Congestion on the A82
Glencoe, 21 December 2007. It's the Friday before Christmas and the morning is crisp with blue skies and a heavy frost. And it seems that every other landscape photographer has had the same idea as me. Time to head off the beaten track..........
Early Morning Light on the Buchaille
The first day of my holiday and I awoke at the Clachaig Inn to clear skies and a hard frost. With nothing to do but to brave the supermarket in Fort William before catching the ferry, it seemed that Christmas had come early.
Over breakfast, I started to formulate a plan. My first stop would be a short distance along the Glen Etive road where I would strike out along the banks of the River Coupall to capture the early morning light on Buchaille Etive Mor where one of the falls would provide strong foreground interest. And strike out I did, only to find two other photographers jostling for position on the steep sides of the river. This was a first. Other than a slightly surreal passing encounter with a photographer at 6am one morning last September at Altnafeadh a little further along the main road, I'd never had to queue for an image before. As I stood on the path, trying to decide whether or not to try to stake my claim, I was conscious of someone at my shoulder. Another landscaper, and with exactly the same idea. After exchanging pleasantries, I decided to retreat. After all, part of the joy in landscape photography for me is the solitude, that feeling of being alone with the elements, watching the light changing across the landscape as if it is a show put on for me and me alone.
I didn't retreat very far because the warm rays of the sun were starting to strike the summit slopes of Stob Dearg on the Buchaille. This coupled with the icy boulders in the burn were difficult to resist so I retraced my steps to the road, crossed the bridge and then scrambled precariously over the frozen rocks, crawling on all fours at some points. Eventually, I managed to get myself and the tripod into position and the image to the left is the result. Balancing the exposure between the light on the distant mountain and the shade of the gorge was challenging, but I was pleased with the result. I could hear the voices of the photographers up above me, further along the bank, but I was out of sight and that gave me some semblance of solitude. After trying out portrait and landscape orientations and making some abstract images of the flowing water and frozen rocks, it was time to move on.
When I returned to the car, the others were long gone, but I knew that I could predict with certainty where they would be. Sure enough, as I travelled south along the A82, they had joined the photographic throng at Lochain na h-Achlaise and Loch Ba and were capturing the warm light on the flanks of the Black Mount. It's an iconic image which has graced the pages of countless books and magazines. But it was not for me that morning and I sped past. At Bridge of Orchy, I turned left and headed out to Inveroran at the far end of Loch Tulla, in the very heart of the Black Mount. After a short walk, I spent a happy hour or so photographing the frozen loch and the mountains, including the first Munro I climbed many years ago, Stob Choire Odhair (in far less pleasant weather conditions). As the sun rose above the hills above me, and I heard the sharp, staccato crack of the ice beginning to melt, I knew that I had made the right decision to travel out this way and to avoid the crowds. But there was one crowd which I couldn't avoid and there was nothing for it but to head northwards to Fort William and do battle in the supermarket aisles.
As I rejoined the main road at Bridge of Orchy, I pondered that old landscape conundrum. Should we avoid the familiar vistas and always seek out new locations and new views? Is there any case for revisiting the famous sites and sights, quite literally setting your tripod legs in the marks of the thousands of landscape photographers who have gone before you? This is a subject to which I shall return.
