Mist, photo cropping and relativity

click photo to enlarge
I've been using my relatively small DSLR body (Nikon D5300) and one relatively light and small lens (AF-S Nikkor 18-140mm 1:3.5-5.6G ED) as my walking camera for several months now. I'm relatively happy with the combination's relatively low weight, relatively high quality and relatively wide zoom range. If that makes me sound relatively unenthusiastic, I'm not. Bear in mind that I was raised in Yorkshire, a county where the compliment, "Not bad", is high praise indeed. Seriously, I'm very happy with the results I'm getting: the technical qualities of the sensor, camera controls and lens are very good.

However, the 1.5 crop factor (relative to 35mm) means that the lens' range is 27-210mm and that's not quite wide enough or long enough for me. Better would be 24mm-300mm. However, such a lens would be bigger, heavier, probably not as bright, and probably not as sharp. All equipment involves compromises and my reluctance to carry the Canon 5D2, 24-105mm and 70-300mm (which clearly does cover my desired focal lengths) means that sometimes - maybe 5% of the time - I can't get the shot I want using the Nikon. But, one of the benefits of a good 24 megapixel sensor is the ability to crop the image and simulate a longer focal length, so one of the shortcomings can be addressed.

I took today's photograph with a heavy crop in mind so I ensured the camera was well stabilised. I estimate that I'd have needed a 400mm (equivalent) lens to secure this shot. Yet, cropping has left me with a file that is perfectly usable for most purposes. It shows a view from near Herefordshire Beacon in the Malverns, looking across the low hills around the Severn valley. On our recent walk in that area the mist was clearing when we arrived but started to thicken again as we departed. I liked the colours and gradations in this composition, as well as the detail of the trees and the plumes of smoke. It reminded me of traditional Chinese ink and wash paintings.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 140mm (210mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

People and landscapes

click photo to enlarge
It's my impression that most contemporary landscape photographers prefer to exclude people from their views. I struggle to find any that routinely - and deliberately - include the human form. So, in that respect, if I'm right in my judgement, I am in a minority because I often strive to include people.

Most English landscape painters of the eighteenth and nineteenth century considered their landscapes to be incomplete if there wasn't a figure or two somewhere to be found. Where people are absent an animal, domestic or wild, is used instead. Such inclusions are there as an area of focus in the composition; often a starting point for the eye's journey through the painted world the artist has laid out for the viewer. They also provide a sense of scale. And, for many artists, they say something about Nature and man's relationship to it. This is particularly so in the case of the painters of the Romantic Movement where the awe and majesty of a scene often towers over the diminutive people.

What these painters knew, and what many photographers also realise, is that the human eye and brain are adept at finding people in a landscape, whether the view is a real one or one in painted form This is probably an evolutionary trait: for millennia individuals and groups needed to be aware of other people as a potential danger and seeing them early increased their safety. Eyes became attuned to spotting the human form, and this is a trait that we still have today.

The photograph above features the view from near Hereford beacon across the nearby lowlands that includes the valley of the River Severn. As I was composing my shot I noticed a dog walker on a hill below me. When he stopped to admire the mist clearing from the patchwork of fields I seized the moment and composed my shot around him.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm (157mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Morning on the southern Malverns

click photo to enlarge
On one of our regular visits to Herefordshire we stopped off at a spot that I've long intended to visit. The Malverns is a chain of low hills that rise up from a lower, slightly undulating area near the Severn valley. They appear higher than they are, and they have a pleasantly ragged summit line. At the southern end a road takes advantage of a low point to cross the range and it was at this point we stopped to visit an Iron Age hill camp near the summit known as Herefordshire Beacon.

It's my experience that many of life's pleasures are serendipitous, and all the more satisfying for being unexpected. The weather forecast predicted that early fog would be driven off later in the morning by sun. When we arrived at our parking spot, however, it appeared that sun had the ascendancy and mist was in short supply. But, the story from the summit told a different story. Whilst the low ground in our immediate neighbourhood was virtually mist-free, farther away it was still plentiful and made for a magnificent sight with several prominences raising their heads above the white blanket. The fine autumn scene was enhance by the remaining leaves on the trees and the shadows thrown by the low sun. A group of three walkers, also enjoying the morning's pleasures, gave me a further compositional element and added a sense of scale to the grandeur on display.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 80mm (120mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/160 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Mist on Giggleswick Scar

click photo to enlarge
The all-enfolding mists of autumn are viewed by many as an unwelcome intrusion after the brightness and warmth of summer. But, to poets such as Keats, and to many photographers they are a pleasing change that transforms familiar landscapes and offers a melancholy note that is rarely to be found in the warmer months.

We recently spent several days in the Yorkshire Dales, the area of my upbringing. Rain was quite frequent, as it often is in such parts, but not in quanitities or at times that prevented us having a long walk each day. One of our rambles took us on to the limestone upland known as Giggleswick Scar, an area of cliffs, scree, caves, short sheep-cropped grass, rowan trees, bracken - all the attributes of what geographers call a karst landscape. A thick mist accompanied our walk to the summit of the Scar but shortly afterwards it started to clear from the high ground leaving the grey blanket in the valleys below. Today's photograph shows rowans and hawthorns silhouetted against the mist in the Ribble valley with the summits and clouds beyond. When the mist started to dissipate it was quite difficult to distinguish between the hills and the clouds, but by the time of my photograph this was more easily done.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 95mm (142mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Reflecting on walnut trees

click photo to enlarge
Over the past few weeks the same incident has replayed several times. A grey squirrel has hopped across the lawn with a large walnut in its mouth. It has stopped, dug at the grass with its front feet, decided the spot was no use, and then moved on to repeat this action until a suitable spot is found. There it buries the walnut. Do they ever find them again? I suppose so, but I never see it happen. Do we have a forest of sapling walnuts sprouting from the lawn in spring? No - so I guess they are retrieved and eaten by the squirrels at some point in the winter.

I never noticed walnut trees until I moved to Lincolnshire. They probably existed where I lived in the other parts of England, but not until I moved to this county in the East Midlands did I see them in sufficient numbers that I became aware of the trees. The village where I live has several. A couple are in a small playground/park where they provide amusement and collecting opportunities for the local children. Another one is in a field that is visible from the front of my house.

This tree is slowly succumbing to age and the weather. Last year, during particularly windy weather, a large bough fell off. This year the top branches were completely free of leaf. It can't have many more years left. The field in which it is located was once pasture and I imagine that the sheep and cattle found its shade welcome in high summer. For thirty years or more, however, it has been used for vegetable and cereal growing and as far as the farmer is concerned it has become an obstacle around which agricultural machinery and vehicles must be carefully guided. I posted a photograph of it on the blog two years ago when it was looking very fine against a dark and threatening October sky. The other day it was the tree's shape in the mist, augmented by a gathering of rooks in its topmost branches, that caught my eye.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/160 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Old farm silos and the Nikon D5300

click photo to enlarge
For the past few years my photography has involved the use of a Canon 5D Mk2 and a Sony RX100. The Canon I chose for its reliability and versatility and it has given me that, courtesy of a very capable body and four high quality lenses. However, it's heavy. And I'm not getting any younger. Hence, I bought the Sony for its mixture of compact form and pretty good quality to use as the "always with me" camera, the one to be taken when we're shopping or out and about without photography specifically in mind. I also thought it would be useful when we do long walks or visit cities such as London. For the latter purpose it is excellent; it's unobtrusive and the 28-100mm (35mm equiv.) focal length lens suits my photography fine in the streets and parks of the city. However, when it comes to walking in the countryside of, say, the Yorkshire Dales or the Lincolnshire Wolds, on the Fens or even by the sea, its maximum focal length has proved somewhat limiting.

Consequently, at the end of last year I bought what I thought would be a reasonably small and light,  "in-between" camera with a versatile lens - the Panasonic G6 with the 14-140mm (28-280mm 35mm equiv.) lens. I got it at a good price and began to use it. Within a couple of days I realised this was not the camera for me. Why? Well, at quite commonly used focal lengths and shutter speeds it would not produce sharp images when using the mechanical shutter. It has an electronic shutter too and that always produced sharp images but at the cost of restricted usability. The problem was "shutter shock", an issue that has affected a number of mirrorless cameras. It is caused by the way a camera without a flip-up mirror cocks the shutter and introduces vibrations just before the shutter fires and makes the exposure. This seems to be a particular issue with this specific body and lens, though my letter to Panasonic resulted in no acknowledgement of the issue; this despite the fact that quite a number of photographers have reported the same problem. The fact that the body was so small and designed with quite a few buttons that I kept inadvertently hitting was also a problem, but one I would have persevered with. Blurred shots I wouldn't countenance, and so the camera was returned to the seller.

My response to this was to buy a Nikon D5300 with the 18-140mm lens (27-210mm 35mm equiv.). The size of this camera is approximately the same as the Olympus E510, the camera that I've had most pleasure out of in the past ten years. It's heavier than the Panasonic (and much heavier than the Sony), but quite a bit lighter than the Canon. You might wonder why an enthusiast wouldn't choose the Nikon D7100 or a mid-priced Canon to make use of my existing lenses. The answer is - weight, and a curiosity to try another brand. Moreover, I intend to restrict this camera to one lens only, so if I had chosen a Canon I'd still have to buy a lighter EF-S lens and so there would be no real saving.

Today's photograph is an example of the output of the Nikon. I'm quite happy with the camera which, incidentally, seems to have the same sensor as all Nikon's newer APS-C DSLRs regardless of price.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 38mm (57mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early autumn mist

click photo to enlarge
We've just experienced the first real mist of early autumn in this part of Lincolnshire. As I looked out of the bedroom window it was clear that it wasn't one of the thin, wispy mists that have struggled to make an appearance recently, but was what used to be called "a real pea-souper". That left me with a dilemma: to have breakfast then go out with the camera, risking that it might have dissipated by then, or to go straight out and be sure to catch it. I chose the first option and was glad I did.

Over the years I've found the best time for photographing in mist and fog is often at the point when the early morning sun is just beginning to burn it off. Not only does that offer a range of densities of mist and fog, with some objects being more revealed than others, but the presence of a watery sun can inject warm colours and increase the contrast available. Today's photograph benefits from that effect in the lower left corner, lifts the mood slightly and stops the image from being too "cold".

Over the years some of my best photographs have come from situations where early morning mist has offered a "different" view of what I otherwise might consider to be a familiar subject - as with this yacht, this view of Canary Wharf, this lane in Yorkshire and these three trees.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 25.9mm (70mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 125
Exposure Compensation:  -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking out of the window

click photo to enlarge
It's sometimes a welcome change when you don't have to actively search out photographs but instead they just appear when you look out of the window. Today's is a view from one of our upstairs windows, a scene that I spotted as I went to brush my teeth. I've always liked to photograph in fog. It's an experience that is often physically unpleasant but mentally stimulating. The way the suspended water droplets mute the colours, make objects less distinct, and can give a plain backdrop to a scene where it is usually busy and visually distracting, opens up new photographic possibilities.

In this shot all those factors came into play. However, it was the presence of the sun's dimmed disc that caused me to take the photograph. It offered both a sharp point of light as a visual focus and sufficient brightness to show off the skeletal trees. My first shot was of just those two elements. But, as I watched groups of wood pigeons  fly out of the village trees and head out to the fields - brussel sprout tops are favoured at the moment - I thought that a group of them in the top left corner would add to the composition. It took a wait of a couple of minutes before some appeared, but when they did I took my shot. Wood pigeons are the one bird that is generally unwelcome in my garden. They cause significant damage to our vegetable garden and the cherry trees, and cause me to use wire netting as protection. So, it was a refreshing change to hope for and then welcome the presence of these rapacious birds.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 183mm
F No: f7.1 Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -1.00 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

Mist and contre jour

click photo to enlarge
It occurred to me when I was reviewing my recent photographs that Keats' "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" is also, for this photographer, the season of getting back into contre jour shots, a time when I once again become a "close bosom-friend of the maturing sun". In high summer I tend to see the sun as something to work around. Its position, high in the sky and its floodlighting of the landscape make it something to be avoided across the middle of the day. Only very early and very late does it offer itself for inclusion in the frame, and only before 11.00am and after 3.00pm does it produce the kind of shadows that I like for modelling a landscape or building.

However, from September onwards the sun becomes much more co-operative. Its position in the sky when I am out and about with my camera means that I can often choose to include it if I wish. Moreover, early and late that low position adds drama to contre jour shots. The third of my "misty" photographs from the Yorkshire Dales exemplifies this. As we continued our walk the mist thinned then, unexpectedly, swirled back in again. The small group of trees ahead of us started to be enveloped and the clouds that had rolled in began to be obscured. And, as we climbed the hill towards them the sun broke through behind the foliage sending out the odd light ray: perfect for a contre jour shot, so I framed a composition and pressed the shutter.

I suppose for the benefit of doubters (you know who you are!), and in the light (pun intended) of my recent posting, I must add that no artificial photographic aids were used in the production of either the mist or the light rays. All is as was laid out before us on that October morning.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/2000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Watery Lane, Settle

click photo to enlarge
Today's photograph was taken only a couple of minutes later and a few yards on from where I took yesterday's shot. The two trees on the left can be seen in both images. Here though the view is more to the south and brings into sight the stream that enters the lane from the field behind the drystone wall. The path bridges the stream and continues alongside it. It can be seen as a thin, worn strip through the grass, shining wet with the rain, that recedes into the distance.

If you look at the 1:25000 Ordnance Survey map this lane is shown as part of Brockhole Lane and it links to a lane/path that carries the same name which veers off left and uphill towards Lodge Gill. However, the lane before us actually carries on past Fish Copy Barn to Lodge Lane, and that section is un-named on the maps (even on the old 6 inch map). In fact, in the locality, this part of the lane and the section that stretches to Lodge Lane is seen as one and the same and is known as Watery Lane. Perhaps one day the official maps will reflect this. It is well-named, because in all but the driest of summers water flows along it, and can make the route, in parts, almost impassable. As a child I often sought out the section of stream in the photograph though usually when it was calmer and only a few inches deep. It was here, after reading "The Water Babies" by Charles Kingsley, a very odd book, part of which is set in a limestone stream of the Yorkshire Dales, that I first saw a caddis fly larva in its strange case made of gravel and twigs.

On this day when we walked along Watery Lane it would have been no pleasure to delve into the depths in search of wildlife. It did, however, prove to be a good test of the waterproofing of our boots and, I'm pleased to say, they passed with flying colours.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 24mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Yorkshire Dales mist

click photo to enlarge
A few days in the Yorkshire Dales market town of Settle, the place where I was raised, held the prospect of not only seeing members of my family but also walking the hills and doing some photography. With that in mind I hoped for some calm weather with sun and cloud. However, I knew from long experience that Settle in October (or any other month!) frequently delivers rain. Being on the west side of England's main mountain range, receiving the full force of the moisture-laden prevailing south-westerlies how could it do otherwise? And, true to form, it rained. Often it was heavy and sustained; at other times heavy shower followed heavy shower with the briefest of interludes between. But, on one day it relented and a day of mainly sun and clouds was interrupted by only a single downpour. So we got a longish walk on "the tops" as the hills are known locally and I got some photographs.

In fact, the day we spent walking started with thick mist in the valley - a temperature inversion mist - and the summits above bathed in sunshine from a clear sky. The dramatic mist proved to be perfect for photography and produced some of my best shots, including today's. In fact, as we walked and snapped and talked and hauled ourselves up out of the Ribble valley onto the limestone and millstone grit heights it occurred to me that, as far as photography goes, the weather you get is often better than the weather you wish for. Perhaps that phrase will join my list of self-penned photographic aphorisms. It has so often been true for me that my best shots have been taken in weather that is "extreme" in one way or another, or is quite different from what is usually thought of as good photographic weather. I reflected further on this when we passed a bookshop in Settle. In the window were a few different volumes of photographs of the Yorkshire Dales. All had a cover that showed a well-known location photographed in sunshine with blue sky and white clouds. I took a few shots of that kind myself during our time in Settle, but the ones taken in the unanticipated and unwanted mist please me more.

The photograph above was taken near the start of our walk at a point when it looked like the mist would rapidly lift. In those circumstances an eye for any available images and rapid composition is needed. Here the two gates  in the drystone walls, the short lane, and the trees offered the best possibilities.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Feeling Good

click photo to enlarge

"It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good."

from "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone (song written by Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse)

If I were to nominate a song to take the place of Auld Lang Syne as the one to herald in the new year then it would surely be Nina Simone's version of Feeling Good, the song written by the English writers, Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse, for the 1965 musical The Roar of the Greasepaint - The Smell of the Crowd. It's not for any Janus-like qualities that the song possesses, but rather for how it looks forward and celebrates life. As I mentioned in a recent blog post this is the sort of feeling I have when Christmas is out of the way, the lull leading up to the new year is passed, and January is upon us. So perhaps rather than being sung at midnight, as 31st December tips over into January 1st, it would be sung upon rising, as a greeting to the first daylight of the first day of the new year.

Of course, were Auld Lang Syne to be given the boot and replaced by Feeling Good, a law would have to be passed banning all recordings of the song other than Nina's (that would surely be a blessing!), and people would have to brush up on their scat singing to deliver the approved version with suitable feel and authenticity.

Today's photograph, the first of 2011, was taken on the last day of 2010. Driving along a main road I pulled over to capture this image of three trees briefly revealed in the swirling mist and fog. They were standing along the edge of a field of winter wheat that was rising from the ground despite its weeks under snow and ice.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 141mm
F No: 6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Early evening sun, snow and mist

click photo to enlarge

It's surprising how much of the detail of what you learn in school stays with you throughout your life. I was looking at a cup of cold tea the other day and into my head popped the phrase "colloidal substance". A colloid, as I recall, is a substance dispersed evenly throughout another substance. The word was explained to me by my teacher by reference to, among other things, cold tea. The following day I was looking for a late afternoon/early evening photograph while walking along a track past the village of Bicker when mist started to roll in from the north west. As I started to take my photographs of the trees and church tower with the bright disc of the sun above, the mist started to thicken and the whole of the horizon gradually disappeared from view, the landscape becoming enveloped in a thick fog.

On my journey home I tried to remember the precise difference between mist and fog as it had been explained to me in geography lessons. I recollected that the density of water droplets and the consequent degree of visibility was what separated one from the other, and it was in the hundreds of yards (metres today I suppose), but I couldn't recall the precise figure. So, later that day I looked it up. The current definition of fog is visibility less than 200 metres. However, if you are a pilot it is less than 1000 metres. That latter fact wasn't one I knew and puzzles me somewhat. Do pilots have enhanced vision? As far as mist goes, it is the discernible presence of water droplets with visibility greater than 200 metres.

So, by my reckoning this photograph, which incidentally was taken from near the point where I took this one the other day, shows mist. What it doesn't show is how cold that afternoon was. The temperature was about -8 Celsius (not cold in world terms, but quite nippy as far as the UK goes), however the perceived temperature was a good bit lower due to the wind. The time I had my gloves off to change lenses was as long as I could stand it, and I haven't felt that cold for a few decades - in fact, the last occasion would probably be when I was at school learning about colloids, and the difference between mist and fog!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 228mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/200
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Winter photography

click photo to enlarge
A spell of winter weather that is colder and duller than usual has kept people indoors recently. A quick skip round the photography forums finds many in the UK wishing for brighter skies. Like most photographers I relish bright, contrasty light. A sky with 70% broken cloud of different hues (the kind seen after rain), blue showing through here and there, and pools of sunlight reaching the ground, is probably my ideal for landscape shots.

But, different weather presents different opportunities and we must seize them. Heavy rain is pretty useless as far as I'm concerned, with only a few opportunities for images. Light rain or drizzle offers more chance of capturing glistening photographs. A leaden sky with a blanket of stratus above is lamented by many, but can be fine as long as you keep the camera pointed down, and, if it's bright enough, is particularly good for saturated colours and therefore plants and flowers. Snow is great, not only for the novelty (at least in much of England), but also because of the way it converts scenes into drawings with dark shapes and lines across a white surface, and for how it changes the light and illuminates the shadows. Fog is good too, and I often venture out in such weather to try and capture the graduated tones and simplified silhouettes it offers. That was my thinking the other day when we went for an afternoon walk near Swineshead in Lincolnshire. A weak sun was shining through wispy cloud and visibility was poor. It looked like mist and fog would start to appear as the sun went down. And so it did.

I took this photograph towards the end of the walk, balancing the faint outline of Swineshead church towering over the village houses, with the silhouettes of trees on the right, and used the curve of the road as a leading line into the shot.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 137mm (274mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On