Hi folks, yes I know, slapped legs and so on - I HAVE been remiss, but maybe time off can be quite a good thing.
FB has always been an 'occasional' as they used to call magazine-type things back in ye anciente dayes of printing - albeit this year it has been very much so.
The reasons for my tardiness were detailed in earlier posts, but hey, look, I haven't stopped; I still look at who is reading this and whilst riddled with guilt and wringing my hands, think:
"Ooooh - I must get some more FB done."
So there, I am slowly moving forward, with the emphasis on slowly.
 |
| Aftermath Of A Winter's Storm |
Anyway, I surprised myself recently and actually spent a whole afternoon (wet and windy, with squall and some sun) printing.
It was sheer heaven actually.
Just 5x7" RC prints, all popped in the newly-gifted Leitz easel - a thing of great joy and comfort for reasons I don't understand - a Beard is better - but that being said it is so darn simple just to plop a bit or paper in there and go.
It's beautifully made too; a little bit corroded in places, but is solid.
It holds the paper well - none of this lifting of the border edge setters, or paper slipping underneath them as often happens with the Beard - it's just slide it in and go.
I was printing some results from recent walks.
"Wot? We fort you hadn't been takin' no fotograffs?!"
Well, I haven't, at least not seriously (as in going out to actively seek them) however, I will, these days, load a 35mm camera (in this case the M2 with 35mm Summaron) and just carry it with me on weekend constitutionals with t'missus.
As my Dad used to say:
"The things you see when you haven't got your gun."
It applies to cameras too.
So there we were, a strollin' along, looking at fings and generally having a very nice time, when I noticed something.
This was probably one of the lowest tides I'd ever seen on the Tay, and really if I'd been paying attention I'd have spotted earlier that there seems to be a newish Dundee ritual of chucking what look like perfectly good bikes in the river.
We'd passed at least another two before I started noticing them - it took time for my brain to process things - I'd never make a good sports photographer.
So here's two of them - they'd probably make a really nice series, but remember if you're here and start doing them, I've got first dibs, right?
 |
| Bike 1 |
 |
| Bike 2 |
I was struck by the yucky, seaweedy, muddy contrast against the hard angularity of the bikes and it brought to mind a picture I had taken about 4 or 5 years back in the aftermath of an incredible Winter's storm in the Grampians.
 |
| Aftermath Of A Winter's Storm |
Understandably, this just looks like a pile of wood and stones, but to understand how it became so sculptural, one has to get the lie of the land right.
This was taken at the point where a tributary of the Whitewater runs into it.
To get to this point, the waters gather themselves from a mountainous plateau of peat bog and hard rock and gullies.
The height of the plateau averages around 2500-3000 feet above sea level; it is a vast, mostly featureless water-gathering area.
The rains saturate the land; it is a place of storm, sun, wind, but rarely if ever 'low' water levels.
Everything then descends: both underground and overground.
It falls through deep-cut gullies and channels; it runs beneath the moss and hillsides, giving the traveler on a clear and sunny day the feeling that the earth is forever in motion and life cannot end.
Here and there the run-offs join and co-join and force their amassings into deeper gullies of rock and boulder, Scot's Pine and impenetrable brush.
And then, by pool and bend, the gathering puts a brake on itself and becomes a feeder, neither loch nor burn but something inbetween, where a deep pool forms and becomes the final point of exit into the river.
It was at this final point that I took this photograph.
The weirdest thing about this is that about 150 metres upstream there's a stalker's bridge.
It is so old and rickety, that it would be easy for the burn that runs underneath to destroy it utterly and without thought, were it in spate.
The flotsam here though had not come from the gullies above that bridge - there was too much and it was all too big; so I can only surmise that we're looking at such a force of rain falling, concentrated into the space of about 150 metres, that it was strong enough to bring this lower stretch to some form of extremis.
Strong enough to move considerable quantities of trees and rocks and deposit them as if they were nothing.
Such is the power of our planet.
Respect it.
The photograph was taken with the Hasselblad 500C/M and the humble 150mm Sonnar - a truly remarkable lens and your cheapest option with Hassie lenses.
It is the out of focus qualities coupled with the incredible detail that I like best about this photograph.
And it is also easy to see why a 150mm Sonnar is probably the best Hasselblad lens for portraiture - I think the aperture was about f5.6.
Film was Ilford FP4 (developed in Pyrocat-HD) and I was on a tripod - no, not me, the camera.
And that's it folks - briefer than a tight-fitting pair of Y-Fronts.
Nature eh - who'd have thought it.
Take care and till next time, remember:
Pease Pudding Hot
Pease Pudding Cold
Pease Pudding In The Pot
Ugh!
Actually, this being said, I haven't had Pease Pudding since about 1973 whilst staying at my Grans. I bet I'd love it these days.
Keep taking the pills.
H.
