that Scotland delivers on, especially in spring and autumn. I hope our fantastic guests for this tour agree with me on that at least (we discussed religion, politics, marriage, divorce and birth control during the wetter moments when opinions were not always uniform!) October has been a golden month this year – in experiences if not always colour. Bring on 2012.

If you’d like to join us on the same tour next year (and Mark promises not to bore you too much with his Photoshop tutorial – see below – view details here)


Cairns finally goes over the edge!

A report from our Arctic correspondent, John Cumberland.

Location: Svalbard: August ’11.

We’re happily bobbing around in our Zodiac in the middle of an Arctic fjord against a backdrop of three colossal glaciers that  ‘calve’ noisily and create mini tsunamis with blue icebergs the size of articulated lorries, bouncing around and sometimes rolling over. The water beneath us is a gorgeous shade of aquamarine and a chilly 10C.

Pete, one of our  so-called ‘expert’ guides, is in ‘Viking mode’ sitting on the prow of our flimsy vessel enthusiastically searching out a seal here, a bird there, was that a bear in the distance? Then suddenly, a splash. A very loud splash.  He’s in the water!  He’s actually in the bloody water! His camera and 500mm lens remain on the zodiac, somewhat lonely, on the prow. But Cairns himself is completely submerged!  His lifejacket automatically inflates, just as it should but whilst returning him to the icy surface, nearly throttles him in the process. Chaos reins.  ‘Belfast Annie’, sitting on the starboard side, is in no mood to see our Viking hero float off into oblivion.  Adrenaline pumping, she leans over the side and grabs Pete in the neck region clamping him firmly to the side of the Zodiac.  As her spectacles steam up, Pete is heard to say, over and over again , “Annie, I am trying to get my leg over!”  This sounds to Annie like one of the best offers she’s had in years and so her grip tightens on her Viking hero.  While those of us on the port side balance the Zodiac (and if truth be told take as many pictures as we can), calm Swedish Captain Dan intervenes and soon Pete is safely back on board.

Pete becomes the subject of great concern (that doesn’t stop us taking yet more pictures) but our bedraggled leader remains cheerful and Annie helpfully points out the similarity between Pete’s inflated lifejacket and a ‘Double D’ bra that’s somehow got caught around his neck. Spitting out several mouthfuls of Arctic brine, Pete admits to feeling somewhat foolish, or words to that effect. A hollow, unsympathetic, chuckle is heard from our sister zodiac which Pete immediately recognises as the voice of his (supposedly) best mate, Mark Hamblin. We all vow that he should be next for a dunking!

On returning to the mother ship, Pete is soon restored to warmth and his usual level of exuberance.  Never mind, you can’t have everything!

This was John Cumberland, Northshots News, The Arctic.

Note: The views and opinions expressed in this feature are not necessarily shared by Northshots and are clearly those of an individual who derives satisfaction from the misfortune of others.



What’s it like to be a nature photographer?

I wish I could remember the answer to that question sometimes. Like many others (I know because I’ve heard the complaints) I seem to spend more and more time behind a computer screen. OK, mine is a warm office with great views and a regular supply of milky coffee (a throwback to my childhood) courtesy of my lovely wife Amanda. But it’s NOT what I signed up to!

Last weekend I spent a few days with colleagues Mark Hamblin, Niall Benvie and videographer Raymond Besant. Were were working on a 2020VISION assignment in north-west Scotland. OK the weather wasn’t great but do you know what, I could feel the blood pumping through my veins again; the creative urge that brought me to this business in the first place surged back to the surface. But most of all, I was getting a wildness fix.

Standing alone at Achnahaird Bay as a hazy dusk descended, I got a call from Amanda with some very sad news – a friend of ours had died very suddenly. Shocking though the news was, I could not have chosen to receive it anywhere more comforting. Wildness is not just somewhere that serves up spectacular imagery, it’s where we came from; it’s our home. I know our friend would have empathised with such a view.


Measuring success.

In this month’s Outdoor Photography magazine, Niall Benvie makes a fair and valid point that nature photographers shouldn’t measure ‘success’ simply by their financial performance. He pleads the case for recognition, legacy and the ‘value’ of experiences.

Whilst not claiming to be anything other than on the bottom rung of the success ladder, I have until recently overlooked the ‘value’ of time spent in the field. Moreover when that time is spent with family, close friends or appreciative tour guests.

Our recent photo-tour to Skye came at an inconvenient time for me. Having attended several major conferences and with notes made at innumerable 2020VISION meetings still piled high on my desk, the tour was something I could have done without. But do you know what? I worked with great buddy Mark Hamblin – something I’ve not done for a long time; the guests were superb company; the weather was good in the most part; we had a laugh and we visited some great locations. I even got some pleasant shots myself. Although I got paid for guiding the tour, the money is irrelevant: it’s a week that I’ll remember, along with many others, for a long, long time. Priceless.