Getting lost out West – or how to photograph something not intended, and getting a better picture for it.

I started writing this from the next paragraph, thinking it started off with getting a bit lost on the walk but actually it all started going wrong the day before we left home. You see, I had it in mind to photograph a glen near to Inverness but couldn’t get hold of the campsite. Having left messages, I had pretty much abandoned the idea of the trip when, after lunch, I stumbled across a website featuring some cabin like chalets out by Ullapool. A phone call later and I have never packed the car so quick. So, you see, it didn’t start with the walk and getting lost at all I have now realised, but anyway, that’s how I’m starting or second starting this post.

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It all started with a walk, just following the way marked signs until there were…well, no signs. How odd, I said, Patches didn’t care either way, a walk is a walk, is a new experience of new smells, and new things to pee up.

We kept going, going, and going, up slowly, slowly up, always up. There had to be a sign here at some point, perhaps when we next needed to turn? Then, nearly at the end of the track there was a view of Beinn Dhearg: Rising out up out of the misty distance, it’s head almost in the clouds. Quite unexpected but appreciated, from a photographic point of view, even it it meant we had of course gone the wrong way.

Definitely not the way marked Green path for a few short miles in a circle back to the car park. We must have missed the turn…

We had of course. We retraced our steps, something that confuses Patches no end because walks should not feature the same bits twice in his book. From the other side, I spotted the one foot high sign behind the two foot high tree! The little trees obviously weren’t there when it was put up. Back tracking we had found our way back onto the Green route and around the circuit we had originally intended. But, if we hadn’t got a little lost then we wouldn’t have had the view…

Patches should have pee’d up the “missing” sign for good measure but he didn’t.

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The second day was wetter. A drive further north was on the table, if no other reason that something to do to scout out potential images for another, later, visit. This would take us past Ardvreck Castle, and I have already photographed this ruin from several angles, so I had to find something new if I was to make the most of the few minutes break in the rain.

Opposite the castle is a burn, or stream if you prefer the English. It runs into Loch Assynt under the road bridge and a small older bridge. As it had rained heavily during the night making the stream move at a good pace, and the result of this was a series of small waterfalls as it crashed down a small gully from the hill above. The waterfall was my original intention, but it was difficult to get into a position where I could get all the cascades cleanly, without the trees cutting across most of the view.

I love that these trees are still here, as this is what it would have looked like, with many more of them of course, when the castle was in use. Frustrated at not having a clean shot, I turned around, and making my way back to the car, the light was simply fantastic. But I was walking towards the sun, into direct sunlight, with a low sun that would be full in view. But, although it meant shooting directly into the sun with my ultra-wide angle I simply couldn’t resist, if I could find the exact right spot…

And there, a moment or two later, it was presented before me; the view I wanted. The castle from a new angle, the light being magical, the mists lifting from the rains, the wet autumn leaves of the twisted ancient tree. Everything I wanted, in a moment, and all because I turned around, took the rule book, and threw it out the window.

Two mishaps, or unintentional opportunities – resulting in two good shots. Would my luck run to a third? They say things run in threes, but normally those are bad things. My bad luck things seemed to be turning into good luck things so anything could happen.

The weather had started to clear, the sun had came out, the clouds were mostly lost, and it was time to call it a day. Let’s head back to the accommodation, I can have a cup of tea, check the forecast and plan the next move. Patches could have a sleep, as is befitting of a little old man that he is.

Returning to the cabin, I couldn’t believe my luck again! The isle had created its own weather system and it was hugging just the top of the mountain. Isle Martin presented itself with a little crown of cloud, and the yacht bobbed gently in the windswept sea. Daisies still flowered on the foreshore, in spite of it being late October, and so the three elements of the best of images, foreground, mid-ground, and background all presented interest that would stand in it’s own right. I was, in heaven.

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And so was Patches, with lots of stinky seaweed to explore (although thankfully not roll in) and more things to pee up.

I’m not a fan of ‘chocolate box’ photography and I had hoped for some more interesting skies later, but I was still thinking the best of the day maybe was over. I couldn’t repeat this luck forever.

The night was wet and windy. We hankered down in the cabin, me with a glass of wine and the large screen TV, and both very glad not to be stuck in the usual tent.

The third morning dawned yet wetter still. I pottered. I drank tea. Then suddenly the wind dropped completely. There was a moment, just a moment, to run out the door and take some shots of the loch again. The midges were out. It’s October I decried! Midges should not be out in late October! I got two bites to the left cheek, and one on the other left cheek, if you know what I mean…

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The clouds broke up and I hoped the day might improve. I wandered about for a short time waiting for the clouds to lift, which they didn’t, but the calmness of the early morning make the flections worthy of an image. Patches explored, as usual. The world must be a sensory overload to a dog sometimes.

I often wonder if he thinks we move house a lot or if he knows the difference between holiday and home.

Back inside again, really just moments later, watching the now steel grey of the loch being pounded by raindrops the size of the small arms fire. It didn’t look good and I only had two full days. Hours later it hadn’t change, and there I was wasting one of my previous days sitting watching rain out of a cabin window! As the rain eased slightly, at least for what would be a few precious dry moments, it became enough to get into the car without getting soaked. I decided we should scout for future locations.

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Patches isn’t really good at scouting. He just sleeps on the back seat and whines when he wants a pee, but we drove north, chasing the pockets of sunlight against the ruggedness of the mountains. The wind increased again, and the rain lashed it down against the car windscreen. I felt that all was lost for the day, and after around 50miles we turned back. Suddenly, on the return leg of the, so far fruitless drive, the sun broke through in just one spot against the imposing sky and the steel grey lochs. It lasted merely seconds and I was very, very, lucky to be right near somewhere to stop and park, just at that single moment. Just as the sun hit the centre spot in the cleft of the mountains. That really doesn’t normally happen, honest. Any landscape photographer will tell you about the hours of waiting for the light to move, or even just to appear.

It was a four day trip that could have resulted in very little by way of images, except that for everything that seemed to be going wrong actually made it so very right. Getting off the Green track onto the mountain track presented me with a view of a mountain that would otherwise have remained unseen, in light that was tricky, but also “to die for”. Ignoring all the rules and shooting into the light gave me an image of the burn, the castle, and of the weather itself, that I would otherwise have never captured. Nearly slipping on my backside presented me with an angle and the best photo. Going back early thinking the shoot was over gave me a view of Isle Martin and the shoreline, with the added attraction of the perfect yacht, and the perfect cloud. Trying to ignore the midges and the bad weather gave me a shot of the loch in harmony with the elements.

And, driving around for five hours in the pouring rain paid off with one moment of glory, and a right place, right time moment that will stay with me forever.

At the end of the third day I had gone the wrong way again and found myself driving back alongside Loch Assynt, again, from Lochinver having decided (my memory failing me on the nightmare of the road) to detour to Drumbeg because a sign said viewpoint.

If anyone tells you the road to Applecross is a nightmare, then tell them to try the B869 from the Kylesku and Unapool end going towards Drumbeg and then to Lochinver.

Having survived the road, I stopped by the end of Loch Assynt nearest to Lochinver and revisited the fairly famous strand of trees. It was looking a little dilapidated compared to previous images I have taken in the area and as I stepped out the car into a large, and unavoidable, puddle I thought it too late to change into wellington boots. I rounded the end of the parking area and squelched my way down the slope. Now sinking slowly but surely into the mire my right foot was truly soaked and the left was rapidly attempting to copy it.

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I grabbed a few images as it started to rain again.

Jumping back into the car, which had steamed up in my absence thanks to Patches snoring gently from the back, it was heater on, half on my feet and half on the windscreen, and a short and pleasent drive back to the accommodation. It was time for tea and to pack up a bit, ready for the longer drive home tomorrow.

The final day, the drive home, I had envisaged going an different way and hoping for more sights of lochs and mountains but instead was treated to miles of endless peat bog, undulating but fairly featureless, on a single track road with no parking, only passing, places. It rained, then it stopped, then it clouded, then the light was fantastic for a few moments, before it clouded over and it rained again. I was missing the best light by being in a fairly boring landscape, with nowhere to stop even if I did see view worth an attempted shot.

My luck had to run out somewhere, and I guess day four was going to be it. A quiet drive home, followed by a lot of washing, and a feeling I wasn’t going to have anything really worthy of the trip…

It is so hard to see what you get from the screen on the back of the camera, and even when you think  the shot was good you can often be sadly disappointed.

As I opened the files on the computer, the magic happened again, and I realised that not playing by the rules, being wrong, or being lost, of being unintentional, the trip had given me images I couldn’t have planned but only dreamed of.

Photography is about light, sometimes you get it, sometimes, more times, you don’t. Sometimes though, you do. 🙂

And sometimes, getting lost out West and photographing things you didn’t intend to result in photos that are all the better for it.

Patches and I stayed here

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Dead Fridges, Sinks, and Drawers

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It always amazes me what people just jump over fences and where they think nobody is looking. It saddens me also.

All of these appliances were dumped in what appears to be a building of potentially historical significance, and right next door to a family holiday park. They were clearly visible to anyone walking to and from the site to the beach via the side pathway, which also gives very popular views of the lighthouse.

 

Last resting place

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It’s always amazing what you can find on a beach. But I can’t help wondering if the whole car might be there somehow, somewhere. If it has, it’s been there a long time and it’s a very old model of car.

(All shots taken at Kingston beach, Moray Firth, NE Scotland)

End of Summer

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End of Summer

The wind was blowing off the sea, waves crashed on the shore, the beach was empty aside from a couple walking their dog.

Fleeting Summer has…

…gone.

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You can buy a little piece of paradise

Tunes rattled around my head as the wind blew my hair into interesting configurations.

Phil Collins
Don Henley

and

Led Zeppelin

 

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Stairway to Heaven?

End of the affair – how I fell out of love with the Isle of Skye

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Sunset on the first evening, following a day of rain and storms.

After 20 years, my love affair with Skye has, I think, now ended. It is not the island, and it is not the people, it is the crowds.

I arrived in pouring rain, which isn’t unusual for anything on the western most side of Scotland, and the next day, with it forecast to be in for the whole day, took a trip into Portree for supplies.

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A short circular walk from Portree take you to views of Dun Caan, past the memorials for the Nicolson/McNeacail clan, but sadly it is cut short at this point due to a landslip.

Skye has become a victim of its own success, attracting over 60,000 visitors for the August bank holiday weekend alone (according to a resident).  The roads, mainly single track with passing places, just cannot cope. Even if the visitors knew how to drive on them…and too many don’t. Without the docking cruise ships, even with just the coaches, the line for the only ladies toilets stretched for over 60 people and part way around the town. When finally you could get a seat, as it were, the result was barely tolerable, and a long way from pleasant. But at least Portree has toilets…

The third day, my second full day on the island, and looking slightly at slightly more promising weather, I set off the most northerly point on Skye – Rubha Hunish on the Trotternish peninsula. After getting my boots nearly sucked off my feet in the boggy terrain following the lines of walkers to ever nook and cranny, I had wished for my wellies! I also wished it hadn’t rained for days beforehand, and quite a few less people.

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The Lookout; ex-Coastguard station and now Mountain Bothy Association open shelter.
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Looking out The Lookout towards the Outer Hebrides in the rain.
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Now that Trotternish is blessed with 4G (albeit intermittent and only recent acquisition), I wonder if the landline phone still works?
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Rubha Hunish points towards the Uists, with views also of the bottom of the Isle of Harris, and on a clear day, potentially, the Isle of Lewis.
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The fireplace that isn’t, and the interesting book collection (a bible, a German philosopher, and a guidebook to Fungi to mention just three).

The walk is an out and back, which means retracing your steps and trying to keep your boots about you when all about you are losing theirs…

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The Northern end of the Trotternish ridge.

…takes you past a cleared village, and on to meet a sheep sank at the “main” road.

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Sheep station, or sank, by the start/end of the walk.
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The main road from the carpark, and the reminder of a time now gone when red phone boxes were needed, and a passing place would illicit a courteous wave.

Just along the road a bit further is the Skye Museum of Island Life – a collection of Blackhouses showing the islands way of life through the ages.

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Blackhouse
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The reconstruction within this Blackhouse shows how up to ten people, including children, would share a space with box beds. It was quiet, warm, and felt comforting and safe, as the wind was howling again from the north, blowing rain into the face when outside.
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A 150 year old loom which was still being used up until the mid 1950s – Skye residents are still multifaceted with many doing more than one job to provide and income. This is true of most island residents throughout the Scottish isles.
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Replica shop in another Blackhouse.

I was particularly moved by a series of letters from Johnnie dating back to WWI and on display in the final Blackhouse. There was one about him shipping out with his chums to France, and another thanking his sister for her parcel, which had reached him at the front. He said she could put in some tinned Salmon, or Sardines, next time if she felt inclined.

Sadly, Johnnie would never receive the second parcel as the third piece of paper on show is the notification from Kitchener’s war office. Johnnie had been Killed in Action just three days after writing his letter to his sister.

………………………

The next day, the weather forecast was terrible so I decided to explore nearby Camas Mor. Just a few minutes drive from the accommodation it was a lovely bay, small harbour, and was well served by a parking area with bins, two bench seat and tables, and a magnificent view. I would have been perfect it here had been a toilet, but as the residents of Skye will tell you, the Council is not inclined to providing (m)any facilities.

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Camas Mor
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Looking towards the Hebrides again, this time from near Camas Mor.

It proved to actually be the best weather day of the entire trip! Sadly, by the time I realised it wasn’t going to get better it was too late.

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The Lily at Camas Mor.

The day was not wasted, although the birds were nowhere to be seen, and the hoped for wildlife of seals, dolphins, and even whales, never appeared either: Just three Cormorants and a few assorted gulls to show for the hours of patient watching, plus some photos too, of course.

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Hand of God?

Driving back a slightly different route, following the grid pattern of small roads, took me past a derelict church which still had some sections of plaster and painted murals covering the remains of the walls.

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Lovaig Bay and the “Coral” Beaches – made from small shells and calcified seaweed.

The final day of the trip and I was desperate for a walk which wouldn’t be a quagmire, after the days of continual rain. I headed, along with a hundred or more other people (and I don’t exaggerate here) towards Dunvegan. Passing by the castle I hoped the beaches would be quieter and on arriving there was a space or two in the car park. By the time I had walked the 4 miles to the far end of the bay and back I was nearly boxed in by some bad parking to the front, a tree to the rear, and unable to open the passenger door for the inconsiderate parking of the neighbour. Almost every car in the place had a ’17’ plate and a sticker on the fuel filler cap reminding the driver what to fill it up with. According to the residents I spoke to, almost every car you see between 7am and 7pm is a hire car. Or a camper van…

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Waves at Lovaig Bay.

My dog ran into the waves, got soaked right over, and came out grinning (Staffordshire Bull Terriers not only have the ability to ‘smile’ but also seem to have very good comic timing and a well judged sense of humour. My first one used to go and sit on the lino’ in the hall when he wanted to fart because it made it much louder…no kidding).

When I got my current squeeze, he was terrified of everything and that including the sea. Now, four years later, he can’t wait to get his paws wet. Watching his shear joy and exuberance of running into the waves made the whole trip, and even the bad weather worth it, but I am sure there were less people in Edinburgh during the Fringe than there was on the Isle of Skye last week.

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The End

Bad weather?

ST0RM_A_BW_004Sitting in a little wooden cabin, back on the Isle of Skye, looking out in the fading evening light towards North Uist and the Isle of Harris. It’s been raining, hard, all day, but there is a chink in the sky. The distant hills and mountains are hiding one minute and revealed the next, albeit, brief interlude in the rain. The wind is picking up and the clouds are rolling like thunder across the sky, it’s hard to see if the water is being picked up off the sea or coming down to rejoin it. But the waves are quiet and the sea gently laps at the shore, the sparkly of light on the sea reflecting the touch of sunlight above. It will be dark soon, the sun setting somewhere behind the clouds….somewhere, out west, where the none to distant shore of Uist meets the unforgiving Atlantic.

Findochty to Cullen with the Olympus PEN-F

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The Moray Coastal Trail runs from Forres in West to Cullen in the East, and is a long distance trail of around 50 miles, which isn’t a long long distance trail, but its not a day hike either. Although if you look at it in little sections, it provides a convenient path between the coastal towns and villages, an more convenient off-road route for cyclists, and a gentle stroll for those of us who are feeling a bit less committed that the long distance hiker. Being a bit noncommittal after two divorces, I have hiked almost all of it, also twice, because I’ve done it in sections as “there and back” outings.

It’s an ideal stroll as in many sections it uses bit of the old railway track, so it is often fairly level, but there are options to adopt a more robust and strenuous, “walkers only”, path along some sections of the clifftops. These routes drop in and out of many secluded bays, are generally longer, and also provide some wonderful experiences of the local geological features. It is also far easier to have a pee on them if you’re a woman because there are more places to hide your arse. For men, not so much of a problem.

The trail, or individual sections, can of course be walked in either direction, and as I go out and back sometimes I take the photos in the opposite order to the way I write about it because I like to enjoy the walk and then get the shots on the way back. But I am not going to bore you with showing you the same bits twice.

The slide show above features 10 images from the Findochty (pronounced Finichty or Finechty depending on if they come from Buckie or further along the coast) to Cullen section. Cullen is famous as the home of the original Cullen Skink; a rich creamy soup using smoked haddock pieces and potatoes, and comes highly recommended by the author 😉

A little about each picture:

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My walk started in Findochty harbour, which is where my post Wee Horses, Wee Boats sort of finished. Although the harbour is now used mainly by leisure craft, there are still some creel pot fishermen as shown in this photo. The bigger trawlers having moved to Buckie in the late 1800’s, where a deeper harbour could accommodate the ever larger vessels.

 

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The Moray Coast interests geologists, with many paying trips to examine the exposed Cullen Quartzite formations. Psammitic beds are interbedded with thinner pelitic beds, and other sedimentary features can also easily be seen right along the coast here. Evidently, we have evidence of crenulations cleavage, and even secondary cleavage (which doesn’t sound flattering to anything other than rocks), as well as garnets in quartzite rocks on sections of the coast near to Cullen itself.

The most famous rock formation on this section of the walk is Bow Fiddle Rock, which has quite frankly been “done to death”.

 

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Birds are singing

The weather was glorious the whole way along the coast, with birds singing in the gorse and plenty of birds and boats on the water. I was delighted to see, albeit briefly, a small pod of the Firth’s famous resident Bottlenose Dolphins on the return leg.

The coast always attracts a number of migrant birds during the Spring and Autumn, and it is not unusual for some real rarities to turn up.

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Portknockie harbour

Portknockie harbour is a two basin harbour with berthing for up to 50 boats. Now mainly used by pleasure craft and leisure fishermen, there is still a small industry of crab and lobster boats, although most are now part-time. It also boasts a salt water fed open-air swimming pool which can be seen in the left basin in the photo. The town of Portnockie is mainly situated above the harbour, on the cliff top, and overlooks it.

 

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The Fishermen’s Hall, Portknockie

The Fishermen’s Hall (this is the correct title as displayed on the name plaque), is believed to have been built in 1820. It was initially used a coal store by the Society of Fishermen (est. 1819), and started life as single storey with a thatched roof. It gained elevation and a state roof in 1842, and then to two full stories at the turn of the century. It has had a number of uses including hosting some notable local weddings during the mid-late 1800s. By 1994 it was is a poor state of repair, and the then owners Moray Council, put it up for sale. There was little interest until 2002 when it sold and the new owners sort permission to convert it into flats, but this was refused. It has been renovated, but to what end I am not sure. More info here

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Oceanic garage

Not actually sure if this is a garage or a shed, but basing my observation on the fact you could drive into it I’m calling it a garage. The residents of Portknockie are, rightly, proud of their beautiful coastal town, although more of a village, and work very hard to keep up appearances. Evidence of murals to the sea can be found tucked away throughout the town, including this garage, and the community has it’s own website and newsletter, although 2015 seems to be the last available online.

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Home of the Zulu

The Zulu design of fishing boat originated in Portknockie, and was the successor of the Fifie. The hull design came from nearby Lossiemouth, and this was developed into the Zulu craft (named after the war raging, at the time, in southern Africa).  Over 100 of these boats were built in this small rock cove, and it became a well respected design. Tragedy was often too common to sea faring communities, and a Portknockie boat, The Evangeline, was very sadly one of them.

 

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Approaching Cullen

There are two approaches to Cullen, one on the cycle path which takes you over the famous viaduct, and one which takes you along the cliff top and then down onto the beach. This photo was taken from the cycle path which goes over the viaduct on the old railway line. It was hot, I was lazy.

 

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Tee’s off for a song

Cullen Golf Course proudly states it is the ‘Worlds Shortest True Links Course’. Designed by Old Tom Morris as a 9-hole, it was later extended to 18 holes by local architect Charlie Neaves. Although the course is short, nestling alongside the beach between the cliffs and the viaduct, it has 18 challenging 3-par and 4-par holes in the most stunning location imaginable. Immaculately kept greens permit around 3-hours a round.

 

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Cullen from the old railway

Due to the weather being so warm (bordering hot), and unusually so for August in Scotland, I didn’t go right the way into Cullen itself as it was becoming a bit too much for my dog. We stopped on top of the famous viaduct a short way on from this last photo for lunch and then turned back. The wonderful things about this part of Scotland are the accessibility of the beaches, the light, and the skies. While I still have a preference for mountains and lochs, the coast doesn’t have the same issues with midges so that’s a definite bonus to time spent here.

 

The photography:

All the images were shot with my Cullen Golf Course, after all, that is in the sub-title of this blog site, and using either the Olympus Zuiko M.14-42mm/f3.5-5.6EZ ‘pancake’ lens or the Olympus Zuiko M.9-18mm/f4.0-5.6 lens. Both of these are easily pocket sized, and very light, with surprisingly good optical quality. The 14-42mm ‘kit’ lens often gets a very undeserved bad press and I have found it a surprising pleasure. But don’t take just my word for it; Robin Wong has an excellent article about the lens here.

All the images in this feature are jpegs shot in-camera with some additional cropping in Adobe Lightroom (LR) to give the required emphasis for the story I was creating. I have used the histogram, also in LR, to bring out the full range of tones, as I am still getting used to the customisation features of the PEN-F. As a result of this outing I have now made some further adjustments to the feature in the camera, mainly using the curves in-camera adjustment to increase the range of tones and contrast during future shoots. This shoot was done using the defaults in the Mono 1 creative mode with contrast set to neutral (default), and sharpening to +1. I have also applied a gentle Yellow filter, again in-camera, as a customisable option.

Due to the overall brightness of the shooting period (more on that below), I set the Exposure compensation to -0.3 to ensure the highlights were not blown out. I used Aperture Priority throughout the walk to keep things simple, and for some reason all the images I selected for this blog were shot at f10. This wasn’t deliberate, and I have shots taken at different apertures, the ones I liked most were all f10. Weird…

The camera was set to ISO200, and I didn’t find a need for a tripod even though I carried one. Image stabilisation was turned off throughout. The reason for this is two fold – firstly, I have never been a fan and I have found (previously with Nikon) that you can often get sharper images without it. I prefer to either raise the ISO, or use a tripod, when required. I cannot see how introducing movement, even microscopic movement, can make an image sharper and to me it is only worth using in very low light if you’ve really reached the reasonable limits of handholding/ISO/aperture of lens.

The second reason is that I find that the PEN-F gets notoriously warm with it switched on, especially around the handgrip, and turning it off stops this completely. There is an added bonus in that it also increases battery life. Of course, in the winter I might yet switch it back on and use the camera as a hand warmer….(kidding, fix please Olympus).

All the images in this entry were shot between 12.50 and 15.33 (I can be this exact because it’s in the file data) and on Sunday 27th August, 2017. This period of time is supposed to be the photographic desert period when nobody shoots anything due to the bright, unfavourable, light. The fact it was cloudy allowed some interest in the sky to be maintained, although the cloud was at times rather thin and widespread, but it reduced the need for graduated ND filters to a good degree. When the clouds were more compacted, ‘fluffy’, and therefore more interesting, the difference between the blue sky and the more broken clouds greatly improved the photographic opportunities. As a result, in these images I increased the amount of sky included. Photography is as much about what you leave out as what you include.

My preference for monochromatic images does also allow for more shooting at what is often viewed as a ‘bad’ time of day, but sometimes you just have to get what you can at the time, and I find the Olympus PEN-F allows me to do that. I don’t really think there is a ‘bad’ time for photography, you just have to adapt to the light you’re given or find a way to manipulate or compensate for it.

There are two very famous views of this area; the Cullen viaduct being one, and as I alluded earlier Bow Fiddle Rock being the other, but I have deliberately avoided these because I find they have become cliches. I had a conversation with the director of a local tourist body no so long ago and he said; “oh, god, if I have to see one more picture of Bow Fiddle flipping rock”.

Photographers can copy others, or write their own stories.

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