Fleeting Light
Some photographs are calculated; anticipated, the result of time and effort, and research, returning to the same
composition and re-returning until the light is 'right'. Research might involve planning of the direction of
sunlight at different times of the year at the location, using computer programs; the examination of tide
timetables; the predominant wind direction and of course the weather forecast; and many trips to set up the camera
and tripod in expectation (or at least optimism) only to be disappointed by less than satisfactory light.
However there are times when landscape and the light which falls upon it combine so spectacularly in
extraordinarily fleeting moments in time, that no amount of pre-planning or preparation can anticipate it.
Capturing such an event is like running with a handful of water, trying to reach your destination before the
water runs completely through your fingers. As rarely is the camera setup and composed correctly on the scene when
this happens, what ensues in the picture-making is usually frantic, and often accompanied
by choice mutterings of unattractive words; the photographer must react, find position and
composition quickly, and check the technicalities, in order to make the image a success. In these situations
the time he is required to capture the moment may last for only a precious few seconds.
Icelandic House, South Iceland
October is Iceland's rainiest month, but blustery autumnal weather interspersed with sunshine makes great conditions for
photography. This solitary house guards a rough track to the farms on the far hills, and its windows were lit up by
reflection of the bright sky clearing behind me. The sunbeam penetrated the gloom for less than a minute.
Beachy Head Lighthouse, East Sussex
I'd almost given up on a half-decent sunset on this unusually warm October afternoon, but patience rewarded when the sun slipped
out from behind the thick cloud moments before it touched the horizon, resulting in this awesome red underlighting effect.
Cerro Paine Grande, Torres Del Paine National Park, Patagonia (Chile)
Dartmoor, Devon, England
On my way back from a weekend in Cornwall I lingered on Dartmoor for sunset. The light was beautiful, and the air fairly crisp
for a late summer's evening, and after a good hike around the various tors on the western edge of the moor (Vixen, Heckwood,
Feather and Pew Tors) I ended up settling on this small (I think unnamed) tor with a pretty tree nearby. As the light drew
richer on the browning ferns, the two clouds moved into place to echo the foreground rocks, and a lone Dartmoor pony stood atop the hill.
Sometimes, all the elements just come together.
Loch Leathan and the Cuillin, Isle of Skye
With the rounded red and jagged black Cuillin mountains rising on the horizon, it was a mad scramble up a slippery grassy bank to reach
this viewpoint while the sunbeams lasted. I got lucky and found the perfect rocks to complete the composition!
Fishermen at Dawn, Bewl Water, Sussex
Thick fog blanketted this fresh water reservoir on the border between Kent and Sussex early one October morning. Several boats could
be made out in the mist, with the fishermen motionless all silently waiting for a catch.
Seagulls At Sunrise, Kaikoura
A very spontaneous shot - something startled these gulls as I scanned through the viewfinder trying to compose. A quick trigger finger and this was the result.
Doubtful Sound, Fjordland
Nearing the mouth of Doubtful where it meets the swell of the Tasman Sea, I wasn't expecting a decent shot after the day's rain but
when the clouds broke a little I couldn't have wished for more dramatic light to show off the steep sides of this majestic place. A
glacially-carved fjord rather than a sound, this remote inlet was given its name by Captain Cook who was too unsure of its navigability
to enter it.
Lake Matheson, Westland
I'd scheduled two evenings and three mornings to photograph this famous viewpoint of Mt Cook and Mt Tasman reflected in Lake Matheson.
(No, it's not the most original shot on the planet. But, back in 2006, I didn't know any better.) The first sunrise didn't produce much
of interest, especially with the noisy ducks ruining the calm surface (despite my vocal protestations
and shaking of fists); but the subsequent evening produced a wonderful purple-hued post-sunset alpenglow which slowly enveloped the mighty
peaks of the Southern Alps. And no ducks!
The Cuillin, Strathaird Peninsula, Isle of Skye, Scotland
I'd spotted this composition earlier in the afternoon and walked out along the coast in the evening hoping for low dramatic modelling light. I
certainly got it, but it wasn't quite as easy as I'd envisaged! With the tripod and my own feet all precariously balanced on slippery rock slabs,
I hurriedly fumbled around choosing the correct gradutaed neutral density filter to balance the light intensity, all the while the rapidly
fading sunlight was slipping in and out from behind thickening clouds which were threatening to suffocate it completely before I'd reeled off
a single shot.
