Wanderings

Eshaness

I love the wildness of Esha Ness.

I don't think I've ever arrived at Esha Ness, and not immediately gone "wow". Sometimes at the car-door ripping strength of the wind and always at the sheer grandeur of the volcanic landscape.

If you stand at the Esha Ness Lighthouse - it's a little lighthouse, it can afford to be little since it's on top of a 200 ft cliff - and look out to sea, you feel like you are on the edge of the world.

If you look North, aside from the little bump that is Muckle Oss and Little Oss, there's nothing else in that direction, until you start going down the far side of the world

If you look West there's nothing until you hit the southern tip of Greenland.

Carry On Blipping

I was interested to find a paper this week from blippers Fotomatikus and EveF about Blipfoto and it's place in everyday routines, and it made me think about why I blip on a daily basis. It was particularly interesting coming just at the point when I had decided to sign up for life membership of Blipfoto.

Size Matters II

A theme seems to be emerging in my recent blog posts and conversations - it's all about size.

I blogged about moving to bigger prints for exhibitions (which is a good thing), I waxed lyrical about how modest my camera bag was, at least in comparison to Samuel Bourne's (again a good thing) and most recently I got into a conversation with a fellow photographer about big lenses.

In that conversation I found I kept coming back to the weight of kit that was involved. I did, at one time, have a 400 mm lens but kept leaving it behind because I didn't really want the extra weight that the camera represented or the big tripod that it demanded. Time after time I've found that I want to limit myself to kit that can be hand-held, and that doesn't require weeks of extra gym work before I can move it.

Nikon D700

If I flip open my camera bag today I'll find four cameras. They've all got Nikon badges and they've all got different sized sensors. At the one end there is a D700 (full frame - 36mm,12MP sensor, well over 1 kg in weight), then a D200 (10MP, 24mm sensor and about 900g), then a V1 with a 10MP (13mm) sensor (but less than 400g) and finally an AW100 (for when the going gets really wet) with a 16MP 6mm sensor but well under 200g. And the AW100 weight includes the lens, all the others need glass added.

So how would I rank the cameras, by weight or sensor size (which also reflects price)? By pixel count? Or by convenience, on the basis that the best camera is the one you have with you at the critical moment. Or perhaps we get into more esoteric measures like auto-focus or shutter response times. Is there anything more frustrating that pressing the shutter only to find that the event you want to capture has passed in the time it took the camera to respond?

My default behaviour so far, which perhaps reflects the financial investment, is that for serious photography I reach for one of the big cameras. The big camera and big lens is part of the uniform; big camera, he's a real photographer. Almost all the pictures I've taken for exhibitions or sales have been taken on the D700 or D200. The AW100 is for fun, wet photography on zodiacs or on windswept beaches. The V1 is for trips or outings when photography is incidental.

I think it's time to give the V1 a chance to compete.

If I look back through my daily pictures on Blipfoto, I see that since I acquired the V1 in late 2012, almost exactly half of my daily pictures have been taken on that camera. I first looked at the V1 when it came out in 2011, and decided that it was too expensive and didn't have a good enough range of lenses. A while later Nikon slashed the price just when I was looking for a compact-size camera that could take RAW images and I joined in, but have really just been using the V1 as a compact with the bundled 10-30 mm lens. There was a period of time when I thought the signs coming out of Nikon were that the 1 series was an experiment that wasn't going well. At that time further investment in the few 1 series lenses that existed didn't seem like a good move.

Nikon V1

More recently however there have been additions to both the cameras and lenses in the range, including an all-weather camera and lens set, and also a couple of much better (for which read expensive) lenses. And there is much speculation about improved cameras and lenses to match in the near future.

So what’s the conclusion? I was right that bigger prints are better. It’s certainly true that having camera kit that doesn't need a team of porters to move it is better, but what about the camera and sensor?

The physicist in me says that bigger pixels should be better, i.e. the image quality should be better on a big 12MP sensor than on a small 12 MP sensor, but that an experiment to see what this means in actual use would be a good idea. The wimp in me says that a lighter camera would be better. The photographer in me says I need to get out and take pictures rather than think about sensor sizes.

So when I next head out to make pictures, I'm planning to concentrate on using the V1. I’ll be interested see the results.

Size Matters

Polar Bears,from the top A1,
24x16 inches in 50x70cm frame,
12x8 in 16x12 frame

I suppose I've been a bit cautious about getting big prints made from my photographs.

In the past I've tended to get prints made at either book size or a little bit bigger, and for the exhibition at the Jam Factory I had a lot of prints made up in12x8 inch formats. These images look good in a household setting, and when framed it's not too hard finding a suitable sized bit of wall space.

However, in an office or gallery setting, images at this size can look a bit lost, and when I came up with the idea of putting some images outside for my Artweeks exhibition, it forced me to think about bigger images.

First step was a small batch of images printed up at 24x16 inches - these work fine, and mount up nicely in standard 50x70 cm frames (always good to get a healthy mix of imperial and metric into the same project). But that still doesn't feel quite big enough for outside use.

Next step was to find someone to print up bigger images, and do them in a format that isn't going to need a big frame, and in a form that can cope with the vagaries of the British weather. The Artweeks exhibition isn't until May, but I'm not putting any bets on the rain having stopped by then.

After a bit of investigation I turned to printed.com in Northumberland. They've made up a set of A1 (840 mm wide) display boards for me, with the images printed directly onto a 3mm thick Forex substrate, then laminated.

These images look fantastic. The colours look really bright, the images are very sharp and on first test at least I think these will be able to cope with May showers in Oxfordshire. I think I've got space for four more images in my "outside gallery".

I wonder how much bigger I can go. Next step, renting an advertising hoarding somewhere?

Getting Closer

I've been experimenting with getting closer.

Over the last few days I've been picking some of the pretty faces from my wildlife collection.

When photographing wildlife I usually try and capture the whole creature so that the image includes some context or background along with the animal itself.

Sometimes this tells a complete story, why the animal is doing what it is. In other cases the image tells too much of the story, these close ups don't tell the whole story, they leave you to fill in the rest.

The images here will be part of the collection that I have on show during Oxford Artweeks in May 2014. If you really can't wait that long, and happen to be in Oxford, some of the these images are on show in Coco Noir - a splendid little coffee shop and chocolatier on the London Road in Headington.

The Atlas

Despite my pre-occupation with things digital, from pictures to e-books to audiobooks, I do have an unfortunate book buying habit.

My shelves are creaking under the rows of guidebooks, travel writing books, bird watching books and photography books. And atlases. The atlas collection ranges from 1898 through to 2010.

At one end of the collection is a copy of The XXth Century Citizen’s Atlas edited by J.G. Bartholemew in 1898, which includes countries from Abyssinia to Zululand, and there is a plate marked “British Empire”, with almost 11 million square miles shaded in the traditional pink. Further into the volume, the “South Polar Regions” plate includes the annotation “ANTARCTICA (Unexplored South Polar Continent)”.

Further along the shelf is The Oxford Home Atlas of the World, which has been on my various desks since it was a homework reference book in 1968. The list of countries in that volume runs from Afghanistan to Zambia, and there isn’t “British Empire” listed anywhere.

The next landmark, chronologically, is a concise edition of The Times Atlas of the World, this particular edition is dated 1996. Afghanistan still starts the list, but the end point is now Zimbabwe.

If I want a different perspective on the world there are a bundle of more esoteric volumes including an Atlas of World History and an Atlas of Victorian and Edwardian Britain, and more radically a copy of the Peters Atlas of the World, which claims to show ‘The Earth in true proportion for the first time”. This is a fantastic volume, and it really is refreshing to see the world in a different shape.

The newest atlas in my collection is also my favourite.

This atlas, published in 2010, isn’t one I’ll turn to as a reference when trying to figure where the latest international news story is happening, but it is one that I turn to when I want to be transported by my imagination.

The Atlas of Remote Islands by Judith Schalansky is delightful in so many ways. The author, who grew up in East German without the prospect of international travel, not only wrote the book she also designed every aspect of it right through to creating the font that has been used.

The subtitle of the book Fifty Islands I have not visited and never will perhaps gives a flavour of how travel was regarded behind the Berlin Wall. I often wonder whether the author has visited any of the islands listed in the book. Every time I look at the book I start to think about how I might get to some of the islands that are listed.

I don’t think I’ll get to all of the islands, but I can cross two off the list already, and hopefully I’ll get to a third one later in the year.

Images of Ascension and Deception Islands

Two of the Fifty Islands, Ascension Island (left) and Deception Island.

Travelling Light?

I’ve been known to grumble about the weight of my camera bag. When I’m packing for a long trip the bag is likely to weigh in at 12 or 13 kg once I’ve added in a laptop and tripod. However, a talk I went to recently made me think that maybe that’s not really too bad.

The talk, at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, was by Hugh Rayner of Pagoda Tree Press and covered the early years of photography in India, from 1860 to the end of the 19^th century. The talk included the work of numerous photographers across India including amateurs from the well-heeled English and Indian communities and some of the early professionals.

The character from the talk that grabbed my imagination was the British-born photographer, Samuel Bourne. After a few years of amateur photography in the UK in the late 1850s and early 1860s, he decided it was time to quit his job in banking and head out to India to work as a professional photographer. Bourne spent six years in India, working in partnership with variety of other photographers; one of the partnerships he established, Bourne and Shepherd, went on to become the society photographers in India in the 20^th century, and is still operating today.

During his time in India, Bourne undertook three major expeditions, and these were the adventures that really grabbed my imagination. The first two trips were from Simla up into the Sutlej Valley and into Kashmir, the third trip lasted six months and went high into the Himalayas, up to about 18,000 feet probably establishing an early altitude record for photography.

My photographic kit collection, entirely digital and fitting into one backpack, is very modest compared to the one used by Bourne. He was also working using 10 x 8 inch glass plates, and on a six month trip took a several hundred images. The fragile plates which couldn't be ‘backed-up’ other than by making contact prints, were very susceptible to damage either by scratching or, at the disastrous end of the spectrum by dropping.

On these trips, Bourne used the 'wet collodion' process which requires that the photographic plates are made up, exposed and then processed in a very short period of time.

So on this trip Bourne not only needed a camera and lenses (lots of wood and brass) and tripod, he also had lots of heavy glass plates and a mobile dark-room. To move this lot around he had a team of about 40 porters travelling with him – there are clearly some advantages with modern photography.

On the other hand, Bourne never found himself half-way up a remote valley with his batteries running out...

Pick a Colour

One of my resolutions this year (maybe vague goals is a better term) was to try and take a few more sunrise pictures. I'd clocked up quite a few decent sunset images, but I've never been so good at catching sunrise ones.

Oxford Sunrise, 07:58 on 5th January

I'd photographed one or two sunrises in Oxford during January, but it seemed like a good idea to try and add some early images to my Shetland collection. It had also occurred to me that the newly installed mini-lighthouse at the Sumburgh Head car park (moved from Muckle Roe during the autumn) might be in the right place to use as a prop with the sunrise images.

Muckle Roe light at Sumburgh Head, 10:23 on 2nd February

This morning I succeeded in getting out of the house ahead of the sunrise (which was at 08:15 on Shetland).

07:43 on 3rd February

07:48 on 3rd February

07:53 on 3rd February

07:57 on 3rd February

08:03 on 3rd February

08:05 on 3rd February

Snow, Wind and Fire

The last week has provided some entertaining travel challenges and photographic opportunities.

I've been spending time in Aviemore in the Cairngorms photographing The Siberian Husky Club of Great Britain Aviemore Sled Dog Rally, before heading further north, via a rather bumpy ferry crossing to Shetland to watch the always dramatic Up Helly Aa in Lerwick.

The annual Aviemore Rally is the biggest event in the British sled dog racing calendar, and while it might not be the Iditarod, it does bring together several hundred enthusiastic drivers and handlers and well over 1000 dogs. The big question ahead of the event is always “Will it be a Snow Rally?” The Iditarod may be able to rely on having snow (although I gather they did need to move the start point a few years ago to guarantee having deep enough snow), but the lower slopes of Scottish mountains in January are always going to be a bit hit and miss in terms of snow cover.

This year the event was 'blessed' with temperatures mostly just above freezing and quite a lot of heavy rain and sleet, so the rally was run with the dogs pulling three-wheeled rigs and the sleds stayed strapped to the vans and cars that had brought them to the Cairngorms. On both days of the main event, the weather followed the same pattern; rain/sleet/snow and wind in the morning followed by a bit of sunshine in the afternoon. The morning runs, which were mostly the bigger dog teams or 6 or 8 dogs, were generally in pretty poor conditions with very little opportunity for action photography, but the afternoon runs with small teams were run with bright sunshine and snow on the ground in some places at least. The sunshine put smiles on the faces of the drivers and the ever enthusiastic sled dogs looked even more enthusiastic than usual.

Once the dogs and drivers had headed back to their vans, and the sleds and rigs put away, most of the teams headed back south, while I headed across the Cairngorms to see what was happening with the Shetland ferries. Throughout the run up to the Aviemore Rally the news had been full of reports of disruption to the travel throughout the UK, mostly caused by flooding in the south of the country and elsewhere by high winds blowing in from the east. The Rally was on the west side of the Cairngorms so was at least a little sheltered, although the Cairngorm ski operations higher up the mountains were pretty much blown out for the weekend.

The Northlink ferry between Aberdeen and Shetland runs every night of the year, but just occasionally the weather intervenes and the ferries need to stay in port. Last week the ferries didn’t run over the weekend, and were cancelled again on Tuesday, but remarkably the ferry did run on Monday night when I had booked to travel. This was also the last ferry ahead of the Up Helly Aa fire festival in Lerwick, the high point of the winter on Shetland. The ferries north are always busy with huge numbers of people coming to Shetland for Up Helly Aa – but the weekend cancellations ensured that the boat really was completely filled. The boat pitched and rolled its way north from Aberdeen, every now and again putting in an extra dramatic roll to keep everyone on their toes. I was grateful to be lying down in a dark cabin for the duration of the crossing, and my only major shock was a loud crash from the galley or bar above my head at some point as we crossed the Noost (also called the Fair Isle Channel, the bit of sea between Fair Isle and Shetland that is rough even when the sea looks calm!). I think everyone was relieved when we got into Lerwick about an hour ahead of schedule.

Up Helly Aa is a fire festival which celebrates the Viking traditions that stretch back deep into Shetland’s history. Up Helly Aa in its current form started in the late 19th Century, and the highlight of the event is the procession through the streets of Lerwick led by the Jarl Squad (in full Viking regalia) and several hundred supporters carrying a flaming torches. The Squad drag a replica Viking long-boat, which at the end of the procession is torched in a ceremony resembling a Viking funeral.

Up Helly Aa Day on Shetland is very busy, usually starting with a procession to the harbour front for a photocall before the Jarl Squad tour the town visiting schools, hospital and the Shetland Museum. Although the Shetland weather isn’t allowed to interfere with the celebrations, there are occasionally a few variations – this year the strong easterly winds meant that the harbour-front photocall was relocated to somewhere just a little bit more sheltered.

The weather did, remarkably, co-operate for the procession. Despite some heavy showers of rain through the day, it did stay dry for the procession and the burning, and the strong winds ensured that the blaze was very spectacular.

Once the blaze has died down, the Up Helly Aa party gets into full swing, with the celebrations carrying on through to breakfast time the following morning. The next day is, perhaps unsurprisingly, regarded as an extra public holiday for many people on Shetland.

There are more images from both the Aviemore Rally and Up Helly Aa on Flickr, just follow the links.

The two events almost always coincide, the Rally on the last week-end in January, and Up Helly Aa on the last Tuesday, I think I might just put these dates into my 2015 diary.

A Week Photographing the Local Patch

I'm very fortunate in being able to divide my non-travelling time between houses in Shetland and in Oxford. One thing I've noticed is that around Shetland I usually work quite hard at finding photographs, but in Oxford the pictures I take tend to be grabbed as I'm doing other things.

In some ways this is a function of the how I have, until recently, used the two places.

Oxford was where I spent my commuting and desk time, so inevitably photography needed to fit around other activities. Shetland was mostly down-time. It was where I came for R&R, and there was always time to find, and take or make, photographs. Maybe it's also true that I was more energised by the wildness of the Shetland landscapes and seascapes than by the rural and urban landscapes around Oxfordshire.

This week, in Oxford, has been a bit different.

Sunday: Dramatic start to the week

I made the optimistic decision, perhaps encouraged by last Sunday's dramatic sunrise, that I was going to seek out photo opportunities rather than just hope that something would turn up each day.

Monday: Talking about my pictures at the Jam Factory

The weather around Oxford certainly co-operated with my decision. Lots of heavy rain transformed Oxford into something more like Venice, but the heavy rain almost completely avoided the daylight hours and some bright winter sunshine gave every incentive to get out with camera in hand. The floods around Oxford have transformed many of the familiar scenes of fields and roads into lakes and canals, and provided new perspectives on familiar places.

Tuesday: Oxford Botanics and the overflowing River Cherwell

Tuesday: Paddling on the Thames

Tuesday: Abingdon Road

I've walked, and waded, familiar paths but seen them very differently. I've walked through parts of Christ Church Meadow, and seen the Cherwell spread way beyond it's normal boundaries. I've looked down at the Thames as it spreads it's way around Iffley Lock. I've also seen the chaos around the Abingdon and Botley Roads in Oxford as normal business gets put completely on hold.

Wednesday: River Thames looking to Iffley

Wednesday: Annie's Tearoom car park, Thrupp

A little bit further out of town I've got to places where there has been some flooding, but not quite the same disruption. Annie's tearoom at Thrupp, just north of Oxford, stayed in business but was advising against using the car park.

Thursday: Botley Road

Thursday: Allotments beside Botley Road

Port Meadow has flooded, as it is supposed to do, but at least the council car park was still usable, even if the picture area looked a bit damp.

Friday: Port Meadow

My final stop of the week was to out to Otmoor, to see what all the rain had done to the water levels there. As you might expect, the fields around the RSPB reserve had been transformed into shallow lakes, but under blue skies looked very dramatic, and I was even rewarded by an evening display from 50,000 roosting starlings.

Saturday: RSPB Reserve at Otmoor

Saturday: Starling Murmuration over the Otmoor reedbeds

And to round out the week, another Sunday Sunrise.

Sunday: Another lovely sunrise

Some of these images have already appeared in my blip daily photo (www.blipfoto.com/rossmackenzie), and if you want to see more from pictures from this week, there others on my flickr account. (www.flickr.com/rossmackenzie).

One interesting suggestion was to retake the watery images once things have dried out - I'll be doing that, but I suspect it'll be a few weeks before it's possible.

How Close?

One of the really rewarding aspects of having my pictures on display at the Jam Factory over the last couple of months has been the chance to talk to lots of people about both the pictures and places where they were taken.

For a lot of people the highlights seem to have been the wildlife images; the puffins, the penguins and particularly the polar bears. And the most common question about the polar bears - how close were you?

Close to the waters edge, Svalbard

The reality is that for all the pictures I've taken of polar bears, I was on boats of varying sizes and separated from the bears by at least 10 or 12 meters of water. Polar bears are well known for their ability to swim long distances (they aren't called ursus maritimus without good reason), however they don't swim very fast and certainly not fast enough to out-swim a Zodiac.

The bear images, in my mind, fall into two groups.

Some were taken from 'big boats'. In this context a 'big boat' is a 100m long expedition ship, and bear spotting involves seeing bears a long way away then stopping the ship at an ice edge and hoping the bears will come close. The bears natural curiosity, and their constant search for food, means that they will move long distances to investigate.

This family came up close to the expedition ship Ioffe, Northwest Passage, Canada

A ship, particularly if it's quiet, deserves closer scrutiny. In a number of cases, I can remember seeing bears a long way off in the distance, and just waiting until they came within a few metres of the ship, sometimes even standing up to get a good look at the visitors. In this situation, the visiting ship is changing the bears behaviour, but the key is leaving the bear in control, he or she is making the decision to come closer to the visitors.

Getting a closer look at the expedition ship Vavilov, Svalbard

The other group of images, often the more intimate ones, are taken at bears-eye level from Zodiacs. These are very manoeuvrable inflatable boats with outboard motors, which can move in towards the bears to get a closer look at what they are doing. The balance here is getting close enough for good photographs, but not so close that the bears behaviour is changed. My favourite set of bear images were taken from a Zodiac, probably no more than 15 metres from the bears who were in this case completely absorbed in feeding on a old whale carcass washed up into a bay in Svalbard.

Walk the Spine, Svalbard

Concentrating on Lunch, Svalbard

In some cases, particularly with young bears, they will get curious about the visitors in the rubber boats too, and will try and get closer so that they can get a good look. The sensible thing to do at this point is to slowly back away from the bears, but this can provide some great photo opportunities.

Looking at the Zodiacs, Svalbard

You can have a closer look at some of these images at the Jam Factory in Oxford, until 13th January 2014 and on the North South Images website at any time (www.northsouthimages.co.uk)

Antarctica: The Soap Opera.

The great Christmas (and New Year) soap opera this year has been the unfolding icebreaker saga around the Mertz Glacier in East Antarctica with its ever expanding international marine cast list.

The drama has included five boats – four have already made an appearance on stage (or at least on ice), the Akademik Shokalskiy (Russian - the unwilling star), Astrolabe (French), Snow Dragon or Xue Long (Chinese) and Aurora Australis (Australian). The fifth, Polar Star (from the US of A), is the as yet unseen hero what will, perhaps, sail over the horizon in the final act and save the day.

Act One. The saga started on Christmas Day. A vast chunk of old multi-year ice from the Mertz Glacier starts getting blown along the Antarctic coast, neatly wrapping its way around the Akademik Shokalskiy, a small Russian-flagged, Australian-chartered research boat which was attempting to repeat a series of experiments that Douglas Mawson did along the same bit of Antarctic coast about 100 years ago. Their plan was all going swimmingly until they realised that they found themselves trapped behind an increasingly thick and wide ice field. Where once they has been about 2 miles from navigable sea, they were now 12 or 14 miles from open water, and behind ice that far exceeded their ice-rating. This realisation prompted a call to Falmouth in southern England (obviously) – who handed the message on to the Australian Maritime Safety Authority (ASMA) who, to maintain the theatrical metaphor, took on the role of stage manager for the rest of the production. The Shokalskiy, while not in any immediate danger, was not going to be in any position to sort out its own dilemma and was going to require assistance. ASMA put the other three members of the cast on immediate call to provide assistance – all three, as required by the rules of the sea around Antarctica, immediately stopped what they were doing and headed towards the Shokalskiy.

Act Two. Scene One. The Astrolabe made a brief attempt to break through the ice, realised it was out of its depth and exited stage left.

Act Two. Scene Two. Snow Dragon (Zue Long) made an extended attempt to reach the Shokalskiy before eventually realising that it too was struggling. The Snow Dragon stayed lurking on the back stage promising to provide helicopters if the ice breaking plan didn’t work out.

Act Two. Scene Three. The Australian star enters the stage – and makes even more attempts to crash through the ice. Again, without success. The plot then takes its first twist – if one boat can’t do the job maybe two can.

Intermission. To give the media a chance to catch up with the story so far. And the weather a chance to ease a bit.

Act Three. Scene One. If the icebreakers can’t get to the Shokalskiy, maybe the people can be got to the icebreakers. A plan is devised to use the Zue Long’s helicopter to ferry the Shokalskiy’s passengers to the Aurora Australis – and once the weather calms, this is exactly what happens. End of Story.

Act Three. Scene Two. But no, we’ve only just had the intermission, there must be more. Twist Two. With all the Shokalskiy’s passengers (but not the crew) safely on the Aurora Australis, it makes ready to sail off into the sunset (bad metaphor this far south at this time of year), just as the unlikely hero of the story, the Snow Dragon, discovers that sitting still for several days in a thickening ice field isn’t a good idea and sends out its own call for assistance. The stage manager asks the Aurora Australis to remain where it is while the Snow Dragon attempts to unfreeze itself. A little later, the Aurora Australis is told to take its bow and we are left with the Snow Dragon and the Akademik Shokalskiy (and their crews) looking at each other across the stage (or ice field) waiting to see what happens next. Tension Builds.

Act Four (yet to happen). Will the US Coastguard in the form of the icebreaker Polar Star come and rescue our two lead players?

To be continued. Probably for several weeks. Maybe months.

Update: The two trapped characters do, after several days of struggling (and some changing winds), finally manage to extricate themselves from ice and head for open water. And the American hero apparently isn't going to be needed to save the day.

And to answer the obvious question, of course I was filled with envy at the experience the folks on the Shokalskiy have had. They’ll be dining out on this for months – and they certainly should have some good pictures.

Glass Half Full

As we turn the corner from one year to the next, there is always a temptation to reflect on the Old Year and to think ahead to the New.

And the switch from 2013 to 2014 is no exception.

So by way of reflection, with an emphasis on the positive things.

Some of the highlights for 2013 were

1. Celebrated our 25th Anniversary
2. Quit my daily commute, and my day job.
3. Spent more time on Shetland than I had in any previous year.
4. Travelled through along the Northwest Passage in Arctic Canada.
5. Became a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society.
6. Held my first photo exhibition (running until 12th January 2014).
7. Won a, very small, photo competition.
8. Clocked up another 365 images on Blipfoto.

Ice Baffin Bay 2013

And some targets for 2014

1. Developing the ‘Islands’ theme – with a growing list of ‘new’ islands to visit.
2. Returning to the Lofoten Islands (and getting to the western end this time)
3. Returning to the Hebrides (and getting to St Kilda this time).
4. Taking part in Oxford Artweeks.
5. Entering more photo competitions.
6. Spending even more time on Shetland.
7. Clocking up another 365 images on Blipfoto.

We’ll see how these targets stand the test of time.

St Ninians Shetland 2013

Cheers. And Happy New Year.

Place Notes