Wanderings

West Side Story

There may not be many Sharks in the waters around Shetland, and precious few Jets frequent the runways at Sumburgh, but West Side Story seems to be a pretty good summary of the last few weeks on Shetland.

Old Coastguard Lookout at Gloup Ness

My intention had been to spend time exploring the northern extremities of Shetland. I did get as far far north as Gloup Ness at the top end of Yell, but I've spent more time exploring the west edges of Shetland.

I've revisited Eshaness, I've been back to Sandness, I've explored the far side of St Ninian's Isle and Fitful Head and I've walked at Fulga Ness and around Banna Minn. And of course I've spent time wandering Scatness.

One of the encouragements to venture west is the ever-changing Shetland weather. Rather strangely over the last couple of weeks the winds on Shetland have been very light, and it’s been rather easier than usual to walk some of the cliffs without fear of being buffeted over the edge.

The west side of Shetland is traditionally the ‘exposed’ side – the houses are usually oriented so that the door (often only one so that a through draught can’t cause havoc inside) is on the more sheltered east side. These western locations are also often very sparsely populated, and in some cases are just sites for lookout posts or a light houses, encouraging passing shipping to keep well away. The wild winds and the churning seas (carried the full power of the Atlantic Ocean along with them) have over the millennia blasted away any fragile rocks or vegetation, and every location is characterised by a storm-bound beauty.

Eshaness

Eshaness. The poster child of Shetland. Eshaness regularly pops up when a dramatic Shetland cliff-scape is required. The dumpy little lighthouse doesn’t need to be any bigger, it stands at the edge of a high cliff looking straight out to sea.

Fugla Ness

Fugla Ness. There are lots of light houses around the Shetland coastline. The well-known ones, the major lights, are the lighthouses at Sumburgh or Eshaness or Muckle Flugga. There are also a series of minor lights dotted around the coast too.

On Fugla Ness, one of the minor lights marks the route into Hamna Voe.

Banna Minn

Banna Minn. At the southern end of the Burras, the narrow finger-shaped islands on the west side of Shetland, is the long curved sheltered beach at Banna Minn, the island on the south end of the beach includes one of the traditional Shetland boat-houses, a common 'second use' for boats that had passed beyond seafaring.

St Ninian's tombolo at low tide

St Ninian’s Isle. A little south of the Burras is another of Shetlands iconic coast scenes, the tombolo at St Ninian’s Isle. When the tide is high the island become a real island, at low tides the double-sided beach offers waves from both north and south. If you venture round to the far side of St Ninian’s you’ll get a glimpse of a more rugged side of the island. The rocks fend off the waves that roll in from the Atlantic, the next bit of land to the west is the southern tip of Greenland about 1400 miles away.

Scat Ness

Scatness. The southwest corner of Shetland, Scat Ness had traces of habitation back over 2000 years, and standing here with only the sea birds, seals and the occasional otter for company, it’s not hard to imagine that the landscape hasn't changed much over that time. Over the years a few walls, and small stone enclosures (called planticrubs) have been built, but the coast line probably hasn’t seen too many changes.

There are more of these images online on Flickr, and they will also be part of my exhibition during Oxford Artweeks in the second half of May.

Adding to the blog

I've been building this site for about 10 years, over that time it's evolved from a place to just post pictures to having lots of thoughts and observations about travel and photography, and posts about the places I've visited. There are now over 600 posts and despite the Labels block on the left hand side, it's not alway easy to find things.

So, I've now added a couple of extra areas to the site - there are links in the page header.

Place Notes. These are notes about the logistics about getting to some of the places I've been to over the past few years. Currently there are notes about the Arctic and Antarctic places I've been to and links to blog posts about the areas.

Popular Posts. There's also a list of some of the more popular posts on the blog.

And I've added a new header too - this one is of Sumburgh Head in Shetland Islands taken from Scat Ness.

Changing Islands

Framing the Story

In the second-half of May I'll be showing pictures at Oxford Artweeks.

I've regularly visited - and sometime bought at - other peoples exhibits at Artweeks in past years, but this is the first time I've committed to doing my own show.

One of the challenges in putting any collection together is finding a theme. At one level it's tempting to go with 'Really Nice Pictures I Have Taken' or 'Nice Places I've Been To', but while these might satisfy the photographer or artist putting the exhibition together it doesn't really do much for the visitor pitching up to see the pictures.

As I've been pulling together images for the exhibition, and based on experiences at the Jam Factory I'm going to have images in a range of sizes from 6 x 9 inches up to A1 (23 x 33 inches), I've been thinking about themes or stories that are going to mean something to people coming to look at the images

A while ago I decided that the broad theme was going to be "Islands", but within that I keep coming back to the idea of change within the various islands I've visited over the last few years. On many of the islands I've visited there is a tension between traditional activities and change.

On South Georgia the change at this point is all about habitat restoration.

Orca - never a whalers target, and still
common around South Georgia

The island of South Georgia was discovered (probably) in the 17th Century, but it didn't really make it onto the radar until the early 19th Century when it was regarded as a resource to be exploited - over about 100 years sealers and whalers did their best to kill pretty much all the (mammal) wildlife either on the island and in the waters around it. And the reality is that they didn't stop until it became uneconomic to carry on.

Once the exploitation stopped the whalers (who were the last to leave), just abandoned the islands and went back home. In recent years the push has been to help the indigenous wildlife recover.

The fur seals, who were driven close to extinction, have now reclaimed the islands and the beaches, and the penguins have also recovered very significantly. The whale populations haven't recovered, and despite the recent move to out-law commercial whaling in the Antarctic (under any label) it's unlikely that the whale population will ever recover to the level it was at in the early part of the 20th Century. On land, however, work is underway to return the island to close to its original state.

Abandoned whaling station, Stromness Bay

Several of the whaling stations have been cleared completely, others have essentially been 'made safe', and the process of rewilding is happening.

Rats were introduced pretty much as soon as ships reached the island, and over many decades had caused great damage to ground nesting birds (in SG, trees are pretty thin on the ground, so ground nesting is a big deal). Over the last few years a project has been under-way to spread poison across the island to attempt to eradicate the rat population. There is limited window to do this work, which is only logisically possible because the island is currently divided, by glaciers, into manageable zones. Once global warming has forced the glaciers to retreat from the coastline, rats would have run of the island and any attempt at eradication would have been fruitless.

Reindeer, Ocean Harbour on South Georgia

The second big project was to tackle a rather larger introduced species, reindeer. In the early 20th Century Norwegian whalers introduced reindeer to provide meat at the whaling stations. The landscape suited reindeer well, and when the whalers finally left in the 1960s the reindeer remained, and until recently roamed freely across the island. At one level there was probably a temptation to leave them alone (killing 'Rudolph' is a harder sell than announcing that rat eradiction is underway), but the increasing population was doing significant damage to the endemic plants so it was decided that it was the right time to cull the herd and allow the island to recover.

I'm interested to see how far it's going to be possible to return South Georgia to its original state - there are relatively few places in the word where this is even possible, South Georgia might be one of them.

Up Helly Aa, Lerwick

In the Shetland Islands change has been a pretty common theme over the centuries. The islands, unlike South Georgia where there is no resident human population, have been populated for over 6000 years, and over that time have seen many changes. It's not clear what how rapid the changes were for the first 5000 years, but over the last 1000 they have been significant and accelerating. The Vikings undoubtedly 'encouraged' some changes (still celebrated in Up Helly Aa each winter). There was a fairly serious tussle between Norway and Scotland over ownership and Hanseatic traders were a big deal across the North Sea throughout the 17th Century, including allowing Shetlanders to become traders for the first time.

After 1707 there were still more changes. The blocking of Hanseatic trade brought significant depression to Shetland, as did the constant switching of land ownership and the occasional suggestion that Shetland should return to being a part of Norway.

Shetlanders have historically relied on the sea as, at least, a major part of their livelihood and that continued right through until the mid-1960s when the final few Shetlanders stopped doing the regular trips down to South Georgia for the whaling, and oil became a major aspect of Shetland life.

Oil brought huge changes to Shetland. It brought many incomers to the islands, the population jumped by about 5000 in a relatively short period of time, and many of these incomers (Sooth Moothers, since they arrive on the ferry through the South Mouth of Bressay Sound) and their families have stayed. The oil also brought huge amounts of development to the islands, from roads, to health centres, to leisure centres.

Camouflaged accommodation barge, Lerwick Harbour

At the moment there is further wave of construction work underway to develop infrastructure around gas extraction in the North Sea off Shetland. That's brought a mini-boom all of its own. A new hotel has been built up near the new gas plant, and it feels like every harbour is filled with floating accommodation for the construction teams.

Not everyone is happy about the huge influx of temporary workers, but any anxiety around this is as nothing compared to the tensions around the proposed development of wind farms on Shetland.

Burradale Wind Farm

There are a limited number of solitary wind turbines around the islands mostly powering single houses or farms, and one slightly more substantial wind farm (with five turbines) at Burradale just outside Lerwick. The tensions surround a proposal to build a wind farm with over 100 turbines about 15 miles north of Lerwick. This proposal has divided the island community and is being chased up and down the Scottish legal system at the moment. The other energy source that being explored, to take the place of oil and gas, is wave power.

Plenty of power in the Shetland Waves

Shetland has plenty of wind, it's probably the weather feature that the visitor first notices when the car door gets ripped from their grip. The other natural, renewable, resource that Shetland has in abundance is wave and tide power. There is due to be an experimental wave turbine tested off the west side of Shetland, it certainly won't be as obvious as the wind turbines are but it is based on experimental technology. In the last couple of days I've also read about a suggestion that a hybrid bridge-tidal-turbine could be constructed across Bluemell Sound between Yell and Unst at the northern end of Shetland.

I think it's fairly inevitable that as oil and gas production ramp down we will see renewable resources come further to the fore. I wouldn't like to bet on whether that's going to be based on wind or water, but whichever it is, I'm guessing it's going to involve more change on Shetland.

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.