Gnarled Giant

Just a forest photo, but look at the shape of that tree... The Australian eucalypt is one of these trees able to take on any shape at all, as determined by the conditions in which it grows, and this one was growing from a steep bank in a gully. It reaches for the light one way, water the other, and creates such a remarkable shape. One would imagine an artist had been extravagant in the layout of a work for dramatic effect, but such things are common in the endless variation of gum tree morphology. However, what really makes the picture is the sun angle—the degree of backlighting, the way it shines through the foreground and understorey vegetation, silhouetting the tree—that's where the art happens. I took this shot on the walk through to Ingalalla Falls, down on the Fleurieu Peninsula, on August 12^th, 2017. Minor adjustments to colour, contrast and sharpness in Irfanview; Fuji FinePix S5600. Image by Mike.

 

Soft-Light Perfection

I don’t often claim perfection, and if it happens it’s probably by accident, but here is a frame where it all came together. Just a simple country view—a farm in the valleys on the railway between Middlesbrough and Whitby, photographed through the carriage window. But all the elements are right—no dirt on the window, no reflections of interior lights, the POV is square-on to the scene (no fine rotation required), and the composition fell into place, the farm framed neatly in the view. The sun came out—the weather was grey and damp but for a while there was sunshine. And even then, the sun angle was low, so the light had a soft, almost transparent quality that makes everything seem different to the hard light of Australia. This was November 14^th, 2006, on my first England trip, and I was about to see my home town for the first time in 35 years—getting off at the very station the family left from in 1971. Talk about circles in completion—it was something that just had to be. But the November light in England, closing in on winter and the snow, is low and soft, and I can hardly describe it—you have to see it, feel it, to understand. Minor adjustments to colour, contrast and sharpness in Irfanview; Fuji FinePix S5600. Image by Mike.

Workhorse of the Sea

There is something majestic about ships, and maritime towns always make for interesting shooting locations. I grabbed this shot on November 8^th, 2012, from the deck of the South Shields ferry, crossing the River Tyne on my way back to Roker after an excursion to Tynemouth Castle and Priory. This is a DFDS Seaways vessel preparing to leave in the evening for its overnight run to Amsterdam. It’s fascinating to be able to see into the open vehicle deck. I’ve often wondered what a crossing would be like on such a ship, a marvelous start to a holiday with one’s car in the hold. This frame is fairly unique as, given the exposure rating of the cameras of the day, I had limited ability to control for low light, The evening was coming in fast, and while the chip handled low light beautifully, it couldn’t compensate for motion with reduced exposure time. I shot plenty of frames, but this is the one where it all came together, and wasn’t blurred by motion. Fun memories, I miss those trips! Minor adjustments to colour, contrast and sharpness in Irfanview; Fuji FinePix S5600. Image by Mike.

Nature’s Effortless Disrespect

Humans modify their landscape—they are compulsive builders. We memorialise our perception of greatness, and such things long outlive their subjects—ask any Pharaoh. But the natural world is oblivious of such things, and competes with the human need to control entropy. Like the need to weed a garden—perhaps the ultimate expression of futility—we erect monuments to last the ages, while nature has a casual disrespect for such notions, in fact is in permanent violation of them. I took this picture in Mowbray Park, Sunderland, in November, 2011, during my fourth UK trip. This statue is of General Sir Henry Havelock, a local, who distinguished himself in India in the early 19^th century, and while he may be standing up there in cast bronze, on a stone plinth and surrounded with canons—how many symbols of imperialism can you get into one place at one time?—nature casually mocks such human constructs. It’s the seagull, of course. I shot the statue from several angles and distances, under that glowering, stormy sky, but that bird did not move an inch, and finally, I accepted it as part of the tableau of the moment—embodying the narrative of nature’s obliviousness to human precocity. The man may have been a hero and a figure associated with national and imperial power, but to a bird—nature—he’s just a perch. And that’s a profound observation on human nonsense, really. Minor adjustments to colour, contrast and sharpness in Irfanview; Fuji FinePix S5600. Image by Mike.