Better Mountain Photography (1) Wednesday July 16, 2008
There are many aspects to mountain photography and it is ultimately, like art, a matter of instinct and on that basis cannot really be taught. It has certain features though that can be discussed, that helps to refine if not awaken that instinct.
The following encounter in the Lake District describes a typical walking day while carrying a camera, and documents its important features and subsequent photographic editing.
I’d arrived the day before in a day full of sunshine and photographic promise, which unfortunately didn’t last. British summer, if we get any at all, is mostly characterised by occasional good days rather than reliable periods of several. Summer is not necessarily the best time for photography because there’s often a heat haze in the mountains, and the light is overhead and flat except at the beginning and end of the day; the best light I’ve ever experienced was in February. However summer tends to be the time when there is some light, i.e. some sunshine, more than with other seasons. For that reason, while the convention is to acknowledge the aforesaid limitations, British summer is an important time for mountain photography: besides which, you will quite likely experience conditions more like another season.
One practical question is how to make best use of sombre light, when photographic possibilities are severely limited. The answer is, unless you are working with small details like a waterfall or rock formation, you will have to wait for brief moments of illumination – and you might get them, or you might not. It’s all rather depressing, especially in the internet age when we peer into the lives of people around the world and see them enjoying blue skies. The sun is supposed to shine, we might think, and we need it like food and vitamins and for decent photography. A valley shot like this for example could, with autumnal colours and good light, be quite interesting:
As you can see, it’s rather dreary under thick grey skies. This was the beginning of the following day to the one described here, and about two hours later I endured a lightning storm and torrential rain.
I find driving around a halfway strategy to better photography when it’s grey and sombre, covering more ground for potential interest than a walk in the hills which, while inherently more attractive, confines you to a slow pedestrian pace where the opportunities are correspondingly limited. I could drive across the entire Lake District in a matter of hours, whereas it takes me all day to climb into the fells.
On this occasion then, using the Borrowdale valley as a base, I decided to drive above Derwentwater, over to the Newlands Valley, and down to Buttermere. It’s not unusual for one valley to be in sunshine while another is cloudy, though on very sombre days the entire Lake District might be grey. This was such a day. It led me however into a valley where I wouldn’t normally linger, and to a few minor but worthwhile discoveries. First, a walk and a ridge I’d surveyed the previous year from a distant peak and wondered about. I wasn’t sure of the name of it, and realised I’d never been there. It’s called Ard Crags, and is a kind of grassy promontory in the middle of more dramatic hills.
Second, I discovered a waterfall area worth exploring I’d noted some years previously, on a similar grey day when I’d considered stopping to explore it. I don’t think I noticed there was, in fact, a convenient path leading up to it.
Third, when I explored this waterfall I then continued further up onto a hill I quickly realised was the back of Robinson, with an outlook over Buttermere I’d enjoyed about two years previously. I’d noted on that day the extent of the hill that looked interesting which I knew nothing about, and here I was connecting the gaps in my knowledge, approaching from an unexpected route. It’s fun to make such discoveries.
I enjoyed the outlook over Buttermere which in good light and slightly lower down the hillside, looks like this:
On this day though it was grey and dreary. However, the final part of this walk led to a useful photographic opportunity: a stream above the waterfall in a nondescript area you wouldn’t normally visit or discover. This was a day then, of small wanderings after driving to a an interesting location, instead of an epic trek across the hills covering more ground.
As soon as I saw this outlook, I realised it had photographic potential:
I fired off a few shots immediately in some brief illumination, and decided to linger here for some more. Mountain photography needs both kinds of response: immediate reactions to good light and long periods of waiting. It’s often regarded as a slow and meditative activity and it certainly is that, but speed is sometimes essential when sunlight might be the only opportunity for an entire day. That happened to me in Wales once. I’d arrived at the foot of Moel Siobod and was walking up the approach path, and noticed the beautiful effect of sunlit trees against a dark grey sky. I fumbled for my camera as I was barely getting into my stride, and it was gone: and not only that, the rest of the day was sombre, sunless, and depressing. On another occasion I was coming down the Langdale hills in bitter cold, and could only manage a few shots before I had to return my hands to my thick gloves and pockets and get walking to keep warm. In both situations, fleeting light and adverse cold, a quick camera action with automatic settings is what you need.
I stayed in this small area then for about thirty minutes, waiting for brief bursts of sunshine making it photographically interesting. That’s the first point: waiting for opportune light. The second point is how an area such as this is rich with composition possibilities with equal interest. In such circumstances, you need to get a large number of images you can decide on later. Even photographers like Cartier-Bresson did this: what we see in their famous work is their final decisions, not the contact sheets full of mediocre shots they discarded. Mountain photography tends to be both leisurely and decisive in the sense that you quickly recognise what you want and take that photograph, but that’s less true in an area like this where you need to experiment with different viewpoints:
Here are a few more shots I quite like, and it’s quite difficult to decide which you prefer. I did, however, eventually decide on the first composition as the one to include in my portfolio. These shots, finally, were not exactly what I’d framed in the camera but are also the result of careful cropping decisions:
Better Mountain Photography (2): Composition