Hedgehogs at home

I've hardly taken any photos this year - this is not a bad thing. I've just been spending time doing other things I enjoy, mostly music, extensive weekly travelling (the freelance/part-time jobbing lifestyle) and spending time with the people who matter most to me when I'm at home. I'm lucky that I make a living from something that I love, but nature for me gives meaning to everything else in life, so it's important to make time for that too.

But nature always starts at home, and here at home, the hedgehogs are back in the garden. Last year, we fed and fattened them up through the summer and autumn months, and we have three regular visitors in the garden now. I've even managed to convince my wife that I shouldn't mow the lawn as it doesn't look natural in the photos. But it's getting a bit long even for the photos now, so that won't last long. After all, the hogs keep their little snouts close to the ground, buried in the grass, lifting them only to breathe the air and lick their lips. It's tasty outside. Really tasty.

Split Rock and Starry Sky

Split Rock and Starry Sky, Isle of Mull
(one exposure of 90 minutes)

“We should not regard the courses and revolutions of the heavenly bodies as the operations of some deity who dutifully performs these functions…we must consider that it is the task of natural science to determine with precision the causes of the most important phenomena and that our happiness is bound up with understanding of the nature of celestial phenomena.”

Epicurus (741-271 BC) in a letter to Herodotus (translated by George K. Strodach). 

There are some places on earth that we travel to just once, and some places we return to again and again.  In many cases, the destinations that require our repeated attention may be grand, celebrated cities, landscapes, forests or wildernesses, but sometimes there are small features, little crumbs of interest that ask to be tasted again and again. 

I have a fascination with this rock.  It brings to life so many things I’m interested in – the permanence of nature, the wearing effect of time on the geological elements.  It’s a huge natural monument, about 12 feet tall and split right down the middle as if some giant had pounded it onto the ground in order to split it and search for fossils. 

Split rock in silhouette: a trial photo I took to get the right composition
for my Starry Sky picture (though I quite like this one in its own right).

"Sometimes people say that staring at the night’s sky makes them realise their insignificance against the vastness of the universe, but this experience had the opposite effect as I realised that I was held, transfixed within a system of working nature more magnificent than I could possibly comprehend."

I’ve been trying to do something photographically interesting with it for years.  I found it impossible to escape the famous split rock photograph of the late Galen Rowell (see below), but also I wondered if there’s something else I could add.

Galen Rowell's classic photo of a split
rock and a cloud.

 But Rowell’s wasn’t the only image I couldn’t get out of my mind.  The other was Wenzel Hablik’s 1909 painting, ‘Starry Sky. An attempt’, a picture of the cosmos against an earthly landscape which combines astronomical observation with a fantastical vision of the cosmos.    I can still remember the moment I saw this painting for the first time, and was struck by Hablik’s combination of nature and Expressionism in the boldness and colour of the shapes creating a great arc in the sky – it seems to combine realism and mythology all in one, which is what I generally try to do in my photography.

Wenzel Hablik, Starry Sky, an attempt (1909)

For my Starry Sky photo, I made a composition of the rock in silhouette against the darkening sky, being sure to face north in order to catch the swirl of stars around the northern star.  In the final version, I wasn’t able to silhouette the stones due to feint reflection of distant street lamps, which lit them gradually and made them visible throughout the 90 minute exposure (though they were still too dark to say by the naked eye).

I took just one, 90-minute exposure, between about 11pm and 1:30am, spending most of that time lying on the beach watching the shooting stars in the sky. 

Sometimes people say that staring at the night’s sky makes them realise their insignificance against the vastness, but this experience had the opposite effect as I realised that I was held, transfixed within a system of working nature more magnificent than I could possibly comprehend.  

Save the Vale!

I heard this week from wildlife photographer Terry Whittaker that there are plans to sell of parts of Reddish Vale Country Park in Stockport for development.  This is a site which means a lot to me as this is the place where I learnt about nature more than anywhere else.  I have spent countless hours here over the years walking, watching and photographing the wildlife, and not to mention just sitting for hours of peace.  I used to live in Reddish just a short walk away from the park, and even since moving to Nottinghamshire, I still make sure I return to the park as often as I can.  This is a beautiful stretch of land which currently supports a great number of land and water species and offers a great haven in the growing sprawl of Manchester’s urban life.

I have tried to demonstrate the diversity of  habitat here with my  pictures, all of which were taken within about 50 metres of each other at the park – there are so many worlds within that little space of land.  However, photographs can offer only a taster, and can never truly do justice to representing the true smell of fresh air and the sound of birdsong continuing undisturbed.  If you're in the area, please pay the park a visit and see for yourself.

Our green land deserves to be valued for itself rather than being considered a tabula rasa for building developers. 

Please sign the petition here.

For more information on Reddish Vale Country Park, its campaign and its stunning scenery and wildlife, please visit the website here and then please visit the park.

Volcanic desolation at Carsaig, Isle of Mull

In the previous blogpost, I included a photograph of volcanic rock at Carsaig, Isle of Mull, being overgrown by fresh, green foliage.  Carsaig is full of contrasts and, in fact, I was standing at exactly the same point, facing in another direction, when I took this photograph.

This was more of the kind of image that I had in mind, and which drew me down to Carsaig on this inclement day.  I’m always struck by the dead and destructive desolation of the volcanic rock on the shoreline at Carsaig.  The emptiness of the shattered landscape, characterised by devastation of the volcanic activity 65 milion years ago and more, and the rocks that had fallen down and still remain at the shoreline today.  It’s a scene frozen in time, a prehistoric ghost town which (facing in this direction, at least) looks never to have recovered.  The immediacy of the volcanic force hits you in the face as if it only happened yesterday, or last week.

I wanted an image that would capture the haunting weirdness of the scene – not a pleasant landscape with blue water and the horizon in the distance – that just wouldn’t be right for how I feel here.  On this foggy day, only the first few yards of the sea seemed to sit at the shore before fading into a curtain of white invisibility.  The mystery of the weather leant a sense of eeriness to this mysterious place. 

This is what exactly my photography is about, the connection between the human imagination and nature.  It’s why I call this blog Human Nature.  The weirdness of the scene makes the imagination run wild; and I really hope that this is a weird picture to reflect that view. 

Rugged coastlines on the Isle of Mull

Loch Beg at low tide, the view towards Glenmore.

Travelling around the Isle of Mull and soaking up its stunning scenery, the varied, rugged landscape of hills, valleys, coastal lochs and woodland clearly shares many characteristics of the Scottish mainland, sharing also the dramatic weather, changing light and sunshine, cloud and rainbows. But the story of Mull’s landscape is very different, and the island stands out for being geologically more complex than most of its neighbours.  To see the difference, you need to go to the coast.

A remote stretch of coast on the Ross of Mull.  Five miles from the nearest road, and involving a long trek over uneven grassland and rocky cliff tops (and not a footpath in sight), some of these gem sites really need hunting out, but they're well worth it.

I’ve started to document parts of the coast more recently with a series of landscape pictures, some of which will appear on this blog over the next few weeks.  There is truly an embarrassment of riches here for interesting coastal scenes quite different from anywhere else on earth.

The island was at the centre of a large amount of volcanic activity around 65 million years ago (around the same time at which the dinosaurs were wiped out to extinction) which created many layers of rock which form the foundation of the island we know and love today.  Trapped within the layers of rock is evidence of plant life which reveals the climate at the time would have been subtropical.  In areas such as Carsaig, where the volcanic rock characterises the landscape, there are stretches of bare rock which take on the appearance of post-apocalyptic devastation at the foot of the staggering cliffs, whilst elsewhere along the same coast, the running waters and plant life give the impression of verdant rejuvenation of life around the dramatic shape of the landscape.  Nevertheless, these areas can take some serious trekking to get to.

In some remote stretches of Carsaig, the volcanic rock is once again supporting a great deal of life.

In some places the flowing lava cooled to create the characteristic basalt columns for which the area is well known (nearby Staffa is the most famous example), while in neighbouring regions  there are ancient crystalline rocks and pink granite stone.

Pink granite stone at Kintra

The island may be best known to visitors for its beaches and hills, but taking a trip to some of the more remote areas of coastline can be quite an eye-opener.

Memories are made of these.

Sleepy red grouse in purple heather.

Every photo carries with it a set of memories.  Like with family photos, I don’t have any difficulty remembering exactly which spot each was taken, and when.  Every photo makes up part of the story in my mind of what happened on a particular day, and the joy (or discomfort) that I experienced on that particular encounter with a subject or place.  For this reason, it’s always good to review pictures from previous years to be reminded of the events in nature’s calendar.  Even if you can’t get out on a particular day, the memories can help to keep you in touch with the world’s natural cycles.

Alert red grouse in purple heather.

I’ve been doing a lot of fitness training recently, which has eaten into my photography time but will be important for a few ventures I have planned (and hopefully I’ll be able to fit into my mankini by Christmas).  It means I’ve missed a few things recently, most notably the season of purple heather on the moors of the Peak District – one of my favourite events in nature’s calendar.  But pictures from previous years are a great reminder of the great things that are going on out there, and that they’ll happen again next year.

Women wildlife photographers, badgers, Chris Packham and Gandhi – at the British Wildlife Photography Awards

Chris and Kris - posing with Packham

Not enough women entrants – that was the view of Chris Packham, commenting on the overall profile of entries in this year's British Wildlife Photography Awards, and one of many opinions so eloquently voiced in his address to last week’s awards ceremony.   Looking through the winning images in the exhibition and in the book, confirms the point.  Although there were two female category winners (in the Habitat and Wildlife in HD Video rounds [click here for a look at the winning entries]), there were 14 categories in total, so it’s certainly true that women are under-represented here.  Not just that, but tramping round the countryside and nature reserves of Britain, it’s usually men who behave like boys with toys.  And while there seems to be an even distribution of men and women amongst the public who enjoy these places, the balance of people carrying cameras is certainly slanted heavily towards in the direction of men. 

I spent most of last week down in London visiting various exhibitions and friends.  My wife, Katherine, came down on the train on Wednesday evening to meet me for the awards ceremony, before catching the train home the same night.  The next morning she texted me whilst I was having breakfast in St Pancras station – something to the effect of: ‘Chris Packham thinks more women should enter – if we go out some time, will you show me how to take pictures? I’d like to enter the competition next year’.  I nearly fell of my chair – sounds like the peeerfect date!

With my image 'Sundew' at the British Wildlife Photography Awards exhibition.

With my image 'Peekaboo Ant' at the British Wildlife Photography Awards exhibition.

The evening was awash with photographic personalities, pictures with messages, pictures with  voices, pictures with grit and determination and pictures which show a love of the land, sea and air.  Perhaps most moving was Neil Aldrige’s winning entry to the documentary section.  Entitled ‘The Alternative’, this documents a badger vaccination project in Bedfordshire, a clear reminder that there is a peaceful and workable alternative to the badger cull that had not started at the time the photos were taken, but was in its second week of piloting by the time of the awards ceremony [click here to see the full series of images].  We’ve all heard the arguments for and against; anyone with access to this blog also has access to the report of the Independent Scientific Group on cattle TB, commissioned by DEFRA and presented to the government in 2007 (point 9 reads: ‘After careful consideration of all the RBCT and other data presented in this report, including an economic assessment, we conclude that badger culling cannot meaningfully contribute to the future control of cattle TB in Britain.’) [Click here to read the report in full]. 

On presenting the award to Neil Aldridge, Chris Packham was applauded for his words: the ceremony was ‘not the time or the place’, he said, to launch into a tirade of criticism of the cull...‘but I’m going to do it anyway’.  And he certainly did.  I don’t need to go into detail into Packham’s views on the subject – they are available on the badgergate blog [Click here to read it].  Nevertheless, I found it notable that in addition to despairing of the government’s actions, which for the most part fly in the face of science, he was also clear that naturalists, activists, photographers, and any other groups against the cull could take a share of the blame: ‘we have failed!’ was his view.  We have failed to communicate absolute facts to the government in a meaningful way that they have been able to make sense of.  At first I found this point slightly bewildering, but of course there’s good sense of it: if activists and naturalists accepts some responsibility for not having communicated the point adequately, then this means also that the matter is not closed – if the battle is one of communication, we have not lost the battle, but we must feel compelled to continue communicating, peacefully, but with greater fervour than before.  (A mere glance at the twitter feed of Simon King, @TVsSimonKing, shows that this communication is continuing with great animation – it’s very moving and often devastating reading).

After the ceremony, I managed to grab a quick chat with Chris Packham, who was very amenable to all those taking an interest in his views.  His final words to me on the subject were a quote from Mahatma Gandhi, which he said he was taking great hope from in continuing the fight:

‘First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.’

Wise words for us all, men and women, as the battle goes on.