New Lands, Sleeping Bags And Big Cameras (Get your rubber trousers on - it's Part Two)

Well friends hopefully I whetted your appetite, and even if I didn't I am going to persevere with this shite simply because I have to get it all down and out of my system.

So to recap the last Blog:

Caravan Holiday.

Film Maniac with Large Camera

Lots Of Film

No Darkroom

As you can maybe tell from the above, film organisation was always going to be a problem. 

I took 8 Toyo Double Dark Slides with me, holding (obviously) 16 sheets of film, all of which I had pre-loaded in the proper dark of my darkroom. However, 4 of those sheets of film were TXP 320 from a previous load and I only wanted to use TMX 100 for consistency, so that was 2 DDS's knocked out for a start, but I took them anyway. 

My intention was to work my way through the remaining 6 (12 sheets of film) and using a recently purchased extremely very large changing bag change the film whilst there. 

And herein lay a problem.

Have you ever used a changing bag? I mean really used one as in it is all you had to use? Go on . . admit it . . you've got one, but you've never been brave enough to use it have you.

Well that was the predicament I found myself in.

Oh how I skipped out that first night to photograph. 

What a joyous time I had!

And then when I got back, had washed up and thought I must really get myself organised immediately so that I could stay on top of everything, how bouyant and enthusiastic I felt!

Ah, the innocence of youth! The naivety of the amateur!!

I had my changing bag ready.

I had my empty film box ready.

I had my rocket air blower ready to rocket.

I had my little interleaving sheets of paper ready to place over that day's batch, thereby delineating the end of the day . . .

I was good to go.

***
BOREDOM ALERT - DO NOT LISTEN TO CALMING MUSIC OR OPERATE HEAVY MACHINERY WHILST READING THIS NEXT BIT.

A brief aside into my thinking about keeping exposed film organised:

OK - it's pitch dark, or you're in your changing bag or whatever.

Stack you darkslides in the bag (before zipping it) in the order in which you will be placing the sheets in the box. A lot of people have several boxes for N, N+1, N-1 exposures etc, however I feel that it would be too easy to lose place of which image is which so don't use that method.

So say you have the following:

Darkslide 1:

TMX 100/1 (from your notes you know this to be a good exposure)

TMX 100/2 (from your notes, you weren't really totally happy with the composition on this one and you aren't really bothered about it)

Darkslide 2:

TMX 100/3 (from your notes you know this to be a good exposure)

TMX 100/4 (from your notes, a possibly difficult exposure - shadows placed on ZIII, but highlights well beyond ZVII)

[Now imagine the card inner sleeve that holds film in the plastic or foil envelope in a box of sheet film (Ilford ones are best here, because they are a folded sheet, not two separate sheets like a lot of other manufacturers)  - open that wide, put [in my case] 4 sheets of exposed film in, and then lay an interleaving sheet on top - that says to you in the dark that below the sheet is the first day's film.

Just as a double check, you have written on the sheet the day AND ALSO THE ORDER IN WHICH THE SHEETS ARE IN THAT PARTICULAR STACK (Obviously you can't read this in the dark, however if you get a bit lost you can remove it, seal the box and have a skeg at what you've done).]

Anyway, say in example to the above, you want to process TMX 100/2 first just to get a feel for correct development times. Unload that sheet first, place the film in the cardboard, fold it back down over the sheet, then say you want to process TMX 100 1 & 3 next. Unload and place in the card in the same way, then TMX 100/4 - that's the one which requires the most attention so you are going to process that last. Unload it last and place it at the top of the stack and place the interleaving paper on top of that.

Before you started, you stuck a piece of masking tape on the outside of the box with Day and Stacking info on too and also that the sheets are the first day's shooting.

So your strip of tape should read something like:

28/9/14 (Top - next to paper) TMX 100/4, 100/3, 100/1, 100/2 (Bottom)

You're going to ask why I've placed them in that order?

Go on, you are aren't you?

Good.

Well it's because it is easier to take a sheet from the bottom of a stack of film in my experience. Simple as that.

For however many days you are shooting (in my case 5) just repeat the above. And just because it is hard knowing what you are doing in the dark, you can always tell which way up the stack is, because the sheet of film on the bottom feels like film and not that sheet of paper you placed on top of the last sheet which is the top of the stack.

I hope this makes sense. It is a bit convoluted, however it worked very well for me apart from one cock-up in the stacking department, but I'll put that down to blind panic as detailed below.

***
IT'S OK - NO NEED TO CRY ANYMORE - DANGER IS PAST
 GO ON. GO AND GET YOURSELF A STIFF DRINK - YOU DESERVE IT.

Anyway where was I?
Oh yeah, bouyed up on a wonderful film-exposing evening, that's where I was!
All too ready to don a knotted hanky and raise a jaunty salute to anyone who might be passing.

I got everything organised as detailed above and with some trepidation and shaking hands (after all I had invested time and artistic effort into making these exposures) managed to unload my DDS's and get the film organised and sealed away into the box.
BTW - the picture of the tree from the last post, was from that initial batch of film.
Bongo I thought, job done (though it was getting a tad warm and sweaty in the bag [I am going to call it that from now on - The Bag - there, I've done it.])

So I pulled my arms out of The Bag, turned the light on, unzipped The Bag and got everything out. I was chuffed - it had seemed to work well.

I got my Rocket blower (essential if you ask me) and jetted out any bits of dust from the DDS's and organised them for loading, placed them back in The Bag alongside a box of lovely TMX 100.

Curiously I turned the light off (!), zipped both zips on The Bag, shoved my arms up the sleeves and prepared to load. 

And herein lies the problem with changing bags and DDS's - SWEAT. 

After I'd shoved my hands in I realised that for some unknown reason I was ramping up more moisture than a half-backs' Jock Strap. Are there such things as breathable changing bags? 

I've looked around and can't find them, but man it needs it, that and a small framework inside to stop the fabric draping itself over your hands at the drop of every hat. I know there's the Harrison tents, however one has only to look at the retail prices of these to realise that whilst they look totally the part, they are beyond the means of most enthusiastic amateurs . . ie ME.

In The Bag, the more frustrated I got with the cloth falling everywhere, the harder my fingers sweated. It was terrible - so much so that guiding the film into the slots in the DDS resulted in the film actually sticking to the plastic of the holders . . what a fckecking palava! 

It was a real nightmare and took me about four times longer than loading film normally takes. Allied to this, I didn't really know whether I'd ruined the film by getting moisture on the emulsion and said emulsion getting ruined by all the shite that was going on. 

I cannot emphasise enough how truly awful the situation was.

Several times the film stuck tight only a handful of millimeters into the slots in the holder and I had to scrabble with fingernails and swearing to free it, only to try loading it again, for the same thing to happen. 

The air was blue, and Ali wondered what the hell was going on.

After every sheet loaded, I put the film back into the box, took my soaking wet hands and arms out of the sleeves, unzipped The Bag and looked at the sheets of condensation which had formed inside The Bag's  material - it was like a greenhouse window on a frosty morning!

I then had to rocket air this to dissipate it, so I could carry on. 

I have never experienced anything like it, but I got there (in the end). 

And you know what, I knew I had to change tack, simply couldn't go through the torture again, so after a bit of thinking, the following two loads were made in conditions which most people would laugh at - they involved the following:

A bed.

A changing bag

Twilight/Night

A sleeping bag

Yep, I waited till it was pretty dark.

Shut the curtains (they were pretty much non-light-tight though).

Put The Bag, folded, on the bed (as a clean and easily made dust-free area . . well it was better than using a mattress that goodness knows how many people had slept in wasn't it!)

Laid out my film box and holders.

Draped a LARGE ex-army sleeping bag over the top.

And proceeded to unload exposed film and reload unexposed film into the holders underneath this makeshift tent. 

I had no idea whether the film would be affected, but I couldn't go back to The Bag alone. 

And you know what? It bloody worked! 

The sleeping bag was capacious enough to not keep draping itself all over my hands, but also of the right size to provide a nice light-tight seal where my arms entered underneath it. 

So all I can say, is if you ever find yourself without a darkroom, but with say a large coat and a darkened room, it is entirely possible to load and unload film. Of course you have to be careful, but it can be done! 

Hackneyed Cliché or Valid Artistic Statement?

Personally I'd go with the former

You have no idea how hard it was to make the above photograph. 

It was a cold and misty morning, my camera (lenses and ground glass) was doing its best to act as a condenser for the vast tracts of atmosphere surrounding me, as were my glasses and loupe. It was damn near impossible to see anything. Allied to this I knew there were several sheets of film in the holders that were totally fecked. However, needs must when the devil drives and this was one of those moments. 

Knowing that the film was possibly in a ruinous condition didn't help, but I had to use it - I couldn't just consign it to the junked sheets of history pile. 

And how do you think it has turned out?

Obviously apart from the composition (which is total shite) not half bad.

You can see there's a small mark about a quarter of the way up the print on the left side . . guess what . . that's it. For all my sweating and the film sticking tight, that was the only damage out of four sheets of film. 

It just goes to show that modern film is remarkably robust stuff. Bomb-proof is what I'd say. 

Oh and before I go, I'll also add that the combination of TMX 100 and 1:25 Rodinal doesn't get spoken about much, however it is as near grainless as a Warburton's bread factory!

Anyway, on that note, till next time I'll love you and leave you. 

It's deep into the lands of processing next time, so make sure you've got some fresh rubber trousers on, because I attempt something with regard to paper grading that is both foolish and interesting. However I'll try and make it a bit more interesting too and not all techie

TTFN and thanks for reading.

New Lands, Sleeping Bags And Big Cameras (Oh No! . . . Part One?)

Greetings folks - well, I am (just about) finally back in the land of crazed blogs, comparisons of the action of photons on sensitized materials, expensive pieces of glass, mechanical marvels and all round madness . . . yes, you've guessed it, it's photography time again! And not only that, I recently buried myself so thoroughly in all things photographic, that I have only just been discovered by a rescue party who were off looking for a lost tribe along the deepest, darkest of wilds of the East Coasts of Scotland . . .

Oh yes, hard, tough, epic, but above all fun.

I'll blame my wife, because it was her idea whispered into my drunken brain that made us book a caravan at one of our favourite locations as our main holiday of the year, and boy was it perfect.

Ali in a quiet forest on a wet day - we were surrounded by a sea of mist. 

Leica M2, 90mm f4 Elmar, TMX 100, Rodinal 1+25

Line across centre of photograph courtesy Epson 'Perfection' V300 - GRRRRR!

When I started planning it, I got all excited like a small puppy and instantly thought "Oh boy! Oh boy!! 6x7, 6x6, 5x4, 35mm!!! Woof Wooof Woooof" and ran round and round in a circle until I was sick on the carpet, which was pretty stupid really. After I'd calmed down, and after a bit more thought I realised I had to make a stand against myself and rather than be led by the excitement of different formats, just take a leaf from my own words and limit myself. 

So I did.

Two formats only: 5x4" and 35mm - and even this was limited further with regard to lens choice: 90mm f8 Super Angulon and 203mm f7.7 Ektar (for the large stuff) and (God bless him - there he is at the back hauling his bones up that hill) The Right Reverend Ernst Leitz 90mm f4 Elmar-M (for the 35mm stuff).

I'll admit that I did take the 50mm 1.8 Canon Serenar too as back-up, after all it is scary heading off into the unknown without being prepared, and I suppose were I being really hair-shirted I could have slimmed it down even further from there, but I wanted to have some fun too - it wasn't meant to be all about self-flagellation, so the cat 'o' nine tails was safely left at home and after giving myself a stern talking to, I got everything prepared.

Ancilliary-wise all I carried besides the cameras and lenses, were 8 Double Dark Slides, a cable release and (boxes!! of) film, a light meter (Gossen Lunasix 3S), my ancient Gitzo Series 2 Reporter and a similarly ancient Leitz table-top tripod, oh and a large changing bag.

I would say this was fairly modest in real terms - I've often travelled with a LOT more, however, because of the need for bulky 5x4 film boxes (Kodak) for putting all the billions of sheets of film I was planning on exposing in, the whole lot took up THREE camera bags! 

But what did a little set-back like that matter to me - fortunately on this holiday there was only going to be the two of us as Alec Turnips has now started University and is in the midst of the longest hedonistic drinking spree you could ever imagine, so we had room and plenty of it in our venerable old Honda.

So, everything packed, we left with thoughts of coming back a week later to a smoking, vomit-stained pit in the ground . . and more on this later. 

And that was us, out first holiday properly alone for 18 years - it was exciting! 

And where did we go? 

Well, you know I am going to keep it to myself (selfish eh?) simply because I don't see the point in telling the world where it is. If you recognise it fine, well done, if you don't, well I guess holidays are what you make of them. To be honest I don't think anyone at mine or Ali's work would regard a caravan as an exciting prospect, but that's where they're wrong. A modern static caravan can be a luxurious experience and you haven't lived until you have experienced a full-on rain storm whilst being cosied up inside one. Remember when you were young, and it was pouring and your Mum or Dad let you put something like an old raincoat over your head and stand outside whilst thick, thundery droplets splattered off the top of it in loud torrents? Well, it is like that, except you are centrally heated (this IS Scotland after all) and can sit and read and drink tea and look smugly at the rivulets tearing off to eternity. It is (as they say in Yorkshire) Chuffin' Fantastic, and I dare the naysayers to experience it for themselves. 

There, that's my propaganda on behalf of the Caravan Club over and done with.

The Goode Captain Sheephouse on a particularly brutal day - it had been raining for nearly 24 hours straight.

Sometimes only the craziest garments will do - this poncho hides not just me, but a camera bag, Leica M2, 90mm Elmar and Leitz table-top tripod.

So where do we go from here? Well, to be honest, there's a lot more writing to be done, and the whole trip has to be cobbled together from snippets of crazed memories, drunken haze, the pleasures of quiet countryside, un-nerving experiences, rain storms, mist, curry and books!

So although I know you're thinking "not another of those crazy posts that spread over weeks and weeks and are dull dull dull", well, yeah I suppose it could well be. Sorry about that, but you know what? I'm going to read it, infact I've got a feed to my work so I can read it there too, because folks (and you'll either get this or you won't) I found the whole thing damn exciting - I was well out of my comfort zone of having a darkroom to do all the dark stuff and was operating on the edge of guerilla photography, loading sheets of 5x4 in semi-dark rooms, rolls of 35mm in sopping wet conditions, and the worst of the lot, trying to keep a logical track of the (ahem) 20 sheets of TMX 100 I did actually expose - that was a challenge all of its own . . but more of that to come. 

So do yourself a favour, don't get all excited about the forthcoming blogs and rush around like a puppy and be sick on the carpet . . you might well get yourself banned for life. No, take it easy, put your feet up and let your intrepid Captain do all the hard work for you!

So, just to whet your appetite (and hopefully keep you interested enough to follow up on this initial part) here's an example of what you can do with a 60 year old lens, a film that seems a bit 'Knightrider' these days, and a developer that is older than all of us . . . . .

Oh, and some exhausted Selenium toner too.

Kodak 203mm Ektar, TMX 100, 1+25 Rodinal, Exhausted Selenium Toner (Unknown Dilution).
Fotospeed RCVC paper, Selective Pot-Ferry bleaching.

Interesting eh?

Basically I FUBAR'd the development and was left with a well-exposed, but fairly thin negative, and then a flashbulb went off!

Hadn't I read in 'The Negative' that you could expand the upper Zones of a negative by giving it a bath in Selenium? 

Yes I had, and so I did! 

And it worked. 

It's a weird technique, but the dark bits of the negative get even darker before your very eyes, resulting in a very nice 'vintage' expanded feel. The light bits (of the negative) remain the same, so you end up with lovely rich blacks and an expanded upper range - gorgeous.

The print was made on some ancient Fotospeed resin coated, developed in some even more ancient Moersch Eco tickled up with some Benzotriazole (thanks Bruce!) to overcome any fogginess in the paper. Grade was Grade 3 and I further enhanced the contrast by using a brush and Pot-Ferry bleaching on the highlights.

As a certain dead meercat used to say 'Simples!'

The one thing I would say about this negative is that tiny individual pine needles are totally visible and sharp, oh and that this was a limb off an Oak that must have been over 1000 years old - the old Kodak Ektar is an extraordinary lens and one of the real bargains in LF photography.

And so folks, on that note, I shall love you and leave you till next time - a dark and ghastly tale of poor contact sheets, sweat, changing bags and dust, oh and a real terrifying experience which had your author packing his Wista in double quick time and legging it as a quiet Scottish gloam descended on the land. Till then . . . TTFN.

Big Cameras & Dark Forests

Morning shipmates - whilst I don't normally go for the throat with titles, I thought this one appropriate, however to it I will add Big Cameras & Dark Forests (A Tale Of Terror)!
Terror?

Oh yes. Sheer panicky terror, underwritten with the overwhelming feeling of there being something outwith my experience.

Regular readers (Howdy!) will know I have a strong affinity with caravans. For the uninitiated in British holidaying, the caravan and the holiday caravan (nee home) are totally different things. The former is a device towed behind your vehicle and parked up wherever you can find a decent campsite, and if you can't find one of those then a friendly bit of land somewhere. It's a sobering experience, but one I feel everyone should have the opportunity to try at least once in life. The Holiday Caravan or Holiday Home, is a static caravan on a site. These things have changed vastly in the last 15 or so years, going from thin-walled breezy barns, with a cosy 'us vs the outdoors' feeling about them, to modern palaces. Seriously - there are some very fine campsites out there with modern Holiday Homes in them that are like small palaces . . central heating, small en-suites, satellite tv, free wi-fi . . basically enough to satisfy your every holiday need. I can heartily recommend them as, if you choose your site wisely, they can provide a solid base for a touring holiday. You don't have to worry about packing up and packing down, you can spread yourself out and rise as early or late as you wish. In other words they're relaxing . . bloody relaxing.

Here's a wee film I made. The rain was real.

My tale of terror occured one wet and windy October stay in such a caravan (wot? a caravan in October? are you mad??). The site - Glentrool Holiday Park at Bargrennan near Newton Stewart in God's Own County - Dumfries And Galloway. Situated on the edge of the Galloway Forest Park, it's a really decent, well maintained and friendly site where we have enjoyed a number of excellent holidays. Allied to this it is in a Dark Sky Area, so the night skies (when it isn't raining) are extraordinary. Mix in the feeling that you are experiencing Scotland somewhat as it was in the 1970's (Galloway can be like that) and you have a recipe for delight.

Of course, this being FB I can't go far without mentioning photography . . and it is from my indulgence in this wonderful hobby that my Tale Of Terror springs.

It had been raining for a couple of days, and not just light showers either, but on and on, which does restrict one somewhat. Allied to this it was the start of October, so the nights were fair drawing in and it was getting pretty dark, pretty early, but that was mere chiffchaff for your intrepid photographer . . oh no . . I am made of sterner stuff . . true grit and all that.

I'd recc'ed White Cairn a couple of days before - it had involved lots of tramping through forest paths with exceptionally soggy boots, trousers soaked to the thigh; of sodden jackets and even having to use the AW cover on my LowePro Nova camera bag . . now that's bad! 
I found it eventually, and discovered that I could have quite easily reached it had I used the path network from Glentrool village . . but then I'm thick like that . . if there's a hard way of doing something, I'll find it.

I was taken aback by the sheer loneliness of the place. Despite being surrounded by modern planting, in my mind I clearly saw it back in time. White Cairn is approximately 3000 years old and it feels it. The small clearing where it resides holds a serious presence, but on my initial discovery of it, I was blissfully unaware of that. I just thought it was beautiful and awe-inspiring and I really wanted to photograph it with a 5x4 camera. I wandered back home, and knew I had to return.

A couple of days later found us back home from our jaunts early, so, seeing as it seemed to have stopped raining, we had our tea and I grabbed the Wista and Gitzo and headed out, deciding I would try and photograph a few forest scenes too before I got to White Cairn.

I should add that it wasn't more than half a mile away from our caravan as the crow flew. So not far - not an epic journey physically, but definitely epic in atmosphere.

Despite an end to the rain, the day was still drear and not very inviting to photography at all, but I thought I'd take my chances - I hadn't got much of the holiday left and didn't want to risk not being able to photograph it at all.

Boring techy camera bit:

I will take a little aside here and say that a lightweight wooden field camera (like the venerable Wista DX) is a thing of supreme joy from the point of view of haulage. Jack Dykynga uses one for long trips and I feel that says a lot as he could pick what he likes. I get away with mounting mine on 1980's Gitzo Series 2 Reporter. It was a reasonable purchase at £120 with a Gitzo Pan and Tilt head and is without a doubt one of the finest most stable tripods I have used. It's easy to maintain, it doesn't weigh a huge amount, and above all else it is incredibly stable. I've used it in really heavy duty windy conditions and the resulting negatives have been absolutely fine. Mine is a G224, so if you can find one, snap it up - you can still get the spares too.

With my Wista I use the following three lenses:

1980's Schneider Symmar-S - 150mm f5.6

Mid-1960's Schneider Angulon - 90mm f6.8

Late-50's Kodak Ektar - 203mm f7.7

The Symmar is the heaviest, but it is a fine lens for most applications. The Ektar I didn't have at the time of this escapade, but it is as sharp wide-open as stopped down. The 90mm Angulon just covers 5x4, but is a fine little lens and manages to impart atmosphere to photographs in a way which I am yet to understand.

Back to the Wista - whilst I would love the likes of an Ebony, not just from the point of view that it is a lovely camera, but also from the point of view of its appeal as a stunning object of great craftsmanship, the little Wista can really hold its own. It does have a certain charm and is the sort of camera that you don't have to worry too much about. I've seen people complain about the stability of the standards, but they lock down beautifully and I must admit I love mine. 

Anyway . . onwards!

So there I was, semi-burdened, heading off into the still light, but slowly darkening forest. 
I found my way quite easily and following the track as it took off through a mass of heavily-planted trees I felt it would be as good a place as any to make some photographs. Just to prove my decision right, the clouds cleared for a bit and I was regaled with a clearish sky. It was  actually a good few stops lighter, so I stopped by a burn I'd spotted previously and made two exposures using the 90mm Angulon. 
The ground glass looked good, so I felt that maybe the photographs would too.

Forest 1
Wista DX, 90mm Angulon, TMX 400 in HC110

Forest 2
Wista DX, 90mm Angulon, TMX 400 in HC110

I think the wee Angulon has captured that sense of a forest's stillness. 
The meeting of the three waters in particular struck me as very much a peculiar thing . . . there was a small rummel of sound as the water quietly made its way off into the darkness and I had the feeling of intruding on one of Natures' hidden processes. 
All was quiet apart from a couple of dogs yapping away in Glentrool Village some quarter of a mile away. I was very much alone and it felt it. Had the trees been native Scots trees rather than just another modern pine forest, I think the feeling of being disassociated from time would have been complete, because that is what I felt. 
I was using 'modern' technology (OK . . the process is over 100 years old, but you know what I mean) to capture the scene and I was wearing modern clothing, but I could just have easily been standing there in bare feet and burlap, or from an even earlier time - all animal skins and a wooden bow. 
Time meant little to me and it seeped into my bones.

It was so very peaceful and I succumbed to it. 

I don't know about you LF photographers out there, but when I am using the big boy's camera I become totally absorbed and lose track of time, which didn't help in this case. I dreamed, I was slow, I finished off at a leisurely pace, and, filled with that sense of peace and the slipping of time, I packed my camera away, collapsed the tripod and strolled on to White Cairn.

Coming out of the trees' cover I was struck by the gloam and just how totally alone I was. I knew that it would be easy to take a wrong turn on the way back so I marked where I came out of the trees, got my bearings again (though this is hard when the only horizon is trees) and continued.

Arriving at the clearing of the Cairn I suddenly realised that time was against me. I circled the tomb in the stillness and tried to get an idea of a decent composition.

It was really hard to do this because I knew I couldn't be disrespectful to the tomb. Yeah I could have got the tripod and the 90mm Angulon and got right in close to the stones, but then it wouldn't have felt right, and besides, some weird sixth sense was tickling my subconscious saying, 'Just don't even think about it'. 

I made one exposure, which didn't work at all, so moved around a bit more, and took the photograph below.

White Cairn
Wista DX, 150mm Symmar-S, TMX 400 in HC110

It's OK. Nothing special though. I am not sure whether I captured the atmosphere of the place or not.

I had to used the 150mm Symmar-S, because, as I have already said, there was no way I was going to disrespect this resting place.

As the shutter stayed open and I counted off the exposure, I instantly became aware of two things.

Firstly the sun had set, completely. The darkness was very apparent. It emphasised just how far removed I was from the modern world.

The second thing, would, in normal circumstances be considered fanciful. I was deeply aware of a presence that wished me to be gone. 
There, I've said it. 
Mad? 
No. I can at times be acutely aware of atmospheres and such things, and the Cairn had spoken: 

Begone.

The command, because it was one, took root in my core and filled my mind: 

Leave. 

I cut short my exposure, and rapidly, with shaking hands and my breath becoming visible in the chilled air, inserted the dark slide and removed the film holder, packed it away with the others, removed my cable release, attached lens cap, collapsed the camera, unscrewed the camera from the tripod, packed the camera away in my rucksack, zipped it up, did a quick double check that I had left nothing, collapsed the legs on the tripod, slung my rucksack onto my back, and with one final, hasty glance, picked up my tripod and ran.

Running was the only solution because whatever presence was there, really did wish to be alone. 
I, a mere puny modern human being had no place at the site.  
No matter my affinity with stone-age man, it wasn't enough. 
I was an unwelcome guest.

I never run. It just isn't something I do. But I had to. Complete panic filled me. I legged it out of the clearing and along a forestry Land Rover track, to the point I had marked that cut off under the trees. 

It was at this point I paused and terror pummeled my subconscious. The 'path' which was more a run of flattened rough grass and disturbed pine needles, was lost in a complete darkness. A primal fear of the unknown clung to those trees and I felt that once I entered them, I would not exit.
I could stay on the Landie track, but where would that leave me - these things have a habit of running for miles in directions you would never consider.

Caught between a rock and a hard place and the awareness that whatever stalked the clearing had now made its way free and was following me, I took one deep breath and headed into the trees.
I stumbled, I peered, I stopped and checked, and the deeper in I got, the more I realised that the presence of the Cairn suffused the whole area. It was a deep and powerful feeling that emanated from the quiet earth. 
Fear of the unknown gripped my vitals.

Halting in an almost complete darkness with my heart hammering in my ears I tried to calm myself, but it wasn't working. 
And then I heard it. 
The quiet rummel of water moving in the silence. The meeting of waters. The place of my photograph. It was nearby. 
I cautiously moved forward, using my tripod like a blind man would use his stick. I couldn't afford to fall over . . . the 'thing' behind me might well be upon me before I knew it.

And then I was splashing forward and through; beyond, distantly, the trees denseness gave way to lighter patches where they ended and I knew that I'd be able to get out. 
The last hundred metres I took as fast as I dared, and suddenly I was out and onto another path, a more familiar marked one, and I knew in the dusky overcast night that I would easily be able to follow my tracks home. 
The presence left me as quickly as I left the trees and I fancied in my head that whatever it was had toyed with me, for I was aware of a subconscious deep laughter, at me, the foolish 'modern' man.

I made my way back down onto the main road and walked back to the caravan at quite a pace, because I suddenly realised that my panic would be as nothing to my familys', had I been 'missing' in the darkness of the lonely miles of the Galloway Forest Park.

Soaked and bewildered, emanating steam and relief, I have never been so glad to see an electric light in my entire life.
And that's it friends - one of life's wee adventures.

In hindsight, maybe I could have hunkered down in the trees and over-nighted it, however I don't think my heart would have been able to stand it. 

Conversely, I could of course have headed back to the tomb and crawled inside, for it is quiet and peaceful and quite dry, and let the aeons of time strip my 'self' from my bones and given my soul to whatever spirit bides there . . .

But then again . . . 

If you have found this interesting, please feel free to follow up with some more reading!

Going through some of the links below you realise that there might well have been activity on the site dating back to the late Mesolithic (7000 to 5000 BC). When you think about it and see how much this site has been disturbed in modern times, I think that whatever presence is there, just wishes for peace.

Gods bless and thanks for reading.

http://drmarkjardine.wordpress.com/2013/06/25/the-covenanters-of-the-white-cairn-in-galloway/

http://www.ncl.ac.uk/historical/research/project/2405

http://canmore.rcahms.gov.uk/en/site/62997/details/white+cairn+bargrennan/

http://www2.uclan.ac.uk/scitechmedia/bargrennan/whitecairn.html

Big Bunny

Morning friends. Well, firstly can I say that no one is more surprised than me that I have sat down and written this. I thought I was gone. I had no motivation for writing anymore FBs. I think I shall put that down to my weekly regime, it was too much. Trying to come up with something that is interesting to yourself (never mind a possible larger readership), every single week for a year is quite an achievement, not least to say, punishing.

It burned me out and made me feel that it was all rather pointless.

I suppose, it is pointless really.

I know none of my readers properly, though I will say a hello to you if you have made it a habit to read and comment, but at the end of the day, I am here at my wee desk in the early hours of a Scottish morning, and you are out there in the big wide world, and the distances between us are gulfs.

I thank you for your efforts in reading FB, you didn't need to really, but it is appreciated.

What my regime did do for me though, is hone my writing skills. I feel a far more confident and flowing writer than I did at the start, and to that end I have revisited several writing exploits I started a long time ago and have decided I should do something with them. It seems pointless to leave them languishing in drawers and folders . . all I need to do now is find the time and the concentration to complete them . . but I'll get there (though I have said that before).

Anyway, that is another thing. FB was pretty much always about FogBlography and it still pretty much  will be, so let me have a brief detailing about everything that has occurred since I hung up my keyboard just before Easter . . .

In a word nothing.

I haven't made a single photograph.

Now fortunately for me, I recognised something within in myself which has happened three times before in my life . . extreme passion burn-out. Sounds serious doesn't it, and you know what . . it is. VERY.

A brief aside into past-times again:

Burn-out 1:

From the year dot, I was an amateur artist. I drew all the time. It was a hobby which consumed me like a flame, and in a typical Sheephouseian fashion, whilst I wasn't brilliant, I was a solid plodder. You just have to look at pictures of me when I was young to realise that me and speed were not bedmates. So what did I do with my wonderful hobby? Yes, I went to art college. And as detailed many times before, it managed to snuff my love of drawing out as if it were no more than a small candle in a gale. The people I met were so talented and arty (quite a number of current high-falootin' major Scottish artists too) that my solid plod of line and form were as nothing against these folk. Also the whole feel of being in a mincer never did quite leave me, and pop! . . .one day it was gone. I haven't really picked up a pencil in anger since graduating in the mid-80's. I burned out, locked the door and have never returned.

Burn-out 2:

Music. Did I tell you I can play a guitar like ringing a bell? Yep, from the age of 13 when my Mum and Dad finally relented and bought me one, I was obsessed. Not a minor obsession either, but a full-blown, honest, down-to-earth whopping one. I spent vast amounts of hard-earned cash. I spent whole months of my life practicing, and I became pretty good.

It is easy to learn the guitar these days, but in those days it really wasn't.

Good players were few and far between and if you ever did meet up with another one it was more akin to Gunfight At The Rock N' Roll Coral. I kid ye not.

Anyway, for all the years of effort, you know what, the inevitable happened. Burn-out. And I have never gone back.

I stopped playing seriously when I met my wife and realised that there was more to life than sitting alone with a lifeless lump of wood and metal and trying to coax it into something akin to the flames I was feeling inside.

I haven't really picked up a guitar in anger since the early 1990's.

I will occasionally, but it is just for a quick strum and flail over the strings, check out me Al Di Meola chops, and back it goes into its case again.

Burn-out 3:

Fogblog.

Yep.

Too much, and I could feel it coming, so that is something else I have learned: if your pleasure starts to feel like a chore or a duty, stand back.

Drawing felt (at the end) like something in the world I hated.

Guitar playing felt (at the end) like a desperate attempt by me and my bandmates to persuade people how great we were . . in a word it became a chore.

And FB too. Yep a total chore, every week, like cleaning a toilet. Hence I have held back.

So where does this lead us now?

Well actually, I do rather enjoy FB, and I have missed it. Stopping felt like turning off a creative tap, so here we are again, and for the moment folks, whilst it won't be a weekly thing, I think I will approach it as more of an occasional, like that jar of Gentleman's Relish that you dip into every now and then.

I hope that is alright with you chaps.

Don't go throwing yourselves off of tall buildings or anything . . .

Right, in my break I have become a tad gear hungry again, however, that has manifested itself in one way . . . Try and make the most of what you have. I am feeling like I need to slim down my camera collection - you can only compose one frame at a time, and spreading yourself over so many formats can only mean that you dilute yourself in some way. However this doesn't mean that I am giving up on the Leica and the Nikons, the Rollei, or the Koni, but I have felt rather bad about neglecting my Large Format cameras (yes, ridiculously two . . a Sinar F and a Wista DX) so I feel I should get out and about with them again.

I also have rather a lot of film I stocked up on before Kodak made it nearly impossible to afford film (£75 for a box of 50 sheets of Tri-X these days) so I have to use that up.

I have also made a small purchase (well, actually it is pretty large). I have always struggled to carry my LF gear, shoe-horning it into the only rucksack I own (a 25 litre Deuter) and to be honest it was pain to use, and left little room for anything else important like lunch (I slimmed my hillwalking lunches down to dry oatcakes and dried fruit!), so I put my money where my pain was and bought for the grand sum of £39 from Ffordes, one of these.

Wista DX, Light Meter, 8 Film Holders, 3 Lenses, Loupe

Ready To Rumble
That's a Gitzo Series 2 Reporter tripod

It is a rather old Tamrak Summit 777 rucksack, and it fits the bill handsomely. I can now just unzip one compartment and everything is to hand . . what a relief!

Very well made (in the USA), great zips and a solid feel, and even though it is roughly 12 years old, and has been used, it is in fantastic condition still. Tamrak rather gets overlooked with regard to its bags, but I can tell you that they are second to none. Great build quality and comfortable.

So that is me, all packed up and waiting for a clear weekend, and I hope to detail some trips in detail soon as it were - we shall see. Stay tuned and all that.

Whilst I am here and on the subject, I thought I would show you what a lens which is universally disparaged, can do. 

People go nuts about lpm and all these crazy sharpness tests, and to be honest it is great to be reading about things like that, however at the end of the day it is all about the picture. If your composition is off, and the subject is dull then what is the point?

So to that end, here's a bottom-feeder of a LF lens.

The tiny 90mm Schneider Angulon f6.8, is either loved or hated. I actually love mine, it is tiny and sharp enough if you stop it down to f22 and beyond. If you are looking for a Large Format lens to start out with and you like wide angles, then they are about the cheapest thing out there, regularly selling for around £100.

As you can see it is small - that is a UK 50 pence piece, and it is on a standard Linhof/Wista lens board.

Mine is a later model and it is single coated.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Late 1964 Schneider 90mm Angulon f6.8

And to prove the point, this is what it can do. 

The scan isn't great, but the print is as sharp as you could wish for. Certainly you have no room for movements, but when doing landscapes like this you don't really need them.

The Suicide's Bridge
Ilford FP4+, EI 50
11 Minutes, HC110 Dilution H, 20 Degrees Centigrade.
Ilford Galerie, Grade 2.

As you can see the lens has given the photograph a lovely 'airy' quality in the way it renders the distant foliage. I am not keen on 'smoky' water, however in this case it is quite muted and not in yer face. It has also managed to convey some of the mournful atmosphere of the setting. Whilst I am unaware if anyone has actually committed suicide from this bridge, it sort of had that melancholy feel to it, hence my title for the photograph.

So folks, again thank you for reading, and whilst I might not see you next weekend, I will see you along the trail sometime soon. 

If you want to shout words of encouragement like 'Get Off Yer Arse You Lazy B.' in your best Brian Blessed bellow, then please feel free. 

Leave a comment at the bottom.

It is nice to know I am not just propelling this out into the dark . . 

Take care and God bless.

Waiting For Dawn

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ . . . snork . . . zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . . snork . . . ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ . . . . . . . SNORK! . . . Wah? . . . What? . . . Noodles . . .zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . . .

***

The things we do for this dark craft . . . .

Time: 5:03AM

Temperature: -2° C

Colour Of Sky: Black

State Of Brain: Fuzzy

Clothing: Comfortable 'Weekend' Stuff.

In my photographic life I always strived to get the best quality I could out of everything I was using, which, when I restarted making pictures again, was entirely my Rolleiflex T. There's a lot to be said for making the most of what you have, because my Rollei and I travelled a long way and made a lot of great photographs. I knew exactly what I was going to get, and that by (on the T this applies . . others Rolleis differ) stopping down to f11, I would be maximising the performance of the Tessar lens. And this did. For a long long time, until one day I felt an itch that had to be scratched . . . it was an itch that posed itself as a question: "What if?"

The what if, was based entirely around, "What if I moved up to a larger format?" It is a question that most photographers will come to eventually, and it isn't actually based on any sane decision; it just gets bigger and bigger, like that scratchy bit underneath that plaster cast you had when you were a kid, and eventually you break down and scratch and scratch in an insanity of scrimping and saving and more What if-ing, until, like me you end up with a ridiculous number of cameras of a larger format (and by this in my case, I mean larger than the 6x6cm format of the Rollei). In my case it is a three: A Koni-Omega Rapid 6x7, a Sinar F 5x4" monorail camera and a Wista DX 5x4" Field Camera. Add to that a 150mm Schneider Symmar-S, a 203mm Kodak Ektar and a 90mm Schneider Angulon, plus two large tripods and obviously an enlarger that can enlarge 5x4" negatives (a DeVere 504 Dichromat) with its appropriate lens (150mm Rodenstock Rodagon) and then the necessary gadget bags to carry a field camera in, and film holders, and currently about 150 sheets of Kodak and Ilford film in cold storage and you can begin to see how that itch has become something a tad unmanageable.

I think I really got to this situation because of a love of the great American photographers like Mr.Wynn Bullock, Mr.Ansel Adams, Mr.Edward Weston and Mr.Walker Evans who all inevitably found themselves dining at the table of Large Format photography, because of the sheer ability to manage your image and because of the breadth of tones available to one when one makes a Large Format photograph. For my own ends, I go further back to Mr.Clarence White and Mr.Frederick Evans, purely because I love the lyrical beauty of their photographs. I have dreamt of making beautiful, exquisite photographs like my heroes. Photographs that are breath-taking in their depth and luminosity, but you know what, save for a very few early attempts, I have never managed it. I have dallied and made roughly 200-odd 5x4 exposures (4,000 square inches of film!) - not an inconsiderable number, but squeezing that quality out has been difficult, and in the meantime I have all this gear!

I wouldn't mind though . . if I were using it, however dear reader, the truth of it is that I made my last 5x4" negative in June of 2012. As you can see, with such a substantial financial investment, allied to the time investment that was required in my learning to use the cameras correctly, such a situation is rather embarrassing, not to say, goading, like a pixie on your back! It gets to you. and eventually something has to give, and that something is now. Today, Saturday 3rd February 2013. So I am sitting here, at my command post, drinking tea, listening to Dear 23 by The Posies and typing this whilst waiting for dawn, for it is my intention to go out this morning and make 4 exposures. It has required considerable effort to get here, and I feel rather like a hapless Tommy, waiting for the whistle to go so I can climb out of the trench and advance on the enemy guns . . .wish me luck! Oh and it is freezing . . .

Oh bollocks . . . there goes the whistle!

Well I parked up, near the Tay bridge with a hope to capture the preternatural dawn light as it illuminated that lovely staircase, however what I hadn't factored on, was the fact that the place was lit up brighter than a winter's football match . .. streetlights and spotlights, searchlights and just lights . . 'ave you got a light boy? Lights everywhere. It was incredibly depressing and as I was hunting around trying to find an angle that wouldn't be illuminated, I started to get colder and colder. Allied to this that in a view camera your image is upside down and reversed then you start to get an idea of the difficulty. Add poor eyesight to this (and no I don't wear glasses normally, however I do use them for composing on the ground glass) and the glare from the lights and you have a semi-disaster waiting to happen.

First Skirmish.
As you can see, the lights are ON!
I have had to lighten this - it was a lot darker.

Now, in recent years I have developed Raynaud's Disease, which means that my fingers and toes go white (and sometimes blue/black) and have no feeling to them whatsoever . . not the thing for adjusting cameras, and when you are staggering around like an idiot, with a camera on a nearly fully extended tripod, peering at a ground glass that keeps misting up, snot flowing freely because of the sheer out and out balticness of the wind, your fingers and toes take a real hit, and you sort of become a bit hypothermically befuddled. However, my determination got the better of me and I set up and took a cliché Yep, long exposure, 'smoky' water .  .gawd dontcha hate those photographs. And now I've made another one . . but it was so cold, I had to show something for my efforts . . but you know what . . I wish I hadn't bothered. 

It is, to quote a famous Chinese proverb, 'A giant heap of clap'.

Woah!  You mean it is back to front AND upside down?!
Second skirmish, and again, a lot lighter than it was.

So, disgusted by my own inability to deal with the cold, and trying to get my extremities back to some semblance of life, I strode off swearing as loudly as I could, and dear reader, you may think your hero is a mild-mannered timerous beastie, but boy can I swear! I reckon I could hold my own in a builder's yard. 

Anyway, as some of you may know, Dundee's delightful ex-tourist destination Tayside House is currently being dismantled, nibbled away by the busy gnomes of Safedem (a Dundee company) a floor at a time. It is exceedingly spectacular in its disappearance, so I had the bright idea I would photograph it as it was disappearing. I positioned myself on a wheelchair ramp opposite, which gave me about 25 feet of height off the ground. I was still bloody freezing, but at least my movements had brought some life back and at least I had something to keep my mind occupied . . oh and it was getting lighter! However dear reader, yet again I was to be defeated . . this time by ineptitude with dealing with verticals. Now regular readers will know I place great importance on them . . but this was a weird one. The right edge of the building (left and upside down on the groundglass) was parallel with the guidelines on the groundglass, but the left edge of the building is heavily angled. I think this might be to do with the netting surrounding it billowing out, but it still looks weird. I grumbled and groaned, I f'd and blinded, but I couldn't sort it, so I made the bloody picture anyway (£1.50 per sheet of film in today's money). 

Again, why did I bother . . .

Embittered by defeat, I staggered back to the car, packed my gear down, and muttered bounteous supplications to the Gods of Photography.

My next battleground was back to a favourite haunt - that old University building as detailed in previous blogs.

I was determined to get something decent and knew that if I was careful there were enough things to make photographs that look like you've seen in books by some of the American greats. I forgot earlier to mention other American photographers I admire. Step up Paul Caponigro and Frederick Sommer, and Harry Callahan too. All legends. All influences. 

I wanted to make something they might have made, but with my own pulse.

First off, was another of my reflections. I seem to have taken an inordinate number over the years, simply because I love them. You never know what it is you are seeing. Nor where reality begins or ends and unreality starts. I like that!

First picture, was the early sun catching a tree reflected in a window. This was a bit better, but there are two things wrong with it though - the first is that I overexposed it - I wanted darker areas - broad swathes of them. And the second is I didn't develop it enough, as the tree should have stood out a lot more - och well . . never mind; that's the nature of the game.

My last picture was of something that makes me laugh out loud. You'll maybe not believe it, but these windows have been like this for about three years. They just get dirtier and dirtier, and of course the dual meaning of that comes in too.

I'll do a brief aside here and also explain that up till my last picture I hadn't used a dark-cloth. For non-photographic readers, you know when you see films of old photographers and they disappear under a big blanket . . . well that's a dark cloth. Mine, is a rather hopeless modern variation - two t-shirts, one inside the other. The elasticated end of the shirts goes over my head and the loose bottoms over the camera - it sort of works, but if I am honest it is a pretty shite solution. And especially, in the case of my last photograph, it was utterly annoying. The air had got cold again, and draping this semi-heavy layer of cloth over my head resulted in the reading glasses I was wearing (I find it easier to compose on the groundglass wearing them) misting up . . . not just once though, but about twenty times. I do wonder what the odd student passing by thought, a man with two t-shirts over his head, cursing loudly, and rubbing away frantically at something under the t-shirt. Anyway, it looked good on the groundglass, so I made the image.

Somebody get me a sponge.
The eye of truth lands upon a suitable scene.

There's something really beautiful about a groundglass!
Even though you can see that the glare from the surroundings has washed out any image whatsoever, I put this picture on, because I thought it looked nice. Obviously this was pre-t-shirts and swearing.

I eventually made my photograph, despite the circumstances and glowing in the aftermath of achievement, I packed everything up and headed back to base.

Now we come to my favourite bit - development time! why? because in the words of Forrest Gump's Mama: 

"Life is like a box o'choclits. You don't know watcha gonna git!"

Photography is like that. You can narrow down your choice of choclits, but at the end of the day, you are still In The Hands Of The Gods Of Photography.

All the care and precision and concentration you can muster is required at this stage, because once you get into the dark there is very little going back.

I tray process my film, one slow sheet at a time . . . and yes it takes ages. I have tried handling multiple sheets of film before as recommended in many LF technique books, but I have also been a fisherman, and to be honest, handling 4 sheets of 5x4" film in pitch darkness is akin to handling very thin, very delicate, inert eels, in a coalmine, without a lamp.
They slide everywhere.
I could do it if I didn't care about what was on the film, but I do, so slow and easy does it.
I use a metronome to count out the seconds, speaking aloud the passing of each minute. I have tried doing it mentally, but found myself zoning out, so I started speaking the minute to keep myself awake and aware . . and it works.
I was using Kodak TMX 100, rated at EI 80. I have used a  lot of TMX in 120 size, but this was a first for sheet film. Developer was HC 110, Dilution B (9ml syrup: 295ml water), temperature 21° Centigrade. and you know what I think next time, I'll use Rodinal. HC 110 is a fine developer, but with TMX and enlarging to the print size I normally do (8x10") the grain is almost invisible. I actually prefer a bit of grain - it gives edges an edge as it were. TMX in Dilution B in 120 size is very nice indeed.
Time was exactly 7 minutes 30 seconds for each sheet. Agitation was constant for 30 seconds and then a gentle tray sequence (tray: left lift, centre lift, right lift, centre lift) every 20 seconds from the minute mark onwards.
And this is what came out.

Spawn Of The Unfortunates.
A land of grey awaits the unwary.
And as you can see my verticals are oot! 

Right, the way to read the above is as follows:


Top Right: Bridge landscape. Utter shite and a total cliché. A total waste of film. Even the bleedin' horizon looks off . . but it isn't (by much).
Exposure was 1 minute 30 seconds at f32. I placed the bridge shadow on Zone IV.

Bottom Right: Tayside House. As you can see, the right vertical is correct, but the left isn't. I am wondering whether my camera was properly aligned. The thing was, it was so dark when I initially set it up I couldn't quite see what I was doing, so it may well have been.
The Wista DX doesn't have infinity stops, just lines engraved in the rails . . .
Exposure was 11 seconds at f22. I used front rise and placed the netting on the building on Zone V.

Top Left: Dundee University. Another of my window pictures from this disused building. I would dearly love to get inside and photograph it. It has the look of something slowly slumping into decrepitude.
Exposure was 10 seconds at f16 and I placed the shadows on Zone III. The focus was precise on the reflection of that tree on the right.

Bottom Left: Dirty Windows. At last, something I can be happy with. It looks grey (very) on the contact print, but it isn't actually.
Exposure was 6 seconds at f22. I placed the lighter bits of the concrete on ZVI. I always do this with concrete - it is the correct tonality, though the print is slightly darker.

So, making some executive decisions from this, I decided to print my final frame.
It is the only one I am happy with.
And here it is. I printed it on some really quite old Kentmere Fibre-based VC paper. It is an exceptionally fast paper, with exposure times around half those of Ilford Galerie. I find it difficult to use fast papers. Dodging and burning requires a little more time, however, despite my rapid hand movement, I have come up with a print I am happy with. Actually, Kentmere is a good paper . . . though this batch was from before Harman/Ilford took them over. It has a little of the Lake District in it . . .

Dirty Windows

So the question I am now going to pose is, where has all this agony and ecstasy got me?
Is the above any better than pictures I could make on my Rollei, or even 35mm for that  matter?
Is Large Format photography more akin to carrying on a tradition, striding the world with your be-bellowed camera and the weight of giants upon your shoulders?
I don't know actually. Speaking for myself, the masochist in me says:
Oooh Ya. Yeah. Great. Bigger Format. I need Bigger Format.
But then he gets locked away in his room, and sanity reigns.
I do sort of feel a weight of responsibility to those who have gone before. In this world of the instantaneous, there is something very archaic and perverse about making random pictures of everyday rubbish, in such a way that you simply spend ooodles of time making an image that you only feel marginally happy about.
So to close this I will leave you with a LF photograph I am happy about.
It was made with my lowly and humble mid-60's Schneider Angulon (90mm, f6.8), mounted on the mighty Sinar F, on a Gitzo Series 5(!) pan and tilt head, topping an ancient and wonderful Linhof tripod . . . in other words, it weighed about 16 gravities.
Film was Ilford FP4+ and HC 110 Dilution B.
I followed this route on the recommendation of the great American photographer Mr.Steve Mulligan, who is still alive and kicking.
He said this combo was the one he always came  back to, and I can see why just from the sheer quality of image.
The grain is crisp and tonality is everything I could want.

I think this print is on Ilford Galerie.
Unfortunately you cannot get the quality of the finished article from this scan.
I did have one on Polywarmtone, but I cannot find it.

And that's it folks - another wee adventure with me and you. Hope you had a nice time . .
LF Photography is a massive pain and incredibly difficult, but also strangely satisfying at the same time.
Maybe now the mornings are getting lighter I will get back to my occasional weekend regime of a 4:30 AM rise and dawn will be waiting for me for a change!
Take care and God bless.