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March 2006
The thermometer read -7 degrees Celsius as I quickly ate my breakfast, aware that the sun was beginning to make its morning entrance outside. I shovelled
toast into my mouth and took a last gulp of hot tea before making a dash out of the door. I wanted to get out before the sun had a chance to burn off the
morning mist or melt the frost that had turned the outside world into a white and sparkly land glistening in the low and golden sunlight.
I had come to Scotland to capture some classic winter mountain landscapes. Scottish weather is unpredictable at the best of times, and while my main worry
before I arrived was that there might be too much snow for me to safely get to where I would want to be, the reality was actually that a touch more of the
white stuff on the mountain tops wouldn’t have gone amiss. But you work with what you’ve been given. At least small amounts of snow and ice did linger in the
deeper gullies giving a bit of interest and depth to the mountain faces.
I drove the few miles from the B&B to Rannoch Moor in the Highlands, my chosen location for the day, and it was a fantastic morning. I had never seen
conditions like it before, despite numerous previous trips to the area during the winter. In fact, so magical was the landscape in front of me that as soon as
I saw it pull into view through my car windscreen, I let out a squeal of excitement and felt like a child in a toy shop. Wanting to take it all in, yet being
too restless to focus properly on any one thing. Just spinning around and around in amazement. The sun was shining down from a rich blue sky, and on the
ground, everything was white and sparkling, as a hoar frost had coated every surface. A light mist hung in the glens below the mountain peaks, and the whole
scene looked unreal. I had never witnessed hoar frost before, although I’d obviously seen it in other people’s pictures. But the reality of it really took my
breath away. It looked like I’d stepped into an infrared photograph where all the trees and bushes were a stark and bright white.
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Black Mount and Lochan na h'Achlaise, Rannoch Moor. |
I stopped the car by the side of the road, attached my camera to my tripod, hung my light meter round my neck, stuffed my pockets with my filters, pulled on
my pink woolly hat and bounded over the small mound between the car and Lochan na h’Achlaise – a small glacial loch which has appeared in numerous people’s
photographs. Although I carry all my camera equipment in a rucksack, where practical, I try to leave the bag in the car and just take out with me what I feel
that I need at the time. I prefer to carry everything close at hand instead of having to faff around with opening rucksacks on wet ground and rummaging
to find what I am after. Luckily, Rannoch Moor lies right on the A82 to Fort William. It’s the major trunk road running through the Western Highlands and one
of the most beautiful parts of the country lies right there. Just metres to the side of it. In my haste and excitement it wasn’t until I reached the shore of
the lochan that I realised I had forgotten to bring any film with me and had to dash back to the car. I took a deep breath to calm and relax myself, forcing
me to think about what I was about to do. The last thing I wanted was to run around like a headless chicken just snapping away because I wanted to record
everything. That would only lead to disaster with too many poor pictures taken with far too little thought. It is much better to return home having only taken
one fantastic photograph, than a whole film of mediocre and boring ones. I decided to start with the classic view of Lochan nah h’Achlaise with the Black
Mount behind it, and climbed over the mound again, heading towards the water.
The amazing weather conditions hadn’t gone unnoticed by other photographers in the area, as it seemed they had all swarmed to this infamous beauty spot, with
no less than 6 of us all vying for the best viewpoints along the lochan’s eastern shore. It was almost as if we were on a conveyor belt. As soon as one
photographer left a particular spot with a great view, someone else moved over and took their place. I smiled at one of the photographers and we had the
familiar "What camera are you using then?" and "Great weather, isn’t it?" conversations before parting ways and continuing to take photos
just a few metres apart.
Later on that day, I spotted presumably the same group of photographers huddling around the eastern shore of Loch Tulla as the sun was about to make its
final downward descent. But I wouldn’t follow the crowd this time. I knew a better location and continued to head round the other side of the loch where the
colours of the setting sun would illuminate the mountains across the water with the day’s last golden rays instead.
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