Taking a break

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I'm taking a break from the blog for a while - it will be good for both of us. How long is a while? I don't know at this time; it could be a few weeks, it could be a few months, it could be longer.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo Title: The Boat House Pool, Belton House, Grantham, Lincolnshire
Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 42mm (84mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/200 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rose-coloured clouds

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"What is the good of your stars and trees, your sunrise and the wind, if they do not enter into our daily lives."
E. M. Forster (1879-1970), English novelist

Some people find it hard to look forward to retiring from work because for them it signifies the beginning of the end of their lives, something they don't want reminding about. It can be just that if you let it, if you are one of the many people for whom the three stages of life are childhood and education, work, and lastly retirement. However, retirement can also be seen as a distinct, fulfilling, exciting time, one where each day offers experiences and opportunities that work in particular, often reduced to brief episodes, but more usually denied.

The quotation by E. M. Forster (above) is one that I like because it emphasises the importance and beauty of everyday experiences, phenomena that are too often overlooked because they are common. Moreover, the things that he itemises are those that work can relegate to the infrequent and the snatched, to the periphery of life. Retirement can, if you so wish it, bring them (and many other everyday pleasures) back to the centre of your existence and the joys that they offer can be life enriching.

In my working life I rose quite early and returned home quite late; I had long days. Getting up in the morning I would often speed through ablutions and breakfast and be gone. There was no time to do what I do daily in retirement: namely, open the curtains and look at the day and reflect on how I might fill it. Or admire the frosted grass, the autumnal leaves, the light fall of snow or the rose-coloured clouds of a fine sunrise. The sky in today's photograph appeared for only five or so minutes before I sat down for breakfast. Had I been working I probably wouldn't have noticed it. But, in retirement I got my camera and took a few shots of the beautiful sight.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Olympus E-M10
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 22mm (44mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f4.5
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO:200
Exposure Compensation: -0.3EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographing trees

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I like trees and I've taken a lot of photographs of them over the years. However, only a relatively small number of my many tree photographs have made it to the blog because making an interesting shot of a tree, where it is the main subject, is a difficult task.I've done multiple single trees, groups, parts of trees (leaves, roots, bark and more bark), seasonal trees, silhouetted trees, semi-abstract trees and reflected trees to name just some of the angles I've come at this subject.

One approach I do favour, however, is a shot of trees where order is imposed on the randomness of these natural forms. Today's main photograph has order that was decided by whoever planted this row by the River Slea in Lincolnshire. However, I've emphasised this externally imposed order by shooting at this particular angle and by choosing to include the reflections in the water.

My second, smaller, photograph was taken where this row disappears into the distance in the top photograph, and where saplings by the water's edge accompany the main row further back. In this composition I imposed order by using the junction of the river bank and water as a diagonal line dividing the composition into two roughly equal-sized parts. The top half  shows the trees, an old fence and the bank; the bottom half the reflection in the river. Here the colours, reflections and that slightly curving line assume an importance that is greater than if I'd included more of the trees and some sky in the scene.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 18mm (27mm - 35mm equiv.) - cropped to 4:3 ratio
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/100 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Attracted to the insignificant

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It's happened to me more times than I care to remember. I'm out photographing something large and eye-catching when my attention is drawn to something small and relatively insignificant, something that I hadn't noticed until I got into position for the sought after shot. And that relatively insignificant subject produces a photograph that I like much more than the one I originally had my eye on.

My previous post, of Tattershall Castle, is a fairly routine piece of photographic reportage. The light is OK, the composition works, the content is reasonably interesting, and the shot is different from many of this subject because it's taken in winter when the building is out of use, rather than in summer. But it's not the sort of photograph that I'll look back at, ponder or seek to repeat and improve upon. However, when I was standing on the outer wall of the moat I noticed below me the skeletal remains of plants that had grown up through the water. Initially I thought they were umbellifers of one kind or another, but I now think they must be something else. What attracted me was their pale, winter-blasted stalks and seed heads against the deep, shadowy blue of the water. Then I noticed that the plants were throwing reflections on the surface that were dark doppelgangers. Looking through the viewfinder I liked the sharp, scratchy lines against the dark background and I ended up taken rather more shots of this unimportant subject than of the historic and significant pile only a hundred yards away. Which, I suppose, takes us back once more to the Aaron Rose quotation I mentioned last month.

Reviewing the photograph on my computer I was reminded of a photograph I posted in April 2012, one that was languishing in the vaults, that I plucked out and used. It shows willow branches and twigs over water. Its a shot that sits quite nicely alongside today's, and would look even better with a third to make a short series or triptych. I must look out for something suitable.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO:400
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Cloud clipped yews

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I've posted photographs in the past showing yew trees, often grown as hedges, that are clipped into massive, irregular mounds. It is a style popular in the gardens of English country houses. Audley End has a remarkable example, and I've photographed a fine one at Melbourne, Derbyshire. I've also posted an earlier photograph of those at Ayscoughfee Hall, Spalding, that are shown above, though it wasn't as well lit as when I took this shot. What I didn't have when I took those photographs was a name to attach to this particular type of topiary. But now I do.

Looking up some details about what is surely the biggest such hedge in Britain, the example at Montacute House, Somerset, I found a few references describing it as "cloud clipped" and some others that said it was an example of "cloud pruning". Those are both terms with which I am familiar. However, I assumed they applied to yews (and other conifers) where the branches were clipped so that each had a ball or disc of foliage and the whole tree had several irregular balls - like this or this. But apparently it has a wider application. However, I'm not sure it is the best term to describe this "lumpy" kind of topiary. Though many such hedges could be said to resemble banks of cumulonimbus, they don't resemble clouds as well as the cumulus-like examples that I used to think of as cloud-clipped. But, you live and learn!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 16mm (43mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/60 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Churchyard gravestones

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Standing in Quadring churchyard the other morning, my fingers chilly on the cold metal of the camera, I started to move about in an attempt to keep the recent, black marble gravestones out of the composition of my photograph. There is no doubt that, among the lichen encrusted oolitic limestone and the green and grey of the slate from Swithland and elsewhere that is characteristic of the older gravestones, these newer examples stick out like the proverbial sore thumbs. Over the years, and in different localities, church authorities have periodically tried to bring some aesthetic harmony to gravestones, particularly where they are being sited next to outstanding old examples, or where the churchyard is particularly uniform in this regard, or is especially picturesque. I have some sympathy for these attempts, and yet I can see a sound argument against it too.

At the very minimum, in sensitive churchyards, I'd like to see local stone, or stone that was been used down the centuries, or a stone that is similar to the traditional type, continue in use in the interests of visual harmony. In a churchyard such as that at Quadring areas of similarly styled gravestones tend to be grouped together according to the few decades in which they were erected, with the oldest the closest to the south, west and east of the church. Imported marble appears in the Victorian period and thereafter increases in both quantity and stridency. The currently fashionable glossy black examples with incised gold lettering jars with everything around them. Perhaps they'll weather to an acceptable finish, but I doubt it. Of course, were my prescription to be followed then the fertility of the memorial designer's art would be somewhat curtailed and the possibility of a new and admirable wave of gravestones appearing is lessened. That is the main disadvantage. On balance, however, I'd take that over the agglomeration of styles that sit awkwardly together today, with quite the worse being those made in the decades either side of about 1920, badly finished stone with letters and numbers fixed to their surface, looking drab and nondescript barely a hundred years after making.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/320 sec
ISO:125
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Looking out of the window

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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 

Winter view of Walcot

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Walking in lowland Lincolnshire can be a mucky, sticky affair in winter. Arable land at this time of year is often wet and muddy and it's not uncommon to end a walk measuring a couple of inches taller than when you set off, such is the tenacity with which the soil clings to the sole of your boots. Consequently, a deep overnight frost is welcome because it means that fields which are usually impassable or unpleasant to walk, solidify and become much easier. In fact, the day we did a circular morning walk from Folkingham to Walcot, then on to Pickworth and finally back to Folkingham, the ground was like concrete and we left no footprints to mark our passage.

There is another feature of this walk that makes it a good choice for a winter walk and that is the greater than usual amount of pasture through which the footpaths meander. Permanent grass is reasonably common on Lincolnshire's higher land but less so lower down. In this area, especially around the villages, there is quite a bit that often has flocks of rather timid sheep or sometimes pet animals of the sort favoured by those who engage in "horsiculture."

The church at Walcot has become one of my favourite Lincolnshire churches. It suffered much less than many from the attentions of the restorers and enthusiasts, and what was done (mostly in 1907) was accomplished with sensitivity and respect for the achievements of the medieval builders and masons. The current congregation continues this work so when you enter the building you get a real sense of stepping into the past. Inside the fabric is mainly twelfth and thirteenth century, with the outside largely fourteenth century. I've posted photographs of the interior, the porch and the font before, but on the day of my visit the light wasn't bright enough for interior shots. However, I'd set out on this walk in the hope of returning with a landscape or two, and even though the weather deteriorated, the sun disappeared, and drab cloud rolled in, I managed this shot that features the broach spire of the distant church rising from the pantile roofs of the few farms and houses that constitute this small village.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 73mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Winter trees

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Winter trees - at least the deciduous variety - are different from the trees of spring, summer and autumn. In the more benign seasons they appear genial, softer, friendlier, more welcoming, a complement to their location. In winter, however, these trees seem to have a split personality. Looked at on a cold, clear day, with blue sky above, or seen against the warm glow of a sunrise or sunset, the tracery of twigs, branches and boughs charm the eye with their beauty and invite us to look more closely at them and admire their delicacy. However, on a cold, damp, grey foggy day, the wet, black, skeletal silhouettes can assume a severe, malign, even depressing, appearance.

I was thinking about this as I pointed my camera across a piece of waste ground in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire, framing some factory chimneys and the smoke or steam that was issuing from them. The billowing, white clouds were being distressed and dispersed by the wind as they climbed from the stack and trailed across the dark clouds above. Should I move to my left and exclude the trees from my composition, or should I include them? I briefly tossed those thoughts back and forth in my head and decided that the trees, on this occasion, added a desolate touch that intensified the slightly grim prospect before me, and I took my shot. In summer they would add a welcome greenness, softening the location, offering towers of natural beauty in this urban setting where housing abutted the towers of industry. But, on this late November day, despite the sun breaking through the cloud cover, that welcome verdure was only a memory and a promise.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/400
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Fost and frog...

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...is what sometimes comes out of the weather forecaster's mouth when delivering his or her predictions in front of the TV camera or radio microphone. This spoonerism of "frost and fog" is as much of a verbal trap for such people as "It is customary to kiss the bride" coming out as "It is kisstomary to cuss the bride" is for a clergyman. Though the latter has got to be apocryphal, hasn't it?

The cold weather that has affected much of Europe in the past week has been felt in Britain, though thankfully to a lesser extent. Night time temperatures have been well below normal for early February and these have been followed by first a light and then a heavy and widespread fall of snow. It doesn't take much of the white stuff to get me out and about with my camera. However, mist and fog accompanied the first morning and my photographs reflect this.

Today's shot shows a derelict barn surrounded by a few trees out in the ploughed fields. The fog has done its usual trick of isolating the foreground and mid-ground from the background. This shot on a clear day would have the houses, trees and church spire of a distant village breaking up the horizon and detracting from my subject. As it is, there is no horizon to speak of and only the hint of what long ago ceased to be a useful agricultural building.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 249mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  +0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Frosted leaves

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At the time of writing this blog entry winter has been pretty average in terms of weather. The temperatures haven't dropped too low but we've had a few frosts, there has been no snow and rain has been scarce but probably sufficient. There have been January gales causing damage to trees and buildings but, as far as this part of the UK goes, on the whole I'm glad to say that the extremes of the last two winters have been absent. I say, "on the whole" because, of course, weather extremes are food and drink for the photographer. The transformations wrought on familiar locations by hoar frost, snow or fog inspires us to take "different" photographs of familiar subjects.

The closest I've come to that recently was a wander around the garden on a few frosty mornings in search of a shot or two. I came back with very little of consequence but was moderately pleased with the two photographs I'm showing today. The first one with the Choisya appealed for the way the frost had given a white border to each leaf. This particular clump was projecting forward out of the main bush and consequently was better lit than the darker background. I emphasised this effect by a little digital "burning", that is to say darkening the areas behind the leaves a little more.

The Cotoneaster franchettii is an evergreen shrub that loses a small proportion of its leaves each winter. I photographed this particular hedge on a bright autumn day when it was loaded with red berries, but I prefer this photograph taken in January dullness for the way the colours glow against the backdrop. I also made this effect more pronounced, applying a dark vignette to the image.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 100mm macro
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/20 sec
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: Off

Christmas and tradition

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When I was young Christmas card pictures could, by and large, be grouped into three categories: the robin, religious themes and "traditional" scenes. The robin (Erithacus rubecula) was (and still is) popular because it's a bird that is seen more frequently in winter: it visits gardens more often at that time of year because food is scarcer in its usual haunts. Consequently, in many English minds it is thought of as a bird of winter and Christmas, though it is in fact a resident species. The religious themes were drawn mainly from the biblical story of the nativity. Since Christmas is at heart a religious festival it isn't surprising that such cards were, and remain, popular. Then there were the "traditional" scene cards. These showed a snowy Victorian setting, often at early evening. It would be populated with people in frock coats, top hats, bonnets, long dresses, mufflers and the like doing "Christmasy" things - carol singing, wassailing, going to or from a church that had glowing stained glass windows, welcoming Christmas visitors from a stagecoach, carrying lanterns as they visited neighbours etc. Such cards are still available, though not as popular as they once were.

It seemed odd to me at the time that a Victorian Christmas should be the one that we fondly gazed back upon. However, the rise of the modern Christmas owes much to that era. Christmas trees, cards, wrapping paper, multiple presents, and more were invented or popularised in the nineteenth century. Some details, such as mistletoe and the yule log were ancient customs, pre-Christian, but they too were brought centre stage at that time. It's often said that the great English novelist, Charles Dickens, invented Christmas as we know it. I think that is to overstate his influence. Through novels such as "A Christmas Carol" he tapped into a current that was already flowing quite strongly, and, though he certainly made a strong impact on how we see the festival (and is probably partly responsible for the "traditional" scene cards), his role was as a contributor, not an inventor .

Looking at my photograph of the centre of the small Lincolnshire village of Bicker set this train of thought in motion. The orange glow of the street lights, the light dusting of snow, the fast-fading light in the sky and the smoke from a chimney all brought to mind traditional scene cards. But it does need those cars to be replaced by a carriage and four!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/15
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Rainy day photography

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I've never been much of a rainy day photographer. My cameras and lenses, by and large, have never been of the weatherproof variety, and photographing from underneath an umbrella, or with a cover over the camera has never appealed as a deliberate way of securing such images. That's not to say that I haven't photographed in the rain - I have, but it's usually been from cover such as a doorway, the car or a window. There is another reason too. Most of my photography takes place when I'm out and about with my wife, and we don't deliberately choose wet days for long walks, or to visit places of interest. But, when the weather does put a dampener on one of our days out, then I try to make the best of it and grab a shot if and when it's possible.

Today's photograph is a similar subject and similar weather to the second example I link to above - a market place on a wet day. I have a habit of repeating the subject of a photograph when I've taken a shot that I like. The view of Newark market place was a different kind of image for me, and when I saw this prospect from Spalding's South Holland Centre as I sipped my coffee, I couldn't help myself and took this similar kind of photograph. I usually find that the shots that arise in this way are substantially inferior to the original. This one, however, though not as good as the Newark photograph, has qualities that I like. In particular it seems to convey more of the dreary and oppressive nature of a cold, wet, heavily overcast January day.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Lumix LX3
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 12.8mm (60mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f2.8
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 80
Exposure Compensation: -0.66 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Farmland near Folkingham

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The other day I was reading a news article about the recent DEFRA report, "Wild Bird Populations in the UK". The state of a country's birds is a useful general indicator of the state of its wildlife across the board, and the data in this report doesn't make good reading. It compares today with the the position in the 1970s, and while there are some some encouraging things to note, such as the sustained increase in seabird populations, the species of other habitats, with some exceptions have generally declined, often markedly.

Water and wetland birds are a mixed picture - those that inhabit lakes, ponds and slow rivers have increased, but the birds of wet grassland and fast flowing rivers are down. Wintering wildfowl and waders are above the numbers seen in the 1970s, but have fallen from a 1990s peak. Many woodland birds, such as the wood warbler, tree pipit, lesser spotted woodpecker, song thrush, tawny owl are much less common. A few species including the great spotted woodpecker, blackcap, nuthatch, green woodpecker and long-tailed tit have increased in abundance. However, it is farmland birds that have declined in the greatest numbers. The grey partridge, starling, turtle dove, corn bunting, tree sparrow and yellow wagtail are down by over 70%, though a few, such as the wood pigeon, jackdaw and greenfinch, have increased by around 50%.

The probable cause of the decline in farmland birds is the intensification of agriculture, increased drainage, the removal of trees, bushes and hedgerows, and the conversion of scrub and "rough" land to pasture or arable. The changing weather and climate has probably added to the loss. During a recent walk over an area of low Lincolnshire hills given over to arable, pasture and small woods the loss described in the report was palpable. I saw a buzzard, a few kestrels, rooks and jackdaws, a single group of about 50 lapwing, a few gulls, starlings, house sparrows, fieldfare and redwing, some robins, a few chaffinch, some red-legged partridge, pheasants and 3 skylarks. I could list many species that I'd expect to see but didn't, birds such as the yellow hammer, sparrow hawk (though that has become more abundant), grey partridge, jay, linnets, redpoll, mistle thrush and meadow pipit. Interestingly much of Lincolnshire farmland is subject to stewardship schemes of one sort or another designed to conserve and promote wildlife whilst allowing efficient food production. The major bird conservation organisations make the point that, though the decline in bird populations is severe, we do know how to manage farmland to reverse the trend. Perhaps a starting point should be reviewing the terms and scope of those stewardship schemes.

Today's photograph was taken late in the afternoon in the area of Lincolnshire where we walked, near the village of Folkingham. Sterile areas of winter wheat dominate the shot, but a few trees, bushes, closely cropped hedges and an area of pasture can also be seen: not very conducive to thriving bird populations. But, the raking yellow light of the low sun as it shone through a gap in the clouds did transform the scene for my photograph, and made the foreground contrast nicely with the village that was still in shade.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 175mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 160
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On 

The seaside in winter

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"Heaven, as conventionally conceived, is a place so inane, so dull, so useless, so miserable, that nobody has ever ventured to describe a whole day in heaven, though plenty of people have described a day at the seaside."
George Bernard Shaw (1856-1950), Irish playwright, essayist and critic

People will have their own opinions about Shaw's view of a day in heaven, but a majority would probably think his description of it perfectly matches a day at the seaside in winter: particularly at a town that specialises in "entertainment". These are places that are either loved or hated. The English middle classes tend to look down their noses at the likes of Blackpool, Margate, Weston-super-Mare, Cleethorpes or Skegness, seeing them as places of cheap thrills and meretricious tat, glitzy facades with no substance. There is some truth in that, but it's certainly not the whole story, and this kind of seaside resort, even in winter, can be a place of deep interest.

My first impressions of the Lincolnshire seaside town of Skegness weren't good. Its beach is flat and relatively uninteresting, the architecture is of the expected kind, but bland, without the showy excess and originality that enlivens many resorts. The pier, a feature of the English seaside that I love, is so short it rarely has water beneath it, lacks interesting ornamentation, and seems to be closed for most of the year. And the funfair is compact, ordinary, and without the spectacular rides found elsewhere. And yet, after a couple of visits, I started to look at what the town had, rather than what was missing, and in doing so found details, buildings and scenes at which I was happy to point my camera.

Today's image was taken on an early January afternoon as the low sun was about to be replaced by dark, looming clouds. The orange light of winter deepened the red of the sand, and intensified the colours of the amusement park rides against the deep grey sky. I took a close shot of the wheel and roller coaster, and then looked for a wider view. But, there was no foreground interest, and so I decided to use my own shadow. That produced the photograph that I liked best, perhaps because its starkness complemented the scene that was empty of the summer bustle and noise of holidaymakers enjoying themselves.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

December, fields and Pixlr

click photo to enlarge

Apparently December 2010 was the coldest for the past one hundred and twenty years. It was certainly the coldest I can remember in terms of average temperatures and the minimum values to which we were subjected. Thinking back through my experience of winters, that of 1963 beat it (thus far) in days of continuous snow on the ground, but the four weeks or so we have had is much more than usual. Many have lamented the weather because it has restricted what they can do, has resulted in higher than usual heating bills, and has been depressing. Certainly I haven't travelled as far afield as I would have done in more typical December weather, and the higher heating bills will follow our higher energy usage as surely as night follows day. But depressing? No! In fact, it has been a real gift to photographers. The days of compete white-outs, hoar frost, frozen water and fog have presented familiar subjects in unfamiliar guise, and photographic subjects haven't had to be searchd for - they've simply popped up at every turn.

Today's photograph is probably the last of the hoar frost images that I will post. It shows a small-holding across a cropped field. Without the heavy dousing of white I doubt whether I would have pointed my camera at it.

This particular image has one attribute that none of my other photographs posesses. All my post processing is done using one or more of the "heavyweight" image processing packages. This one, by way of an experiment, I ran through a free online photo-editor called Pixlr. I like to keep up to date with freeware, open-source and online software offerings, and make good use of several such packages that are as good as, or better than, commercial equivalents. Though this particular image didn't need a great deal of editing, Pixlr (daft name!) did what I wanted very well, and the user-interface was quite intuitive. I won't use it on a regular basis, but I could see a use for it when away from home, or as something to recommend to friends who need to edit images only occasionally and don't want to download and install any of the free packages. It's worth a look.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 92mm
F No: f9
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 320
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Photographers and the sun

click photo to enlarge

Photographers love the sun. Look at any gallery of outdoor images produced by a group of amateurs or professionals and you'll usually find the majority (often a big majority) were taken in sunlight. The colour, contrast and feel that it brings to a photograph are clearly the qualities that attract us. So alluring is the visual "punch" that sunlight brings to an image, many are given to boosting the saturation to make their shots even more eye-catching. In fact, I sometimes wonder whether a photographic equivalent of the arms race has begun in the past ten years or so, as photographers push the boundary of what is deemed acceptable saturation ever further, perhaps responding to the glowing colours of competition-winning images, and those that are feted in magazines, newspapers and online.

I was thinking about this as I processed a few shots of Lincolnshire's South Forty Foot Drain, a watercourse with origins dating back to the 1630s, that I took during the recent hoar frost. The top photograph was taken after I'd walked a little way along the bank. I was captivated by the way the frost subdued the colours, giving them a blue/green/grey cast that I found very attractive, so I used the sharp outlines of the fence, gate and stock-pen as a middle-ground point of interest and composed this image. Then I walked on, through the open gate, and started to compose another shot using a piece of eroded bank as foreground interest. As I looked through the viewfinder a shaft of sunlight passed across the area in front of me. It worked its magic on the exposed soil, giving it a deeper, redder colour, made the frozen surface of the water more reflective, and changed the colour of the grass and frost that it rested on - it transformed the scene.

I imagine that if asked to choose which of the two images they liked best, most people would nominate the one that is partly sunlit. I like it for the qualities that I cite above. Yet, to my mind the first image is preferable for reasons that are both photographic and personal. I like the muted colours that stretch completely across the image of the first shot and the way they support the feel of the coldness of the day: they tell the story better. The sun, I feel, brings an unwarranted lift to the scene in the second shot: a note of gaiety where none is required. You might argue that both are accurate reflections of the scene as it presented itself to me, and that is of course, true. However, my recollection of the time I spent here is better reflected in the first image. It says "cold" so much better! I'm aware that this is an unfair comparison: the same shot, both with and without the sun's presence would be better. But, hey, sometimes you have to work with what you've got!

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 70mm
F No: 7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Enjoying the hoar frost

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Yesterday we had hoar frost on top of hoar frost such that everything looked like it was encrusted in a thick layer of sugar icing. I had hoped to do a few close-ups or macro shots of leaves, plants and branches, but the delicate subtlety of the previous day had been replaced by this heavy, white covering.

So, once again, I set off quite early to photograph the marvel of it all. This is the first shot of the day. It shows a farmhouse and a few outbuildings in the field across from my house. In fact, like a number of such buildings in the Fens (and elsewhere in Britain for that matter) it is a former farmhouse, now used as a simple dwelling. The consolidation of farms into bigger holdings, together with the reduction in the number of people involved in agriculture due to mechanization, are the main reasons why there are fewer working farms than there were.

I've never thought that this subject was particularly worthy of a photograph before, but the frost added a dimension that transformed it. The whiteness combined with the blueness of the early morning light had the effect of subduing the green of the hedge and grass and made the red/orange of the bricks and roof tiles of the buildings stand out more. The hole in the hedge gave the main subject a frame of sorts, while the tall poplar tree on the right broke the essential symmetry of the composition in a satisfying way, and acted as a counterweight to the upstairs window on the left.

I was glad I'd made an early start because when I went out again in the afternoon the wind was blowing the ice crystals off, forcing me to keep my camera covered, and each tree had a patch of white below that grew ever bigger as the day progressed.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 161mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 3200
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wintry weeping willow

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I was born and raised in an upland area of north-western Britain, a region where the willow tree is something of a stranger. It's not that you don't see them: ornamental specimens are found in gardens, and they can be seen in river valleys. But, willows are not as plentiful as in lowland Britain, and the ash, beech, and other species greatly outnumber them. It was only when I moved to eastern England that I began to appreciate the species.

The willow is one of the earliest trees to come into leaf in spring, and one of the last to lose them in autumn. A very large specimen that grows in my garden near a stream sheds its leaves so late that for the past couple of years I've had to wait until the first snow has melted to clear the last of them away. But, this is a minor inconvenience when set against the beauty of the willow. The soaring, arching boughs and the cascades of supple, slender twigs give it an unmistakable shape. Its spear-shaped leaves - soft green or yellowish above, with a silver tinge below - are equally distinctive. Ancient trees are often missing a branch or a major limb, only the broken stump remaining, and frequently throwing out shoots. "Crack willow" is the old name for the tree because of the way it splits and cracks when assaulted by high winds. But, although it gives way to the elements relatively easily it can keep on growing for centuries, even the most shattered trunk or a fallen bough having the capacity to spring back to life. In the days when branches were used for fencing, clothes props and other garden and farm duties, people noted the way in which a piece of cut willow would often take root and begin throwing out shoots and leaves, the life force within trying to re-establish itself. Today this quality is exploited by artists who use the supple branches for weaving living sculptures.

Today's photograph shows part of a row of willows that lines the stream that goes on to flow through my garden. A hoar frost that accompanied a fog left the branches almost completely white, looking like cascades of water falling down a cliff. The subtle magnificence of the thousands of delicate lines curving downwards caused me to stop, wonder, then go in to the house for my camera. Through the viewfinder this composition reminded me of an etching or a scraperboard drawing.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 147mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/160
ISO: 1000
Exposure Compensation: +0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Black and white on a grey day

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On a recent visit to Newark, when the weather forecasters promised sunshine and cloud and the elements delivered leaden skies, mist and drizzle, I said to my wife, "I think any shots I get today will be black and white". It's perfectly possible to tease colour photographs out of lifeless days, but a brief appearance by even a weak and watery sun can make all the difference (as this winter landscape shows).

But, that day the sun made no appearance at all, and so I concentrated on images that looked like they might work in monochrome, (see yesterday's) and in my search for colour I tried a few indoor shots. Today's photograph was taken for two reasons. Firstly, it shows ice on a large stretch of water, something that until last year wasn't too common a sight in our Gulf Stream caressed islands. And secondly, it seemed a suitable subject and lighting for a black and white image. The River Trent is a navigable river that flows through Newark and several other large towns and cities. At this point a canal-like loop was taken off the main flow and warehouses and locks were built to serve the barges and the town's industries. Today the warehouses are waterside flats and most of the river traffic is pleasure craft, some of which are berthed at a nearby marina. However, enough remains of the infrastructure from the Industrial Revolution to give an idea of how the area must have been in its hey-day.

The big disadvantage of a dull day as far as black and white goes is the absence of deep shadow and the consequent dearth of drama, contrast and three-dimensional modelling that shadows can offer. So here I looked for a grey shot to reflect the grey day and concentrated on the details of the buildings and water.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 105mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/60
ISO: 200
Exposure Compensation: -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On