Anthotypes – exploring plant-based emulsions on hand-made papers

The first set, using red cabbage, yellow and red onions, coltsfoot and dandelions on left-over Fotospeed Fabriano paper.

For a while, I’ve been musing over how to make the physical production of my artworks more sustainable, my last blog discussed the environmental impact of our hunger for gear and ever-increasing internet usage, and following that my thoughts turned to papers and inks.
A couple of things steered me in the direction of anthotypes – a comment from a friend on Instagram about using lupine emulsion and a chat with Tim Parkin from On Landscape.

Finding ourselves in the low-distraction world of lockdown seemed like the perfect opportunity to start tinkering. My pursuit for sustainability took me down two paths, first sourcing the plant emulsions and secondly making the paper, I’ll talk about both below.
The raw materials: I wanted to use plants that I could find around our home, so I started out by researching possibilities for both. Pretty quickly I decided I didn’t want to use anything particularly poisonous – it would seem counter-intuitive when we’re all so busy trying to avoid illness – which ruled out daffodils, iris and a couple of other possibilities for the paper. I was also limited by the season, I could only use the earliest of spring plants and flowers.

String on handmade recycled paper, using red cabbage, red onion, yellow onion and a mix of coltsfoot and cabbage.

For the paper I settled on willow – we have scrub willows in abundance having let our land regenerate post-grazing for 11 years, they grow back vigorously from every cut which meant I could put aside any tree hacking guilt. For the emulsions, I started with dandelion and coltsfoot, which pleasingly were growing around the base of the willow, happy synchronicity meaning I could potentially make an artwork from a very small area of land. For a bit of variety, I also prepped colours from red and yellow onions and some red cabbage which we’d been carrying around for a few months.

The emulsions were pretty straightforward to prepare, I simply took the raw materials, whole coltsfoot, dandelion heads, cabbage and onion skins and extracted them into a little hot water. I then blended them with a stick blender and strained them through a muslin cloth, and they were ready to go. I did get momentarily distracted when some of the cabbage water froze a little overnight in the fridge, creating a glittering galaxy-scape to explore with my 100mm macro for a while. Plant colours are a lot of fun, if I forgot to mention it.

Frozen cabbage water distractions

The paper was an entirely different ballgame. I had to literally ‘strip the willow’ – ceilidhs will never be the same again – and for some reason decided my fingernails were the ideal tool for this. For those that have never tried it, taking ‘bast’ fibre from willow involves stripping the outer bark from the wood and then separating the outer layer from the inner layer. I need several pounds of this material, and it took me more than one day to process enough. By the end, my fingernails felt very bruised, and I did manage to speed things up a little towards the end by using a potato peeler. As with any long tasks I questioned my sanity a few times but came round to thinking how ironic it is that humans spend so much time inventing time-saving gadgets, then end up burning out and seeking quiet retreats… offering slow, mindful tasks.

Willow Paper

I won’t go into all the ins and outs of the papermaking here as that can be a blog for another day. Suffice to say the paper I made from willow was unexpectedly rustic, and I was glad to also have some that I’d made from recycling various paper scraps from around the house.

I immersed the various papers into different dyes for a few minutes, and agitated them to get a good covering, then left them to dry in a dark place. (If you do this using home made recycled paper from scraps it might not be very strong and can only be dipped for a few seconds without the risk of breaking up.)

Papers left to right: red cabbage (with vinegar), red cabbage, blueberry, blackberry, beetroot

When it came to choosing subjects for exposing, I looked to the garden for attractive flowers and leaves, and also used some of the willow strippings and micro veg we were growing to eat. Lastly, I did some with string, something that I’m always drawn to when I’m playing with alternative processes, you can see a cyanotype exposure made with string here, along with some other experiments and finished pieces.

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In a dark space, I set the paper up with the objects in place and then covered them with a spare piece of glass from the greenhouse. I then put them in the greenhouse on tables, (outside isn’t usually an option for us in Scotland as it can get incredibly windy and wet). I was pleasantly surprised to have weeks of sunshine to work on this, a real rarity where we live.

I left these initial exposures out for a couple of weeks with varying results.

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The red cabbage produced the most striking prints

I also had some other plant type dyes around from a big wool dyeing session last summer so the second batch were set up using spirulina and alkanet root (although I’d forgotten that you need to extract the latter into oil or alcohol which I should have remembered from my soap making days). I ended up adding oil to the extract which immediately turned it red, but now I have some slightly rank smelling bits of paper. The spirulina prints exposed very quickly so were only out for a couple of days. It was one of the only colours that was dark enough to make an impression on the very brown willow paper.

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Working with all natural materials and plants in this way was a rewarding experience and I wanted to see what else I could experiment with and decided to make use of some of the berries we’d stored from last summer, along with two red cabbages which had overwintered in the garden and were being eaten by ants and earwigs, and a little leftover beetroot from the fridge. (I’m a massive fan of using things that are already to hand, especially if they are likely to be wasted otherwise). I had a large sheet from a failed cyanotype which I hadn’t exposed correctly so I decided to create an abstract emulsion wash on the cloth. I rarely get great results when I directly apply colours or inks with a brush, I much prefer to mark-make, pour, recently even using my hair, so although I started applying it with a sponge, I quickly switched to pouring the emulsion, then tipping the table to spread it. Random bubbles started popping up in the fabric, and I could see they were having a pleasing impact on the way the dye was being absorbed, so I began to incorporate some scrunching. You can see the whole process speeded up in this timelapse.

I hung the sheet up to dry and took some photographs to preserve an idea of the original colours, as I knew they would start to fade quite quickly, then I tucked it away for a couple of days waiting for the wind to drop. Yesterday I set the sheet up outside and covered it in wild oat trimmings from the garden, which I’ve also been making cyanotypes with – the tips remind of birds in flight, and the stalks arranged in abstract fashions are reminiscent of mountains. I laid the material quite densely as I want to preserve a significant amount of the original emulsion colours across the cloth during the exposure.

I’m not sure how long it will take to expose but I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes. In the meantime I hope you found that interesting and I’d be really happy to help with any questions you might have about trying out the process, and to see any of your own experiments.

The sheet exposing in the sun, oat trimmings held down by a (re-purposed) perspex sheet.

This is a cyanotype version which shows the effect I’m hoping to achieve with the oats, it’s unlikely to come out as clearly as this with the plant emulsions.

Lastly I should thank the author of this book, which is a mine of information and recommended reading: Anthotypes by Malin Fabbri. And thanks to Katie Ione Craney and Tim Parkin for the flashes of inspiration.

On Living and Working Lightly in a Consumerist Industry

Spiders webs, light and aperture interplay, taken within a few feet of the ‘Time’ shot below.

Right at the beginning of this piece, I want to be clear that my intention is to stimulate debate and discussion, as opposed to preaching or lecturing and I’d very much like to hear other peoples thoughts and opinions on the subject in response.

In a world of built-in obsolescence and yearly upgrades and updates to our phones, computers, cameras, accessories and software it’s not easy to tread a comfortable line between being well equipped and up to date without biting off a much larger share of the worlds resources with each new purchase than is sustainable globally.

A series of images taken of a local burn over a six month period.

The temptation of an extra few megapixels here, and a slightly sharper lens there, a modicum of additional functionality on top is hard to avoid. Yet, I think it’s a relatively widely accepted premise that companies drip feed their releases piecemeal to maximise our purchases every step of the way.

Old Man’s Beard – Playing with multiple exposures and blend modes, although the originals were probably captivating enough on this occasion.

On the other hand, it could be argued that unless you’re regularly printing your photographs at a vast scale a lot of this technology is over-egging the pudding, or using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.

Creating landscapes using the form and shadow of waves.

Partly stemming from the environmental projects Ted and I have been working on, and if I’m frank a degree of laziness and the 10% possibility of getting anything reliably delivered to our new house, over the last year or so we’ve been experimenting with “making do”.  For example, I stupidly caught my filter holder on a balcony the previous year, meaning I lost my favourite filter and the holder.  Initially, I didn’t replace it because I thought I would be able to get it back when I could return to the hotel and get access to the adjacent land, yet even when I realised this hope was fruitless I decided to try and get by with my other (admittedly numerous) accessories.*  For a while, I was often caught lamenting the loss of my beloved 1.2 stop but as time went by I started experimenting with new techniques that would enable me to capture images I liked in a variety of circumstances where I would have quickly reverted to type given my usual kit.  I’ve made work over the last year that I don’t think I could have imagined if it wasn’t for that moment of clumsiness.

Using light and exposure to capture the drama.

As far as my camera body, I haven’t upgraded it for five and a half years now – it does pretty much everything I need it to. While the guys at Canon have generously loaned me other models to try over the years – that undoubtedly are better at certain things – at the moment I can’t see how I would justify buying a new model.  This is also, by the way, a great testament to buying a solid piece of kit that will go the distance and tolerate a high level of abuse.  I feel the same about my rucksacks – one of which I’ve had for about 10 years now (an fstopgear Tilopa).  It’s still my go-to pack and the one I would trust to keep my gear pretty much safe and dry come hell, high water, hail, snow or a gigantic wave (I’ve tried them all except hell so far).  My phone is five years old too, and has seen a fair share of repairs during my scatterbrained custodianship.  Technical clothing is becoming increasingly easier to maintain, with many of the outdoor companies offering repair services, although I’d be really grateful if someone could point me in the direction of a pair of trail running shoes that last more than six months.

Next, we plan to turn our attention to filing – we’ve had the policy over the years of keeping all our shots, with three backups.  Given that we’re probably switching to cloud-based storage, and that data centres require huge amounts of energy, I’m going to do my best to sort out the wheat from the chaff, it will probably be quite liberating and uplifting to whittle things down that way.

I’m not expecting it to be easy, and I imagine I’m still going to have to make the occasional second-hand purchase here and there (my tripod head is a daily annoyance I really need to get round to sorting) but it’s what I’m doing for now.  I’d love to hear other peoples stories, whether it’s solutions they’ve found, issues they struggle with, or contrasting opinions.

Experiments with exposure, Outer Hebrides.

*Honesty fact check! Ted has reminded me that I did buy a really terrible cheap replacement holder from eBay.  I hate it.

Climate Strike – 20 September 2019

Hi all

Unfortunately I live remote from a “climate strike” location but as an photographer exploring issues around climate change I feel I must do something to be a part of this phenomenal movement that I see as the most likely way we will kickstart politicians and industry into “real” action to address climate change.

As such I will instead be trying to send an email with the image below to all UK and EU MP’s MEP’s, together with as many press, CEO’s and other organisations as I can find via a web search.  I will also be posting on Instagram and Facebook.

144 represents the number of months before we reach the 12 year “tipping point” when climate change will become irreversible as quoted by Sir David Attenborough to the UN on 3 December 2018.  I am then thinking I might continue to send them all a gentle monthly update for the next 135 months, including

• crossing off an additional “month”
• a different quote on an issue relating to climate change
• an idea of something “you” could do each month to be part of the solution

But to get this message out I really also need your help.  So I would be super grateful if you could in any way share this with your global friends, followers, members or other parties you may know and by all means forward it to anyone who you think “needs” to see it e.g. CEO’s of major companies, politicians, Donald Trump (I will try too!).

Oh, and if you have any ideas as to how we could otherwise expand the concept and increase awareness I would be very happy to discuss them with you.

the very best for all our tomorrows

t

p.s. The 144 images in “Individually Insignificant Global Time Bombs” were originally shot  using the 21 centuries ultimate disposable product, an iPhone, which we unnecessarily upgrade every two years because industry has programmed us to do so to sell more products.   The images of global products and services are taken in and around a nameless shopping mall that could be anywhere in the world. These everyday items we devour relentlessly, hypnotised by advertising and the desire for convenience and to consume.  That individual plastic straw they gave me at MacDonalds doesn’t count right?!?!?!? 

The 144 month climate tipping point calendar is an ongoing art project and will be updated monthly with a further month crossed out.  A new quote will be added and a suggestion as to what you might do to make a change to your life and be part of the solution.  It will be sent monthly to politicians, leaders, CEO’s and as many people as possible to help raise awareness and proactively offer small contributions you can make to be a part of the solution.  The project was part of our wider Scottish Arts Council funded Upland  “ENERGISE” residency exploring energy and climate change.

Why not join us and make a real difference (if you sign up to our Blog you will receive the update automatically by email

Changing Landscapes/4 – A Different Approach

The final article in the series for Outdoor Photography explores the re-evaluation of our photography business in 2016 and deciding to stop running our lucrative workshops due to the carbon footprint associated with them. We realised that, despite seeing ourselves as environmentalists and offsetting the workshops, what we were in fact doing was posting ‘exotic’ location images online and actively encouraging people to fly all over the planet. The photography workshop industry has exploded in the last 15 years and whilst no individual flight is in itself the cause, each plays its role towards the industry becoming a significant carbon emitter. With almost no policies to control this, we decided to make our own decisions and take action.

The Ice Lagoon

Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking…

In making the change we rediscovered the extraordinary beauty of local and, be it urban or rural, just how easy it is to find amazing subjects & locations without travelling far from home…

…and without the jet lag!

I can truly say that whilst I love travelling and the sense of community I experienced working with lovely people on the workshops, I feel that I have gained far more from making this decision than I lost. We now spend far more time taking images rather than travelling, and in doing so find ourselves increasingly immersed within the landscape and building a deeper understanding of what it is to be part of something, rather than merely travelling through.

The Tourist

Minded Towards Oblivion

The images used in the article were from a series I once used to sell photographic workshops to Iceland, a land I dearly love and miss. Each one was re-imagined and given a new title, forming a personal response to COP27, reflecting my emotions at the time. In doing so what shocked me most was the realisation of just how powerful an image can be, how it can be used in different ways, and the influence it can have. And that with power comes responsibility.

44-45_CHANGING_LANDSCAPES_294-JH.pdfDownload

NIGHTJAR RESIDENCY – Blog No.2 – “The Lure of the Churr”

 

The Great Moss (Work in progress…)

3am. 3am. 1am. Early to Bed! 2am. 2am. It turns out out the ‘dullest place in the UK’ (see previous blog) might not be quite so boring after all. I never imagined this residency was going to be my new rock and roll, but this curious enigma of a bird seems to have the ability to enchant and intoxicate. They beguile with the briefest of glimpses as they silently dance the gloaming skies, and as often as not you see nothing at all, or at best a shadowy wisp fleeting the corner of your eye. Gone as soon as you turn to look. Or perhaps it’s their hypnotic churr (song) that casts the spell?

 

Finally a Glimpse…

The privilege of time, space and focus through this Artful Migration residency has opportuned us entry into this extraordinary world to glimpse previously unseen imaginations. The lost art of simply sitting in unfamiliar environments as the sun drops beneath distant horizons and the wind runs out of puff, embracing the tingle of of a Scottish dusk, in itself becomes harmonic. And then, just as you think they might never arrive, they begin their chorus. And once they start their voices fill the skies in luring chants that mesmerise, reminding me of ‘Kaa’, the snake with the rolling eyes in The Jungle Book. I confess that before we started I didn’t really get why there seemed to be such a ‘thing’ about this quirky looking bird. What was all the fuss about Chris Packham, that makes you exude so lyrically? But as I sit in silence and simply marvel, I realise that this is one big, endless and easy to tumble into rabbit hole.

Work in Progress…

 

As I begin to relax, my mind follows the sun as it drops and I imagine being in their world for a few moments. Flying twice a year to and from, from and to, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Angola, nightjars, along with some 2.1 billion other birds a year that make the annual pilgrimage to their various homes, don’t recognise or have boundaries. Often as we retire, at certainty time of the year, the world above our heads becomes a motorway of freedom to their unrestricted lives. The thought is enticing, though my reverie is short lived as I discover that this number is just half what it was just a few short decades ago, as the pressures of our anthropogenic world tightens its grip. My romantic bubble pops.

Thats Some Mouth! You’ve Got!

 

Following ospreys on their annual migration from the UK to Africa along a similar corridor to that used by our nightjar, Sasha Dench and her team from Conservation Without Borders identified 38 human created threats along their migratory route. In just a single example, at one of Europe’s most important nature reserves for migratory birds, they discovered that planes fly overhead spraying insecticide to kill mosquitoes, one of the birds main food sources, because the tourists don’t like them. You have to ponder this concept for the enormity of its message to truly sink in, and what it says of our priorities whilst in the midst of a biodiversity emergency. Elsewhere across both continents land is, small piece by small piece, being continuously ‘improved’ from salt marsh to agricultural land, a new container port, housing development, or some other form of human ‘need’. Closer to home, all around The (once) Great Moss, fields are cut for silage 3 or 4 times a year as young birds crack through the thin shells of their eggs to raise their beaks and take their first breath.

What if Sea Level Rises?

 

Such improvements become so familiar to us in the rapidly changing landscapes of the modern age that we barely question, assess or consider their true and incremental impacts, let alone the fragmentation each act has at a wider, non human scale. We live for the minute and aside from nature, rather than part of it. We are outraged at the actions of remote and developing nations, be it aerial insecticide spraying, salt flat drainage or felling tropical rainforests, but who polices the protection and enhancement of our own shores? The result of current policies and subsidies is that for our nightjar, there has been a decline in insect numbers (their food source) of some 60% across the UK in recent years. This decline might seem unthinkable but because it has happened, like habitat fragmentation and so many things, on a generational basis it goes unnoticed. Had we known the consequences would we have started on that journey? Who knows but we need to act urgently to reverse the trend.

Just 3% of the original Great Moss remains largely unaffected by the fingerprints of humans

 

And as we do, amongst much gloom there are also real signs of proactive change all around us. Individuals and projects of all sizes from back gardens to progressive farming and landscape scale initiatives paving the way towards new thinking. And a true exemplar is occurring on The Lochar Moss itself, for the story of our nightjar is, at least in Scotland and the UK, a positive one with Numbers increasing. Forest and Land Scotland, who own a huge conifer plantation on the bog, recognised its unique qualities and sought to designate it a Site of Special Scientific Interest and Special Area of Conservation in recognition of its ecological importance. Following its designation they have implemented a 25 year plan to restore the entire plantation under their control to blanket bog. Well done FLS.

 

Such local initiatives start conversations and leave others wanting to know more. Perhaps even look at their own land holdings to see what they can do? This is being implemented by many enlightened ‘Land Custodians’, but ultimately the direction of travel will have to be furthered through policies that both encourage and require all landowners to adopt nature based farming and other land use methods, to deliver generational guardianship rather than short term returns.

Changing Landscapes/3 – Nothing Comes For Free!

Consumerism – the drug of our generation. In my third article in the ‘Changing Landscapes’ series for Outdoor Photography I explore consumerism and the need to constantly upgrade and make purchases.

Nothing Comes For Free

I admit to loving a new gadget so minimising the craving by adopting a ‘do I need it or merely want it’ approach to purchases hasn’t been easy. But whilst i have a long way to go it has been extremely rewarding and eye opening, the things I buy are better quality, last longer and I appreciate each more.

Have you ever tried anything like this? I love to hear your thoughts, how how well you’ve managed and any strategies you may have adopted.

44-45_CHANGING_LANDSCAPES_293-JH-SD.pdfDownload

NIGHTJAR RESIDENCY – 1st Investigations

The third in the series of ‘Artful Migration’ residencies delivered through Upland with Moving Soul Dance, I cannot deny the occasional twinge of jealousy that we weren’t commencing the whooper swan or osprey residencies that preceded ours, as exploring highly protected nature reserves through a Scottish summer does have a undeniable appeal when compared to photographing an unknown ‘cathedral to the midge’ peat bog at night. As we scratched the surface, however, it turns out short nights and biting bugs were the least of our concerns as we contemplated the months ahead. For not only does our nightjar fly at night, but she is also shy, rare and camouflaged better than the SAS on hide-and-seek training. But more on that another time, as our first objective was to understand what the ‘Lochar Moss’, our residency home for the coming months, actually is.

Image: Ted Leeming and Morag Paterson, photographed by Upland

On 21st June the sun dropped below the horizon at 9:57pm in Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland. ‘Last light’ as it is meteorologically termed, was a full hour later, though even then the horizon to the northwest still glowed with the joy of summer. By 3:45am the sun was eagerly climbing once more. It doesn’t take a great mathematician to appreciate that, in this light, undertaking an art residency for a crepuscular bird (one that flies at dawn and dusk) that arrives in Scotland in May and leaves by the end of August, will mean a few late nights. But this is our fate for the coming months as we commence our exploration of the mysterious world of the enigmatic nightjar.

Image 1.
The Lochar Mosses – our canvas for the residency. “The most boring place in the UK!?!” according to the legendary John Peel.

It turns out “The Great Moss” was once one of Europe’s finest and most expansive peat bogs. An impenetrable quagmire of sphagnum that even hobbits would struggle to negotiate, this quaking entity comprised 90% water and just 10% solid matter. And yet it was land. Like a mighty empire, this living body gradually expanded over 12,000 years after the last ice age, until it covered an area some 10 miles long and 3 miles wide. And then, in the glimpse of a geological eye, her soft borders were torn apart until very little recognisable remained. The first map of the region, produced in the 1750s by one William Roy for military purposes, depicts the single route of a lonely, bandit-ridden track crossing the northern sector of the Moss, together with a small number of agricultural improvements to the southwestern sectors. These incursions, it turned out, were to be but the precursors of what was to follow, and by the turn of the 21st century less than 3% of The Great Moss lay unaltered.

Image 2.
The bird itself may be the lead actor. But without appropriate habitat there is nowhere to perform.

Landscape ‘improvements’ came relentlessly thereafter to the The Great Moss and continued throughout the 19th and 20th centuries as they did across much of the planet. With an efficiency only an engineer, accountant and landowner working together can fully appreciate, the life was literally drained out of what, at the time, was considered a valueless and inhospitable wasteland, in favour of the productive simplicity of agriculture. Additional nails in the coffin came with the urbanisation that accompanied the Industrial Revolution, as housing and industrial development exploded with the accompanying plethora of infrastructure including rail, roads and pylons, waste disposal, parks and concrete, all required to meet the convenient desires of our modernising world. Efficiencies were constantly devised to make, do, grow, build everything quicker and bigger, and with all this cleverness came machinery and artificial nutrients, together with ‘advanced’ spreadsheet thinking, to extract yet more.  Such was its inhospitable nature, the heart of the Lochar Moss was spared until the 1960s when a policy encouraging home grown timber production led to the final mass drainage of the ravaged Great Moss and the planting of single-species commercial conifer plantations.  The devastation was complete.

Image 3.
Land uses compete to deliver our modern society, pitting short term needs against long term imperatives.

For reasons I have yet to discover, 3% of the original bog escaped improvement. The attack on this remaining remnant was to be verbal, and perfectly reflects our relationship with the natural world. In the 1990s, the legendary John Peel, in his radio show ‘Home Truths’, declared this remaining fragment of natural environment as ‘the most boring place in the UK’. His reasoning was that it contained an entire lack of features, save a small watercourse grazing one corner of that square, on a 1:50,000 Ordnance Survey map. It seemed our residency was to be based in a truly depressing location.

Image 4.
‘So where exactly are they?’ The words elusive, midge and late nights spring to mind!

But, as in all the greatest stories, when all seemed lost and at its bleakest, with no future apparent, a shaft of light broke through the darkening storm clouds. Forestry and Land Scotland (owner of a significant element of The Great Moss planted with conifers) began to recognise the importance of the slowly desiccating peat, both as a globally significant natural habitat and as a vast carbon ’sink’. In 2010, as densely packed coupes of lodgepole pine reached commercial maturity, they commenced a 25 year program to return the element of the moss that was under their control (some 30%), to something resembling her former glory. In doing so they set an example in future thinking that considers value in broader terms than solely financial, creating a habitat that allowed nature to return and natural processes to resume. Partly as a result of their inspiration, conversations are now taking place with other landowners, including farmers, on how it might be possible to better balance land use for biodiversity, nature, community, societal and commercial needs.

Early Experimentation

In a few short months, we will only begin to fathom the complexities and conflicts that might exist in this landscape, but we hold these thoughts in our minds as we walk out to explore the canvas.

Changing Landscapes/2 – ‘The Extraordinary Local’

The second article for Outdoor Photography magazine in the Changing Landscapes series explores the world all around us. With curiosity raised having committed to ‘No Mow May’ in an attempt to proactively cotribute to helping the decline in suitable habitat for our pollinators, my exploration both photographically and with respect to their plight extended well beyond the end of the month!

The shocking findings impacted how i processed the series, how i view gardening, and i will never use Roundup again! You can download the article below. Let me know your thoughts.

44-45_CHANGING_LANDSCAPES_292-JH.pdfDownload

Changing Landscapes/1 – Fantastic Forests

Wistmans

Throughout the first half of 2023 I had the honour to work with Outdoor Photography magazine exploring the theme of “Changing Landscapes’ in sustainability through a series of four articles. Keep reading to download the first article…

Ariundle

In this first article I explore the fantastic world of trees, from ancient temperate rainforests to the current trend for tree farms that is facing communities across many areas of Scotland. In doing so I find myself spending more and more time in a variety of woodlands and beginning to sense the differences between them. And with time so increased my desire to learn more and research the subject. Which in turn saw me once again in their midst, listening. Which led to learning. Which led to appreciation. Which led to the briefest of glimpses of understanding.

I hope you enjoy the article, which can be found here.

44-45_CHANGING_LANDSCAPES_291-JH.pdfDownload

Kendoon

Stroan

“Rainforests, Ghostswoods & Tree Farms” — The making of…

Wistmans in Arwen

Working on this series of short articles (4 in total over the coming months) for the team at Outdoor Photography is my idea of a dream. Each explores a different aspect of sustainability from a slightly different perspective. We didn’t want to simply show more photos of polar bears on icebergs or retreating glaciers, which focus on fear and apocalypse at a global scale, but rather on how we as individuals can process the subject and ‘be the change’ through our own actions. How we do this is a very personal thing and there is no single, right answer or way, and I know for a fact that my own journey is far from perfect.

Cleaning Up After Arwen

In this first article of the series (Outdoor Photography issue OP291) the theme was ‘making a connection – how a deep understanding of a landscape/habitat can increase our sense of awe and enrich our photography’. I like to think that many of us have sensed the rewards of the greater connection with place through the pandemic years, including repeated visits to local venues, slowing down and immersing ourselves in the familiar. For me it means getting closer to either a location or a subject, pealing off layers and attempting to discover a deeper resonance.

In the article I refer to finding myself immersed within the landscape rather than passing through, which I often find on longer haul tours to remote locations where I can only stay a few hours or at best days. In these circumstances I absolutely get the consumer ‘hit’ of the novel but increasingly this is not what I am seeking for personal reward as I seek a richer experience with nature.

Ghostwood in the Plantation

Exploring depths, nooks and crannies on multiple occasions, in different lights and seasons, piques a desire to want to know more. To dig deeper. As a result I find myself reading up on subjects and exploring them from alternative angles that each help build a bigger picture. Not all venues and locations need to be the perfect wood. Indeed, some of the most fascinating elements of the project is learning to understand the sheer variety and quality of each individual treescape and see the impacts of different management systems. For whilst every tree is extraordinary, not all treescapes are.

The Logpile

For this forestry project I ‘research’ each site in a variety of ways. I shoot species images to build an understanding of biodiversity, bark photos to require more intimate considerations, I downloaded an app on my iPhone to compare light level readings in different types of woodland, apps to record sounds and apps to identify species. I designed a spreadsheet so I was consistent in my approach across multiple locations so I could compare findings after the event. I even collected soil sample which now sit as specimen jars in the garden shed awaiting ideas for use. We have already made chromatograms with them to identify the differences in soil types in differing treescapes and I am currently exploring their use in alternative post production techniques.

The Wonder Wood

These collected wisdoms are helping build my wider understanding of both the individual locations I visit and when comparing the myriad of different woodland/forest treescapes which can be found across the UK. All ultimately informs each final image. I think the project will continue throughout this year as I draw the various threads together into a final outcome but with the imminent “Forest consultation” I felt it timely to share some initial thoughts.

Writings, Websites & Rabbit Holes

A few definitions, ás I interpret them, as a start…

Rainforest – we all know of the ‘jungle’ or tropical rainforests. But there are also temperate rainforests across remote corners of the planet, including amazing ancient remnant pockets right here in the UK. These are truly places to discover and lose yourself in.

Ghostwood– normally thought of as a wood that once was. Now the trees have been removed by man for agriculture or other purposes. But I also see ghostwoods where old trees still remain with improved and overgrazed grasslands around them and not a sapling or rich forest floor to be seen. The trees may still be there but unless urgent action is taken a wisp, memory and imprint on a map is all that will remain.

Tree Farm – this is where a ‘crop’ of usually conifer plantation, predominantly of a single species, is planted and then entirely felled once its timber value has been realised, usually after 30-40 years. it is impossible to call such a space a forest in the same way we do an ancient woodland, for they bear scant resemblance.

Whilst there is no end of brilliant literature on the subject if you are interested in woodlands I can highly recommend the following as ways to gently begin to immerse yourself in this fascinating realm.  All have greatly enriched my understanding and appreciation

• Suzanne Simard – Finding the Mother Tree – in my view an essential read whether interested in trees or not. One of my favourite reads in years. Dr Simard is inspirational. Mog and I also listened to the audiobook on a long roadtrip – brilliant.
• Oliver Rachman – Trees and Woodland in the Bristish Landscape. A godfather of knowledge.
• Peter Wohllenben – The Hidden Life of Trees
• Richard Powers – The Overstory. Novel.
• Guy Shrubsole – The Lost Rainforests of Britain. A new view to inspire a different generation.

Endless rabbit holes to fall into but you could do worse than start by googling

• The Lost Rainforests of Britain
• The Alliance for Scotland Rainforests
• The Woodland Trust
• Trees for Life

I love this subject and am always happy to hear the thoughts of others and have a chat (as Morag keeps reminding me). So if you have any queries, idea or counter positions, feel free to email me at tedleeming@me.com

Fingerprints Of Humanity – Coal

Just Out for a Little Row

Back in November I was honoured to be invited to write an article for Outdoor Photography (see below) as part of their Lie of the Land series. The image in the article was of the Hambrach open cast coal mine in Germany, sister to the Garzweiler mine and the village of Lutzerath in the press recently that is being demolished as the mine munches its way with an insatiable appetite.

The Black Alps

One of the justifications for the demolition and expansion of the mine is the increased need for locally produced electricity resulting from the war in Ukraine. Indeed, the coal infrastructure I saw whilst cycling the Rhine last year suggested a modern industry thirsty for raw material to feed it’s belly. Multiple modern power stations of which none, apart from an old nuclear power station turned into an amusement park, looked ready to close any time soon.

The Belch

The reasons are complex and this cannot be denied as we sit and ponder year by year entirely in the present. But as the case is made for continuing as we are (‘of course we will be closing them in the future’) we shouldn’t forget that these mines and power stations have continued to expand for over 40 years, over which period more than half – yes half – of all the gases leading to climate change have been emitted into the atmosphere. Over a period when we have fully known the consequences of such actions these mines have continued to justify and extract some of the dirtiest coal (lignite) on earth. As the 4th richest and one of the most developed economies on the planet one cannot help but wonder at the mindset of the puppeteers that allow such policies and actions to be perpetuated when the consequences have been entirely known throughout. When will the short term justification of the now and interests of the ‘shadows’ be replaced with inspirational thinking and strategic planning to deliver the needs of the future?

Big F**king Hole (the image in the original article)

I’ll be exploring other exploits of my “commute” from Scotland to Italy on an e-bike at some point soon but as I woke up this morning it was this that made me stop and ponder!

Please feel free to download the article that appeared in Outdoor Photography below.Download

A One Day Walking Tour of Barra (June 2019)

An early(ish) start to get as much done as possible in what’s become a slightly curtailed trip due to a frisky northerly wind meaning the ferry from Mallaig was cancelled, forcing me to re-route the next day via Oban.  A rough crossing and a late arrival left little time to hop north from Barra, across Eriskay to South Uist, and a short walk on a very windy westerly facing beach, the sands moving constantly underfoot, creating patterns as the surface moved with the gusts.

I wanted to see all of the islands, which made for a long day with a lot of driving, in order to get right up to Berneray.  We explored lots of tangental roads, but many of these ended up at a property instead of an isolated beach and it seemed as though the main roads were just as enchanting in terms of landscape.  I was rewarded by seeing a couple of daytime owls – maybe not unusual here? – and managed to put my leg in a bit peaty hole whilst stalking one (to no avail) with my long lens.

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Back to Vatersay, the first port of call on what I’d determined would be a long day of walking. Lots of cows hanging around at the start (bother!) but we manage to get across a small field they are neglecting for the time being and make our way over the dunes to the first of todays pristine beaches.  White sands, crystal clear waters, blues and greens of the richest and most varied hues I’ve ever seen.  I spent a while thinking of adjectives and decided there are no words that can do them justice.  And maybe we don’t need metaphors and language to describe these marvels. They just are.  No photo, no guidebook I’ve ever seen has conveyed the full splendour of these remote paradises.  Beguiling, dazzling and oh so inviting.

With thoughts dragged back down to somewhere a little more terrestrial and the walk proceeds along the beach and up the hill, although I soon realise I’ve gone off piste when I get cut off by a lethal overhanging fence/cliff combo, that neither the dog or I are up for trying.  Correcting our course we head inland slightly and over a wonderful rock strewn hill, passing an interesting dun en route.  I can see cows far off and wonder if I’ll end up backtracking to avoid them – I’m not scared of them per-se (I milked one by hand for a year or two in a past life) – but I really don’t like mingling amongst them on open ground when I’ve got the Zed dog in tow (which is always).

We tiptoe towards them, a few boulders on our left giving a sense of security if the cows were to get overexcited and are arrested momentarily by one of the most silvery lights I’ve ever seen over the sea, we stop and grab a few pics.  Moving on we approach the second piece of beachy wonderfulness of the day, cows along the liminal land to the left and us sticking closely to the waters edge, looking across to the nearby islands before striking once again up over grass clad lowland hills.  It’s not long before we come across a curious little enclosure containing tractors, fascinating I’m sure but I’ve never been a big motor fan so we don’t linger for long.

We follow some oyster catchers for a while but they’re not best pleased giving the racket they’re making so we decide to leave them in peace as the view opens up to the south and we can see the remains of an abandoned village.  If Ted was here he’d have been down there like a shot, but there’s another herd of moo moos so we decide to give it a swerve and grab a couple of shots from the saddle of the hill with the longer lens.

Making our way back along the path where the hill meets the sea we meet an enthusiastic American lady, she’s walking solo and is in for a brilliant day.  There’s one more beach to go – this one even has a few people on it – and we pause a while to watch a yacht gliding slowly out of the bay into the open water.

The day is yet young and it’s time to head to the north of the island, I have to see a plane land on the beach at the worlds only full time tidal airport – my dad will never forgive me if I don’t.  There are three landing today which is unusual, possibly due to industrial action at Glasgow airport the day before.  I still manage to mess my timings up a bit though and decide to incorporate my plane spotting fun into a walk taking in the headland and the beach opposite.

The car park is by a cemetery that contains the remains of a very old church where someone very important is buried but it’s no dogs so we don’t find out any more.  There’s quite a lot of tarmac road to contend with on the way out, worth it though for the splendid views across the sound.  Passing a small clachann I wonder what it would be like to live here, whilst it would undoubtably be beautiful in winter and I’d love to come back in the darker half of the year, I ponder how they keep their spirits up on the shortest days.

Probably a good time to mention how surprised I was by just how Catholic these islands are – I’d heard it mentioned but not given it much thought, icons, Madonnas and shrines almost as prevalent here as in Italy, a stark contrast to the more northern Hebridean Isles.

We eventually turn left and pop over over a short hill – the “well signposted” path is obviously for the more eagle-eyed among us but the posts are there if you look hard enough.  For a way at least.  It’s around now that I note the incoming squall – visible out over the sea for a good thirty minutes before it arrives.  The fact that I can see through it is comforting and it duly passes over, adding significantly to our feral appearance.

We have to freestyle down the other side as we’ve lost the path altogether but it’s easy going and we can see our destination – the vast Traigh Eais beach.   The sand is so beautiful it would be rude not to just rip the shoes and socks off and walk along barefoot, a bit of grounding never did anyone any harm.  The sand alternates between being surprisingly unyielding and a squidgy softness that’s almost worrying at times, I believe there are a few areas of sinking sand around the islands.  It’s a delicious experience though and we walk the length, saying hello to the nesting seabirds at the southern curve, something they don’t seem to appreciate at all so we take the hint and take our leave of them.

Now for the excitement! Back across the dunes to the tiny, tiny airport. A bit of a wait ahead as  everything is running late, this gap is filled by chatting to Dirk from Switzerland who takes an interest in my camera.  We end up swapping stories about an amazing restaurant under the Matterhorn (Italian side if you’re interested).  After what seems an age the plane arrives, and Dirk and his wife head off to board it, Glasgow bound.  The plane starts up and shifts along 50 metres, there’s another one coming in – it’s all go here today, at least 30 more people visiting the small island, some of them for only a few hours, or even just to experience the unusual landing.

We head back up the road, seeing both planes safely into the air.  It’s not long before we’re following a flock of starlings along the fence line, it had happened on the earlier walk too and was fascinating to watch and fine company for a stretch, taking my mind off the hard impact of the tarmac after the soft sand of earlier.

There’s still time for one more adventure, even taking into account an accidental visit to the gin distillery, which of course led to the purchase of some gin, for medicinal purposes – it promised to convey all the benefits of atlantic seaweed, practically a health drink.  I persuade myself that I’m buying it for Ted, but given it’s another three weeks until we’re reunited I know I’m telling myself fibs (I do manage to save enough for a couple of G&Ts each with him and his bro though).  Fortified by a wee – road friendly – dram, taken neat to appreciate the flavour, Zed and I head up around Castlebay to start our final walk of the day.  Gin man has given me the low down on the best way to tackle the hill, Barra’s highest summit and I decide to take his advice, particularly now none of my digital OS maps now work due to a recent phone software ‘upgrade’.

It’s a short but stiff climb, and I think I’ve taken a bit of a detour by mistake but we make the top fairly quickly.  Although small in stature compared to many hills, it’s a tiny bit airy on top for someone who’s a complete scaredy cat when it comes to heights and I had to give myself a bit of a kick up the bum to get to the trig point.  I take a few pics and dither about whether or not to strike across to another nearby summit which seems achievable without too much effort.  Less than 10 minutes in though and the crazy collie manages to fall into a tiny lochan, up to his neck, giving both of us a bit of a shock.  I have to pull him out – presumably the bottom is too soft for him to get traction for the leap and I decide that was an omen to turn back.  After about five minutes I stop to take a shot that I know Ted would take and realise I’ve managed to lose my phone, so I end up spending another twenty minutes retracing our ramblings until I manage to track it down.

Definitely time to get off the hill now, and we make our way back along a slightly lower trajectory than on the way up.  We’re suddenly startled by a huge bird (probably itself equally as startled) which we’ve knocked up from the nearby grass.  I’m convinced it’s an eagle – please don’t spoil my party if you know otherwise from the picture – and spend a while photographing it as it circles up above us, soaring high on the thermals.  What a treat.

The ferry is heading into Castlebay so we linger to take a few more shots, then pretty tired, and regretting the decision to walk in trainers with no socks and the subsequent holes worn in my feet we make for the pub.  Tricky parking, and an illegal drive the wrong way up a one way street but we manage it in the end and I’m rewarded with a delicious smoked mackerel salad with chips, hard earned after a long days exploring.

We head back to the hotel, the ferry leaves at the crack of dawn and we’re ready for a kip.