The Waiting Game
I’m standing by my tripod, my default setting, waiting for the light. Watching the dawn break over a Rocky Mountain lake is an experience to stir the soul. Mist seeps across the flat, calm waters, diffusing the perfect reflections of the jagged peaks. The call of a loon echoes; a beaver surfacing briefly ripples the water; the first light of day seeps through the sky tingeing the clouds clinging to the mountains with pink. This is my eighth morning waiting here by the tripod and finally all the elements are coming together. This location was found on the first day; under grey skies with a chill wind whipping the water it looked a very different scene, but the potential was evident. Three mornings later, after several fruitless dawn patrols, the day started calm and clear with strong sunlight but … not a cloud in the sky – no mist, no drama, no mood. So, we stayed on, waiting for the light. Now, after eight days our persistence is rewarded with clouds draped over Mount Rundle and a layer of mist over the still waters of Vermillion Lake. As always, this image is a fusion of the elements Mother Nature chooses to offer – light, clouds, mist, reflections and the landscape itself – and my input; being there, pre-visualizing how the scene could look in the right conditions, persistence and lastly, technique. In short, this picture was made by a marriage of nature’s perfection and photographic vision – these are the elements that are the making of a photograph.
Let’s cut to a grey, windy February day, 1981. I’m up a ladder cleaning the windows of an office block on a trading estate in Watford … sounds tantalizing doesn’t it? Photography has just taken over my life, with my payoff from the Merchant Navy I’ve just bought my first SLR camera and life will never be the same again. I now know I want to be a professional photographer, but haven’t got a clue how to achieve that. As I work my squeegee I’m dreaming of far horizons, the Himalayas in particular. My friend Pedro has just returned from backpacking through Nepal and I’m so jealous. Last night I was drooling over a travel feature on Annapurna. Surely, if I could scrape together the cash to get there, great images would just fall in my lap, right?
Wrong. It’s a popular misconception that’s easy to fall into – a belief that just turning up somewhere epic will be enough, that great shots are just there for the taking like ripe fruit off a tree. But the really unique, striking, achingly subtle, perceptive images are made, not taken. They are the product of an idea, a vision brought to reality by persistence and sound technique. This is the crunch – the difference between the ‘taking’ and ‘making’ of a photograph. This book is all about that difference. There’s the arty bit – the development of a photographic vision, and the practical bit – how to work in the field, or up a mountain, or in the jungle. And in the process we’re going to see the world. So, let’s go.
Château St Ulrich, Vosges Mountains, Alsace, France
We started trudging up the mountain by the light of our head torches through mist-shrouded woods. Directly overhead the stars were visible, we just had to get above the low-lying cloud. As the twilight tones spread through the sky from the east, we emerged panting from the swirling fogs to our chosen viewpoint. Some sights stay with you forever – this is one.
• Fuji GX617, 105mm lens
Hot Wok Exposures
Some places are all about the big views, but for me, the essence of South East Asia can be found in its markets. They are such a cultural overload and a riot of colour – a world away from sterile supermarkets – that it’s difficult to know where to look first, or to train the lens. They are crowded and chaotic with difficult lighting but in amongst the piles of chillies and lemongrass there are stirfried photographs to be made – quick, instant and sizzling straight out of the wok.
Strawberries on the move, Hanoi, Vietnam
The fish market at dawn, Hoi An, Vietnam
