Chasing the light fantastic

On Saturday morning I awoke to what appeared to be several hundred men throwing buckets of water against the windows of our club hut in Mynydd Llandegai. Not, you will agree a promising start to a photographer’s day!

However, the weather man had promised me that come the afternoon it would stop raining so I stuck my head in a good book (Gordon Stainforth’s ‘Eyes to the hills’ if you were wondering) and bided my time.
Come midday a chink of light fell upon the hills so I grabbed my sack and went for a mooch around Penrhyn Quarry where I was treated to some reasonable light.

I was happy enough and would have left it at that but something told me that there were greater prizes to be won if I headed high for the golden hour…I wasn’t wrong.

On the frigid summit of Elidir Fawr I shivered and shook while being gifted with some of the best light I’ve ever seen. I came down in the dark ecstatic; it had been a good days ‘work’!

Britain’s finest ridge scramble?

I haven’t been across Liathach’s narrow back or teetered across An Teallach’s Corrag Bhuidhe pinnacles…yet! Nor have I scaled the hallowed spires of the Cuillin, much to my regret. So, with that in mind I am ill equipped to spout forth on what I consider to be Britain’s finest ridge scramble.

I have, however, traversed the Aonach Eagach and I can tell you that it is a marvellous day out and one I would repeat in a heartbeat but is it the best? I think not, because for several reasons (if I may set the cat amongst the pigeons) a certain horseshoe in Snowdonia knocks it into 2nd or maybe even 3rd place. What do you think?

Winter in the Welland Valley

No mountains for me this weekend but an early start and late finish nevertheless. Rising at 5am for a walk to Eyebrook reservoir I set out into the freezing pre-dawn for some ‘stunning’ shots of the frozen lake and hoar encrusted trees backed by a tremendous sunrise. The image I wanted to capture was fully formed in my mind and with the added bonus of mist I was in for a treat. Sadly, the mist turned out to be a stubborn freezing fog which refused to budge so I needed a Plan B.

On my way back home I headed into the woods and trawled tree fringed country lanes in an attempt to secure some pleasing images and make the most of winter in the valley.

The second part of my day involved scouting out locations for sunset though in the end I plumped for Rockingham Hill, an old favourite right on my doorstep. Parking my behind on a handy log I waited and waited. Eventually the show started, turning the sky a ravishing orange and my lips blue as the temperature plummeted to -6. It was a happy man who trudged home through the snow to a warm fire and a medicinal swally!

The Hurkling Stones

The Hurkling Stones is a name that sits uneasily in my mind and conjures up visions of sinister rocks imbued with a malevolent power. In reality, those iconic natural sculptures sitting high above the Derwent Valley feel nothing though sometimes, when the westering sun wanes and the clouds darken the sky one can often feel their personality seeping out, touching those who wander there alone…or is it just me?

My favourite mountain

With so many mountains to choose from it’s hard to single one out as my favourite. It depends on so many things. My mood and the weather are but two factors though more often than not the mountain I’m actually on is my favourite.

The thing is though, I’m not on one now so what’s it going to be? Hmmm, let me think…ok, tonight, my favourite mountain is Tryfan.

Nicholas Caged

Lately I’ve been reading reports and looking at photographs of folk out in the winter hills. Though conditions for winter climbing a not great –at least in Lakeland and Eryri- the walking and ridge routes look fantastic. Unfortunately, for the second weekend in a row it looks as though I’ll be stuck at home while others hit the heights which wouldn’t be so bad if this winter was like the last two. I can well imagine that come next weekend a major thaw will have stripped the hills leaving me with a sickening jealousy and loathing for my hill loving brethren!
Tonight I live in dreams, remembering days past and hoping that my winter won’t turn into a complete non event. There’s still a couple of months to go, but for now you can call me Nicholas Caged!

It’s all about the light

As I’m a landscape photographer you might reasonably assume that my main subject matter is landscapes. Well, that’s kind of true but not quite. You see for my images or at least the images I strive to capture a landscape scene is just the starting point. Bear with me here!

Take the image below for instance, ‘Across Pen y Bwlch from Moel y Ci’. I’ve looked at this view plenty of times without any inclination to point a camera at it. Why? Well, because the light was rubbish. Now you may think that light is light and you would be right. Light is neither good nor bad; unless of course you are a photographer when light can be good, bad, indifferent or bloody brilliant.

So what am I banging on about? I’ll tell you. In essence I’m not really taking photographs of landscapes but rather light on the landscape, the topography being but a stage on which light can perform.
So it’s all about the light and I don’t mean maybe!

The edges of heaven

The Scottish highlands boast a profusion of sharp arêtes, Snowdonia a fair few and Lakeland a good many less. In fact I’d go as far as to say that in the old counties of Cumberland and Westmorland there are but two really narrow ridges, though if you’ve heard of any others I’d like to know for I must visit them immediately!

The edges of Sharp and Striding (on Blencathra and Helvellyn respectively) are two of the most spectacular ways a hillwalker can take to a Lakeland summit. On a fine summer day they can be traversed airily but easily with the minimum of rock handling though when under snow or ice they can be dangerous to those who venture upon them without the equipment or experience of the mountaineer. As with all classic ways they can be busy (sharp usually less so than striding), but go early or late in the day and it’s not unheard of to get them to yourself. Then, you’ll experience a very special atmosphere that can be lacking when the world and his wife decide to pay a visit.

Summer evenings in Lakeland

Sitting by the tent, waving my arms around like a loon in a vain attempt to gain some respite from evil midges while the smell of burnt sausages fills the air. That, followed by a few pints in the pub and a stumbling return, tripping over guy lines and wishing I’d remembered to take my head torch.

Oh how I miss those summer evenings in Lakeland. Passing out under canvas after a glorious day on the fells, sore of foot but happy of heart with the promise of repeating the whole thing again come the morrow.

Not long now, but before then can we please have some decent winter climbing conditions?

The Pass

When clouds swirl around concealing the tops and the crags stream with water the pass is a gloomy place. It feels as though the sun will never shine again and days in verdant pastures, on sun kissed rock or scrambling on the high ridges are but distant memories.

Every now and then, when all hope of feeling the warmth of the sun is lost and you are about to turn tail and find solace in the pub, magic happens, just to remind you that the pass can be glorious as well as grim.