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April 2008
I arrived at my bed and breakfast with the wind blowing a gale and the cold, wet snow whipping my face red raw. It wasn’t a promising start to my week in Glencoe
in the Scottish Highlands. But if there was one thing I knew from experience, it’s that the weather can change dramatically from one extreme to the next,
within minutes sometimes, in Scotland. So I got settled in, ordered a hot meal, and then for the remainder of the evening I got talking to a few of the walkers
on the West Highland Way who were passing through the hotel bar.
When I woke up the following morning, however, conditions were not any better. Although instead of the driving snow from the day before, there was almost no wind
but thick hill fog. So thick in fact, that it was only with some serious concentrating could you make out the outlines of the bases of the mountains. But as I
sat eating my breakfast and gazing out of the window, I started to believe that the cloud was lifting. Only slightly, just shifting in places. So slowly a ridge
would became more visible and then slowly disappear into the murk again. But it was enough to give me hope.
I decided that while conditions were less than perfect (and knew from the Met Office forecast that the fog was widespread across the region), venturing too far
away from my base would be a waste of energy, so I decided to stay within Glencoe and watch what happened with everyone’s favourite mountain - Buachaille Etive
Mor.
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Buachaille Etive Mor, Scotland, later that day. |
Buachaille Etive Mor is a truly inspiring and awesome mountain. It really does deserve its place in the hearts of the millions who have found themselves
travelling along the A82. Its wonderfully imposing triangular presence announces your entry into Glencoe as you drive through Rannoch Moor to the southeast.
However, because of its beauty, and its ease of access from the side of the road, every man and his dog has made or taken a photograph of the mountain already.
There are even conveniently placed stopping bays located around it for those not willing to do more than wind down a window or stand just outside the car door to
get their photograph. For those who want to take a bit more trouble for their art, there’s the small parking area just before the bridge on the Glen Etive road.
From there it’s simply a skip across the road and you find yourself at a waterfall which graces the foreground of a thousand other photographs. The river also
continues its way around and in front of the mountain, for more foreground interest, and there’s even a well-trodden path made by endless streams of photographers
to guide you round.
Now it may sound like I’m criticising people, but I actually say it with my tongue very firmly in my cheek. For I myself am guilty of all three situations
mentioned (the snapshot from the car, a more composed view from the waterfall, and for adding my footprints to the path by the river). The reason it has become
a bit of a cliché is because it is simply one of the most breathtakingly beautiful views in the country.
Once breakfast was finished, I picked up my camera bag and headed to the aforementioned river. The clouds were definitely doing something. Although they were
still very low, blocking most of the mountains from view, the occasional blue patch of sky was now making its appearance, and disappearance, at semi-regular
intervals. Even though I couldn’t see Buachaille Etive Mor itself, I knew where it would be once it decided to show itself, and with this in mind, starting
along the river on the search for something that would tie the picture together from foreground to background. As I was walking, suddenly about half of the
mountain became visible. I knew that I either had to quickly make an exposure there and then or risk the cloud coming back again, but I hadn’t found what I was
after from the river and hoped that because the mountain had shown itself once, it would do so again.
I was glad I had my wellies on when I eventually located the part of the river I was going to use as my foreground. Setting up my tripod mid-stream, I waited.
Then waited some more. I could see the clouds swirling and evaporating on the mountain to the left, but there seemed to be no change on Buachaille Etive Mor.
Despite wearing two pairs of socks, my toes were beginning to feel the cold of the river filled with snowmelt, but I could also tell that when the cloud decided
to part and show the mountain, I would have to act quickly to get the kind of view I was after, so standing on the bank was not an option. Eventually a small part
of the mountain decided to present itself to those watching. It seemed to take forever for the gap to become larger, as I waited, finger on the cable release
trigger for just the right moment. I wanted the summit to be on view so that even without most of the mountain showing you would get a feeling of completeness,
as even without the rest being visible, you could extrapolate because you knew where the pinnacle was. I stood in the river until my feet went numb, when the
gap showed signs of closing in on itself again. I realised that if I didn’t make the picture now, I probably wouldn’t make one at all that morning. So I pressed
the trigger.
The problem with clichés is that it’s very hard to make a photograph of it that’s really yours. That says something about the way you were feeling at
that time, at that location; instead of it just being a copy of a hundred other pictures you have already seen. I may not have achieved my goal on this visit,
but it’s always nice to have a work in progress at such a beautiful location, and therefore a reason to revisit.
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