Yesterday I posted a written & photographic journey through the Old Beechwoods, here in Morvern. You can see those pictures and read those words below at ‘Turning the Pages’.

I chose to use a selection of black and white photos for that essay. I could easily have gone with a colour selection.

So today, I am offering up a selection of colour photographs from the walk, along with a few scattered poetic lines.

warm orange early morning sun wraps itself around one side of the loch which bathes blissfully in it’s embrace outside my front door. I saddle up for the ride ahead. Up to the place where the witches of Morvern hang out.

Birdsong floats ethereally across the sky and the grasses whisper a soft response. The land is alive and I too. Inner music sings my soul awake and my heart peels back another layer. Now the threshold appears. The gateway to the Old Beechwoods.

i lift my voice and nature calls a song from me. here in this moment i am fully present and aware. Ancestors smile upon me and my connection transcends time, reaching back and forward, up and down. The threshold appears in the form of a small gorge and a wooden footbridge. I take the step that I must take.

the pulse of my heart

called by ancient ones~

Spring is bursting forth

Shades of green dappled in the falling light contrasting with earthy browns of leaf mold. New wood and old lie side by side. The day is brightness iteslf. No better place to be than the beechwoods by the edge of the loch.

Deeper into the woods go I and here, there are lighter spaces, the canopy thinner up above and now the first sight of those wonderful new blues, bowing their heads to the rays that pierce the sky, and to the green earth below from whence they came.

My time is coming to a close here and so I descend to the coast and make my way back to the bicycle. Of course the last photograph is never taken……….

……..for you never know what the road ahead might bring!

I woke up early this morning, Monday April 27th at 7am. My partner Anne is co-facilitating a day of movement and mask making today and she had stuff to do and things to pack. I made her coffee and helped with the loading and then kissed her on her way.

It was then that I noticed the clouds. I jumped on my bike and pedalled down towards the shore. My camera bag is always ready to go here in Morvern.

There have been a couple of instances though in the last week when impulse got the better of me and I forgot to reload the SD card after dumping a previous shoot onto the pc. I only have the one SD card. It fits into my ‘keep life simple’ philosophy. It also acts as trickster, which is always needed to prevent one from taking things too seriously. Framing a shot and pressing the shutter to see a ‘No Card’ message on the screen honestly makes me smile.

Maybe it won’t when I am miles from home though. So of course the solution is to buy another SD card right? Not necessarily. Perhaps the solution is to be more mindful when dumping photos. Always end the process with a re-insertion of said card into camera. I have been practising. The SD card was in place this morning. I found the clouds I was looking for. I photographed them. No deflating message on the screen.

Of course there are always other things that can come into view when you go looking for something specific. This morning I was called by a pair of Ringed Plovers. Literally. I heard them and wondered what was making this wonderfully sharp sound. I found out by looking away from the clouds. I followed them around the beach for a while. I do not have a particularly powerful zoom but I was able to get close enough to catch a few shots.

Of course once my attention had been pulled from the sky and the land of clouds, I was drawn into other worlds and then spent some time tracking other images. Here’s a selection.

I am happy with my morning shoot and I pedal back to the harbour cafe for my second coffee, a chat and a delicious oaty flapjack. It was just 8.30am, and the whole day still in front of me. Impulse wins the morning. What will the rest of the day bring?

So, here’s a thing. On Monday morning March 30th I rose early from my warm bed in Lochaline, had a simple breakfast with Anne, who then drove me to the ferry at Ardgour, before heading back to a waiting massage client. I crossed the threshold, waited on a bus and by 9.30am was on my way South to the cabin. 3 buses and a 25 minute walk away. The first bus was from Corran to Glasgow. The second from Glasgow to Lanark and the final bus from Lanark to the village close to where the cabin is. All told, from leaving Anne’s to my front door, 5 hours on wheels and some additional 90 minutes in between stops and walking. Let’s say six and a half hours. Quite a trip. Well, on Tues morning Mar 31st I went back to Anne’s. Six and a half hours the other way. I know. There were captivating reasons for this. You do not need to hear the minutiae. Just know that I spent 13 hours travelling.

On my substack feed on the Monday I posted some photos from Bus number 1 passing through Glencoe and also a few shots of me passing through Glasgow. They were warmly received by the community. I did not post the photos I took on my Tuesday return, because I was already writing this post or at least sketching the ideas out in my mind.

This will be a Glencoe special. No Glasgow photies. They might follow in another post. Maybe. My thinking was to intersperse the pictures from Glencoe with some words.

The words and photographs that follow are mine. I do hope you enjoy both. The words are from a Haibun, a poetic form I have written about in my recently begun short series on Poetic Forms. Normally the main body of this piece would be in two paragraphs, one for day one and one for day two, with a three line Haiku to complete the poem.

Here the two paragraphs which make up the body of the poem are split to fit each paragraph with each set of pictures, black and white for day one, colour for day two.

The Haiku wraps up the poem and follows the last photo.

An early morning white Spring was calling me as I passed through the glen on the bus Southwards.

A silvery crystal light illuminated the roadside’s mountain guardians.

I had already sensed the possibilities and had brought my camera to hand, ready in anticipation. I waited and focused my attention and intention upon the surroundings.

My camera a mindfulness tool. My breath its companion. It stills me to the point where the photographs suggest themselves to me with a whisper.

Evening light in the glen is full of magic. I pass by slow in myself and in step with my own breath and look deeply into the land, as the bus drives North.

The snow spattered wonderland unfolds its magnificence and I am left breathless for the pure majesty I am witnessing.

Something about snow on the hills calls me home to another space in time. I am reborn and wide eyed.

Enraptured by the silence. Familiar views are offered as a complete newness, as if never before seen.

The light is dancing. So is my spirit.

The sun came out today. It was beautiful. I have been keeping my eye on the pond. There has been a lot of frog activity of late and the frogspawn is abundant. Everytime I get close to the pond though, the frogs dive deep and disappear. Today I had a new strategy. I approached, like a snake. On my belly. I got really close. I parted the grass. I lifted up my phone. They dived deep and disappeared. Maybe snake was not the best disguise?

The ground was also really wet. So was I now. I straightened up and took off a layer and then sat on it. Right at the edge of the pond, my feet almost touching the water. I sat very, very still. I did this once with a dragonfly. It ended up sitting on the ground in front of me. I took some lovely photos. ( I will post another day)

I still believe in that stillness. And so I sat and I waited. I had my phone in my hands in front of me. Very still. A kind of Techno Mudra. Imagine the buddha with a mobile phone. Lol.

And so I waited. Slowly there were bubbles, ripples and movement. I held my breath. Then they came back. Oh, my, did they come back. I don’t even know where to begin.

Perhaps with my smile. A big old ‘deep bow of gratitude’ kind of smile. Me and the frogs, hanging out. I sat very still, for a long time. I moved my thumbs very slowly to zoom in and out and I managed to turn like a tanker, ponderous and with a slow arc.

I tested the movements before I took photos. This I did very, very quietly. Very, very slowly. I did not blink. They did not dive.

They stayed a long time. I smiled a lot.

Before seeing a selection of the photos I took please have a look and listen to this wee video clip. It will help you to feel the vibe. The frog chorus in full flow.

Here are a few of the photographs I took whilst sitting very, very still. I hope you enjoy seeing them as much as enjoyed taking them. If you can, view these on a pc/mac. The details, the eyes, the skin, the limbs are spectacular on a big screen.

Share

Subscribe now

Some 5 days ago I shared a set of photographs and some words from a wonderful morning walk that I had taken. It received a whole lot of love.

Thank you for that 🙏✨🙏✨

During the preamble to that photo-essay I said this.

Today is that sometime. Here is the set with the unusual subject matter. I think the article title gives away the game and is also quite creative if I say so myself. But just in case my wavelength is operating at a one-person-only frequency, these are photographs of a parachute which is usually hanging from the trees and serves as an umbrella over the fire pit on the site next door to where I live. In heavier weather it is ‘dropped’ and left hanging by a thread. Quite a stong thread.

Now before you scroll down to satiate your hungry photograph needs, give me a moment to apologise.

When curating the selection for this post, all of which were shot in colour, I tried a few black and white conversions in my editing software. I really liked them. I also really liked the colour and so I decided to post both versions side by side. When I was doing that I wondered what a horizontal flip of the black and white’s might create. This is the result. I have left a space between them but the effect is still quite interesting. And if you think that this was me getting carried away a bit…wait till the last shot.

The pictures are shown below with the unfolding of a poem by Sylvia Plath titled Mirror until the final image, which has an excerpt of a poem from the Translations of Han Shan’s Poems by Gary Snyder, titled Cold Mountain.

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.

It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.

I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.

Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

Part 1 of this 2 part photographic essay on Glasgow was written and posted last Sunday. At almost the same time as I posted it a fire began in a vape shop on Union street which became a blaze that took 18 fire engines over 24 hours to manage. By that time the crumbled remains of the B-listed Forsyth House, on the corner of Union Street and Gordon Street, was left smoking in ruin. The iconic dome at that corner had collapsed too. Miraculously the fire did not cause significant damage to the Central Street station, which lies behind the damaged facade. The last shot of my part 1 series was taken looking towards Gordon Street at a similarly beautiful building just metres along the way from the now destroyed corner. After the loss of the School of Art to two fires this is another devastating blow to Glasgow.

My second part is in colour, in contrast to the Black and White of Part 1. As with the first essay the pictures are laid out in the order shot and comments on the reasons for shooting are woven into the piece.

As I walked through Glasgow in the bright blue morning I had already been taking pictures for the Black and White series when I noticed the sun winking at me through this tree on a small patch of illuminated green. The newly forming buds were lit up like fairy lights and so this was to be my first colour shot of the day.

Cities are cities though and my next shot could have been a candidate for Black & White but the contrast between the rubbish on the ground and that stunning blue above, along with the splashes of light on the building opposite, meant colour won the day. Just.

In the part 1 shoot I caught a worm. That shop was situated to the left of this wonderful piece of wall art and I chose Black & White because of how the window was lit up. I went for colour here because….well because Pink in the morning sun is just joyful right? And the message here are pure dead brilliant.

Glasgow has stunning architecture everywhere you look. It also i s a green city in my opinion. Greens and trees everywhere. Add a dash of morning light and you have this.

The Tennant’s brewery on Duke Street offered me a whole range of photographic options and this one just had to be in colour.

Along the road from the brewery, a block of flats, a bit of green and trees as sentinels creating lovely shadow play cuaght my eye.

Glasgow sandstone, blue skies, the old and the new side by side. What’s not to like?

Approaching the edge of the city centre I knew what lay ahead. The University of Strathclyde. Always a myriad of photo opportunities here. My first shot is all about the lines. And the blue.

Here’s a selection of pictures from the campus. Always something new to catch the eye here and here you will find some elements of the Wonderwall

And now to my favourite photo of the day. In the previous set there is a gable end mural which shows a girl and her shadow about to enter a doorway. After taking the shot I walked over to see what might be possible as a close up, given the direction of the sun. I managed to take a creative selfie which I later submitted as my weekly entry to the ‘Illumination’ prompt. Here it is. A real aha! moment.

Taking photographs so early in the morning before coffee is fraught with danger. It is therefore imperative to find a refuelling station as soon as possible. Given that I was out and about before shops were open, it took me until this point to find a suitable stop. Shout out to Black Sheep Coffee. My favourites by a mile. Always a vibe in their shops and great coffee too.

Fuelled by coffee and a large portion of Pastéis de nata, I was on my way again, having been warmed up on the outside and the inside too, just like a Ready Brek kid!! The city centre in Glasgow is just teeming with subjects to photograph. As always I am led by the light. Here’s a wee selection of the latter part of my walk.

Alleyways in Glasgow are always a delight. I am never dissapointed.

And so my walk was almost done. Just one more colour shot to take as a finale. I hope you enjoyed this wee walk and if you are ever in Glasgow, bring your camera!!

Share

Subscribe now

On opening the cabin door I was met with a wall of falling snow. I did what I had to do quickly and crawled back into my pit knowing I had maybe two more hours before the light came. I set the alarm for 5.30. Got up. Made coffee. Put boots on. Took these photos. Actually, I took more, but there is another set with a slightly unusual subject matter sitting in my drafts backlog right now. It will appear sometime.

This is where I woke up. In my cabin in the woods. The labyrinth was my lockdown project. I walk it as a radical act regularly. The Buddha has been hanging around me for a while now. If he wasn’t made of stone, I might kill him!

My cabin is surrounded by mostly Birch woodland, with some cherry and a few Beech. At the furthest point from my doorstep the woodland meets a beech avenue, planted in the 1920’s by a certain Mr MacGregor. He planted some other tree stock too. I love what he created. The man was truly an artist.

As I walk along the avenue I get to take a look across the meadow. My neighbour, the landowner and a friend of many years lives there. She will be 89 this year. If you looked carefully you might have spotted her in the last set. This next shot is the meadow. The woodland I inhabit is to the left. Tough gig huh?

Having traversed the North end of the meadow, I cross into a liminal space on the walk, a space between the ‘here’ where I am and the ‘there’where I am headed. I am stopped by the light. You might want to stop for a moment too. Outrageous isn’t it?

I stayed in that spot a while. Breathing in and then breathing out. Having lived here in the woods for almost 8 years now, I very often have a sense of being held as I walk. It is reciprocal. I offer my heart to this land regularly. I leave gifts and words of blessing in Gaelic.

I continue on my way towards another expanse of Beech trees, who inhabit the land of a neighboring estate. Here I am met with a stunning view of a snow covered Tinto Hill, framed by the large branch of a Beech tree.

There is something about the beech trees. A deep and abiding presence. A cathedral of time. A rootedness. Beech, the Queen of the Woods, is present as thin slices (pages) in our early books, whose name derives from the Anglo Saxon name for the Beech, Boc.

As the sun rises higher in the sky it is clear from the beginnings of the thaw, that our white carpet will be a temporary one. Time to get a couple more shots in ( a selection of which will make up another post as mentioned) before heading home for coffee.

As part of the organisation’s nature connection education program, a small area has a few tipi’s in it for the young people to explore and for conversations about the culture they came from to be had. Tipi originates from the Lakota word “thípi,” which is said to mean; “they dwell.” The Thipi was historically made from as many as 28 tanned buffalo skins, sewn together with sinew into into a semi circle shape. This was then wrapped around poles that had been made from saplings. The saplings had first had their bark removed and been dried and polished. In winter, an inner lining would be made from animal hides, blankets, or strips of fabric and hung along the lower portion of the inner wall, Grass or brush would then be placed between the outer wall and the lining to add insulation.

These canvas versions should not still be up in the winter here as they are not lived in and the canvas outer might degrade. That said, the photo opportunity was a good one.

Let me close this piece with a piece of writing from a book I have called ‘Touch The Earth,’ which features the photographs of Edward Curtis and the words of many Indigenous American Elders.

“There is a road in the hearts of all of us, hidden and seldom traveled, which leads to an unkown, secret place. The old people came literally to love the soil, and they sat or reclined on the ground with a feeling of being close to a mothering power. Their tipi’s were built upon the earth and their altars were made of earth. The soul was soothing, strengthening, cleansing, and healing. That is why the old one still sits upon the earth instead of propping himself up and away from its life giving forces. For him, to sit or lie upon the ground is to be able to think more deeply and to feel more keenly. He can see more clearly into the mysteries of life and come closer in kinship to other lives about him.”
― Chief Luther Standing Bear, Oglala band of Sioux.

Share

Subscribe now

I went to Glasgow on Friday. For one night. Maybe that does not sound like much. It is not a straight forward trip though. It always goes like this, whatever the weather!

Leave the cabin. Walk for 20 minutes. Wait a bit. Get a bus to Lanark. 20 minutes. Wait a bit. Get a bus/train to Glasgow. 60 minutes.

Decide how to get to the part of Glasgow you want to get to and either 1) walk 2) take a bus and walk or 3) take the subway and walk. I never take a taxi. Just so you know.

I spent a lovely evening in the bit I went to. I walked there. Maybe a 30 minute stroll. It was a nice evening.

Yestreday morning I needed to get back to the cabin. It was a blue sky but chilly day. I got up early enough to walk to the station. What follows is a sequence of photos taken on my Google Pixel because….well because I am a photographer, because the light was amazing and because I wanted to document the walk for this post.

This is part 1, the Black and White photos. The photos are displayed in the order in which they were taken, along with thoughts about what prompted the shot.

This post will likely be too long for your email so make sure you open it fully to see the whole piece.

I live in a place surrounded by trees. I really like trees. They always get my attention, wherever they are. What grabbed my eye here was the hole in the fence and the light on the trunk, hence this particular framing.

Glasgow streets are wide. The tenements have an amazing history all of their own. The morning light falling on one side of this street makes it seem that the housing is built from two different types of stone. I love the effect.

It was early in the morning. The local newsagent had not opened. I suspect there are no paper rounds here but I could be wrong. Again I am drawn to the interplay of shadow and light.

I love the shape of the corner here and the reflections on the gable walls. Although this is not colour you can still get a real sense of the blue in the sky. No polariser required.

The bin lorry directly in front of me had stopped here. After taking the picture I walked around behind it. One of the bin man watched me take the shot and then gave me a look that suggested he thought I might be gathering evidence. I smiled at him and walked on.

After passing the bin lorry I turned onto Duke St, a moan thoroughfare that goes all the way into the centre of Glasgow. This shop popped out of the wall. Had to take the picture.

This note on the grill of a closed shop a few meters along the road made me smile. It was Saturday…but early I guess and the closed grill itself would have been sufficient as a message.

This shop was down a side street and I was delighted to find my worm, being the early bird that I was.

The light falling on the chairs was what called me here and they were my primary focus. Imagine my delight when I discovered upon opening the shot in my pc, that my face was also framed by something other than the window.

Same cafe, different window. This is a really nice juxtaposition of seen and unseen.

One final shot from the front window of the cafe. Lots going on in here. I take these because I know later I will discover worlds within worlds here.

The driver was stomping his feet, blowing on his hands and then lit up a cigarette and headed for the street corner away from his futuristic looking hearse, as if smoking too close might be some kind of intrusion, even though it was an empty vehicle. He made a joke about coughing (coffin) as I passed.

Everywhere you go in Glasgow there are stunning buildings. Everywhere. Morning light does not hurt the photographs one tiny bit.

The security wall alongside the Tennant Brewery building was adorned with shadow play. The building itself works well as a black and white study.

At the opposite end of the wall and electrical box had been adorned with a pertinent piece of graffiti.

The pub across the road from the brewery also sported a piece of art. Glasgow has always had a reputation for being a drinker’s city and this painted doorway represents a real thing. Folk waiting for the pub to open.

And just in case our seated chappie wasnae sure where he was, the wall opposite the pub left him in no doubt.

Just along the road from the brewery is a sculpture called "The Tree That Never Grew" by artist Jennifer Grant. It is located at Duke Wynd and illustrates the four legends of St. Mungo—the bird, tree, fish, and bell—based on a 2004 poem by Ingrid Lees. It is a permanent public art installation, often recognized as a cornerstone of the city's history.

This next photo illustrates the architectural styles, both building and railing, which are very common in Glasgow. Contrast and the circle/line motif in the railing was my primary reason for taking this shot.

Cap parks. Something about them. Patterns of intersection, the cross which is perhaps based on the Saltire ( Scottish Flag) and the contrasts in the structures and the space between. Dark and light once more.

As I approach the city centre I am given a stunning view of the City Chambers Building. So photogenic.

So I am almost at the train station but there are a few more pictures awaiting me. Did she walk between these posts? Who knows?

I cannot avoid an alleyway. This one a shortcut on my way to the station.

The vertical columns and the two wee cars made me stop here as I exited the alleyway.

Finally the railway station building, bathed in the morning sun, loomed up in front of me. One more for the road.

Hope you enjoyed my Black and White walk. The colour companion will follow in a few days time. Have a lovely day.

Additional note: As I was writing this post Glasgow Central Sation was on fire!! More in tje link. Shocking news!

https://share.google/mFbfOwej7P1JoGpYo

I am adding the wonderful words of William Butler Yeats from his poem ‘The Stolen Child’ to accompany my photos from the walk.

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;

There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.

For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

It was a cold morning in the cabin. I was warm from the shoulders down. Duck feather duvet doing its job. My head though told me it was freezing outside. Maybe there were enough embers in the grate to start a quick fire? That meant throwing the quilt off though. The light from a rising sun made up my mind for me by sending a light golden beam through my window. Magic is afoot it whispered.

I jumped up, threw on some joggers and a jumper and climbed down the ladder from the mezzanine where I sleep, popped the kettle on and lit a fire from the not quite dead embers. Coffee followed shortly and then more layers and out into the golden frosted dawn.

I am often led by a feeling when taking out a photographic device for a walk, be it my Olympus Camera or my Pixel Pro 8 phone. There is a settling into my own bones first. Finding my breath one step at a time. Leaning into all of my senese. Letting the land say hello and watching and listening for signs. The flight of a buzzard and the murder that follows him. The woodpecker drilling out a welcome pattern. The wren chattering away like an old friend. The grass in the meadow is glistening int the morning light and underfoot is crunchy. The sky is blue and the air finds its way into my lungs with an ease that helps me become more present. What a gift it is to breathe.

My senses are heightening with each step and my attention is now hawk like. There are so many photographic possibilities and the temptation is to shoot everything. I have however learned to wait. Learned where the light moves in this landscape and what might stay and what is more fleeting as the sun arcs across the horizon. Longer days now but still it is February and they are not filled with abundant light.

An image of the pond across the way flits into consciousness and I instinctively turn to follow the path by the mews, an old stone and long since used stable block, standing alongside a cobbled track. These days it houses tractors and furniture. It has tree shadows adorning it this morning.

I never make it to the pond.

There are puddles of frozen water in front of the old building. I stop and bend down to take a closer look and I am all at once taken away. It is a kaleidoscopic portal and I am awestruck. How beautiful nature is in her unfolding. This is photographic heaven and I fill my boots. Mindfully. I spend a good hour kneeling and shooting. Waterproof layers are my friend.

Waiting for light to come and for light to go. Looking for angles, for other reflective subjects. Fully immersed in this one spot. Lying on the floor. Bending squats. Kneeling. Also it is a workout. Photo Yoga anyone!!!

Stopping to take in the scene and to breathe. This is just a purely joyful moment. I see nothing but ice patterns. The more I see, the more comes into sight. Fractal magic.

There is a science to how ice forms these patterns. It is probably very interesting. But here in this resplendent now I am only concerned with the magic. This is why I take photographs. It lifts my spirits. It connects me to the earth under my feet. It reminds me that I too am a part of the magic.

I reach a point where I feel complete. In total I have taken about 40 images. Less than one per minute.

It is a meditation into the abstract. Into the alchemy of water becoming ice. Into the joy of being. I head home, throw more wood on the fire, make myself a bacon butty and my second cup of coffee and then I begin to look at the images on my laptop.

I am really pleased with the shoot. Pretty much all the shots have something. I post a note titled Ice ice Baby and it is still getting view some days later.

Here, for your enjoyment, is the motherlode.

Share

Subscribe now

Sometimes we slow down the opening and closing of the shutter to create a silky/misty water vibe. The latter technique usually involves the use of a tripod and a neutral density filter.

More recently I have been using my camera hand held and moving it during the water shots to create additional movement. Depending on the light, time of day, cloud cover I test a few shots to get the shutter speed/aperture combo I want. ( This is where the Digital format comes into its own. Test. Review. Instant.) In the good old days of film I would shoot a test roll with a variety of exposures, aperture and shutter speeds and note them in my wee log book, to give me some on the ground info for future rolls of film. I also had a copy of Michael Langford’s 35mm Handbook. Gold in those days.

So, back to my experimentation.

Q.

How many times can you shoot moving water hand held without getting bored?

A.

I don’t know yet but I am loving finding out ;)

Here are the latest set from my recent visit to Glen Nevis and An steall bàn (The White Falls) including lens splashes. ( I was pretty much in the water)

For what it is worth, I really love this set.

I am adding a wonderful poem by Robin Hyde called ‘Running Water.’ It seems to fit the narrative of these shots. Please take a minute to follow the link and read about the life of this extraordinary woman.

I sit beside a little shadowy stream,
And try to tell in words my thoughts of you.

It is in vain.
The running waters quiver, beckon, gleam,

The running water glitters through my brain,
Dragon-fly blue.

The irises are sweet with half-forgotten rain.
Their dark heads bend beneath their diadems of dew,

One petal falls, and, like a little boat,
Clings drowning where the yellow rushes float.

The waters with soft fingers draw it down.
So, one by one, my petal fancies drown,

And all my unborn words
Fall and flutter and sink, like wounded birds.

Cool waters close above them. Silver-grey,
The running waters hurry them away.

Share

Subscribe now

All photography ©paul john dear photography 2026

After dropping the car off we headed for The Larder Cafe, just a 5 minute walk past the ruins of the 13th Century Old Inverlochy Castle and situated in the Highland Soap Company premises. There we enjoyed an unexpected catch up with some old friends of Anne’s before indulging in a stunning Eggs Benedict with a Stornoway Black Pudding topping.

An Gearasdan is the Gaelic name for Fort William and is not an ancient place-name but a loanword from the English word "garrison," reflecting the town's origins as a military outpost. Prior to that the area would have been known as Inbhir Lòchaidh, which you might recognise as Inverlochy ( The Mouth of the Lochy).

Breakfast eaten and washed down with a fine cup of coffee we picked up the car complete with new tyres and head up the glen to the car park. The drive to that point is breathtaking but our goal was the falls and we did have a time window to operate in as Anne had a student 121 in the early evening. We parked up, booted up and bagged up some waterproofs and off we went.

The gorge walk is so beautiful and there had been enough rain of late for there to be a good amount of water in the river below as well as tumbling of the hillside. Tufted meadow grasses, stands of Birch and the odd Scots Pine were our early companions along the track with the high walls of the mountains gradually circling us as we moved upwards.

As the elevation increased the views began to open up to stunning panoarmics.

The trees along the way were also impossible to ignore. Old ancestors guarding the path.

As we reached the highest point on the path, things levelled off underfoot, which was also a beautiful place to stop and take a photo once in a while. I could write a seriously nerdy geological piece on the footpath alone!!

Exiting the head of the gorge we rounded a slight bend and Anne stepped aside and motioned for me to take the lead. She knew what was coming. The glen just opens up and you get your first view of the Falls ahead. Flabbergasted I was. Moved to tears.

Onwards now with the goal in site, I could not resist the puddle photo op!

Well, two actually!!

And so to the falls. I have a whole series of blurred ( hand held movement) artistic water shots which I am want to take in such settings. I’ll save those for another post.

Just a final point here. Access to the base of the falls requires crossing a bridge. When I say bridge, I mean a wire. With two other wires at shoulder height to hold onto. Interesting. I did not take a photo but here is the bridge in question. If you cross the bridge to reach the base of the falls, then you must cross it to return back to the path, unless you are heading up into the mountains. We were not. A return was necessary. Or so I thought!!

Here are a couple of classic waterfall shots.

Once at the top of the glen the views, here there and everywhere, were just stunning. My favourite kind of feeling. Being in the big mountains. Humbling.

On our return to the bridge we discovered a young american woman having a moment with regards to the crossing. She had not walked in the same way and was now faced with the bridgecrossing as an exit down the track to the car park or a long re trace of the circular mountain path she had come in on. Her partner had already crossed and they were engaged in a couple’s conversation. Anne leaned into offer the young woman some words of support. I buggered off with the camera to see if I could grab some other shots. As I was mooching about, I found what I thought was a shallow enough point to cross the river and set about testing it so I could go back and offer Anne another way out. I had good boots and waterproof trousers and was not concerned. I was three quarters of the way across the river and totally dry when I stopped and had to take a photo. My focus on the subject meant I placed my left boot in a pool. Foot got wet. Right foot still dry. Ah well. Take the picture. Who knows how the body of this deer ended up wrapped around the base of this tree but there is, for me, something tragic and yet beautiful here.

So one foot wet and one foot dry I walk to the bridge. Anne is across and the young lady not far behind. Celebrations!! We return to the car park and head for the Corran ferry, stopping once on the road back down the glen to The Fort to snap this.

Of course no day is over until it is over, photographically speaking, and the approach to the ferry spot had a gift for us yet.

As did the ferry crossing point itself.

Quite the day, I am sure you will agree.

• Tech Note. I recently had to replace my old Oppo A9 phone, which had served me well as a second camera when out on the fells, alongside my trusty Olympus EM10 mkii Camera. So for this walk I got to road test the new phone camera, a second hand Pixel 8 Pro. I have to say I am very impressed with it.

Share

Subscribe now

Out into the cold and dark I did go. It was colder and darker out there in the real world, much more so than the one I spied through the bedroom window first thing. I walked, threw the stick for the dog and wondered about the thing that prompted the walk. Here’s what occured to me.

I don’t make art for it to be seen. I make it for the making of it. The present moment when it comes into being is a wonderful and arresting thing and it is a thread1 I have always followed. It is a core part of me. I am able to be taken. I am willing too. And I know that it can be a bloodying experience. Of course I then post photos here at Substack, write poems too and occasionally throw in a drum recording or written essay. I get likes. I get some comments. They can be nice, affirming even. I also post into the void at times. Get nothing back. I make art anyway. The truth of it in the end is that the art is making me. Always has. Always will.

So I am having these thoughts and not really being present in the day which surrounds me when all of a sudden, the light!! Oh my god. Look at the light.

My muse had me by the arm and was dragging me to the shore. ‘Quickly’ she said and I sauntered, thinking that one does not always need to move instantly to catch the light. ( In contrast to an earlier post where I said exactly the opposite…sprint to catch the light as it moves fast)

I reached the shore, positioned the camera, framed the composition and smiled inwardly. I thought I had the perfect photograph lined up and at the moment I pressed the shutter, nothing. A big fat nothing. No picture. Just a random freeze of the shutter. Press. Freeze. Press. Freeze. Remove lens. Reattach. Press. It works!! Too late. Light moves fast. Damn, I should have sprinted. I missed it. So now I am pissed off. Was I angry with the sky? With the gods of photography? With life? With my not sprinting? Maybe all of the above. The muse gives and the muse takes away. Making art is a lot like making a life right?

I have recently deleted Facebook from my life and Insta will follow. I thought about dropping this Substack too but….well, something here feels different. There are good reasons to be here right now. Amazing photographers, writers and creatives and yes it is nice to show my work. None of it, the drumming aside makes me any money. I’m good with that. Living off grid and now being with someone who lives in a remote part of the highlands, being off social media is much more common that being on.

I think it helps with my perspective and whilst that is a wholesome thing to have in my life, when I do engage here I find that I can get envious, get anxious, wonder what it would be like to be ‘better known.’ The truth is though that I do not want that but I recognise that engaging here brings those thoughts and feelings into play. And that is fine.

One of the big lessons for me when taking pictures is that the best photo you are ever going to take might be the next one. Sure, in my head the one that got away was better in that moment but you will never see that one. Ever. I can still see it now though. I will always be able to recall it. Just like the one I did not take of a fish arcing the big old orange sun setting into a pond of a sea on the West coast of Ireland.

The one’s that got away! Do photographers and fisherman have this in common?

So the shot is gone and the day is dark and cold and I am grumpy and….I have MY camera. So shoot!! Which I did. Because I know that the muse can reanimate at any moment…or not. Shoot and shoot some more. Live and live some more. Suck the marrow of it all.

Are any of these shots that follow better than the one that got away? You’ll never know and I’m not saying ;)

There is a vibe in the set to follow and it is how it seems. And that my friends is a multi faceted diamond. So whilst I took these pictures and they might be art, I can say hand on heart, that the taking of them was the making of me today.

Share

Subscribe now

I love the trees. You knew that already though didn’t you? Just in case you did not actually know HOW MUCH please visit the Tree Tanka section of this Stack where you will be left in no doubt as to my connection with them.

*On a wee aside I am not sure if the website page link for the Tanka series can be accessed via the app so you may need to view on pc/mac.

Back to the trees, not that we really left them. Ardtonish is a large estate even by Scottish measures at 35,000 acres. Close to the ‘House’ there are well planted gardens, woodland walks and a variety of trees and other plants. It being January, the trees were obviously my focus. I enjoyed a splendid walk with my partner in crime Anne and her four month old granddaughter, who was travelling in style in a vintage Silver Cross pram. Built most likely in the 1950’s this machine was able to cope with all manner of paths and forest trails.

We got to walk through woodlands, alongside the loch and through the gardens. So much to see and to photograph.

During the time on the estate I manged to shoot a significant number of trees and as always making the selection for this post has been tricky. But here goes. My top ten for the day.

A wonderful few hours was coming to a close and there was one more surprise awaiting me and my camera. Tune in for the final part 3 in a few days.

Ardtonish Walk Part 1: Structures

Ardtonish Walk Part 3: Rays of light

Share

Subscribe now

January has oft been linked with darkness and difficulty after the global ‘Lord Mayor’s Parade’ that is the holiday season. Folk are penniless and perhaps lacking inspiration. Feeling blue is not uncommon. In nature decomposition is the order of the day as the world beneath our feet sleeps for the winter and the short days and long nights can weigh heavily upon a soul.

Living off grid in a cabin in the woods lines me up nicely with that vibe however and I love to slow down with the winter, light the fire, read books, cook warm broths and sleep like a log.

I still get out with the camera when the light calls though and despite the sleepiness on the land light can still work its magic especially when there is water to play with.

I am blessed to be able to live where I do but also to visit and stay in Lochaline on the Morvern Peninsula in the Highlands of Scotland, where I am right now.

Yesterday gave me the Blues.

Photographically.

In a good way.

Enjoy.

I joined Substack in March of this year 2025 that we are just about to leave. My own tracking of the year follows an older calendar and so this Gregorian date has less meaning for me, but is still a turning point in time in the greater world, and therefore worthy of a nod.

At the time I rocked up here I was still pulling myself off up the floor, post an horrific 2024. I wrote about it in this essay on Mar 17th, St Patrick’s Day. It helped me to shift gears. It was a good beginning and was well received too. Substack said hello to me. I felt seen and heard.

I was done with Facebook and Insta pretty much and this community seemed a better fit for me. Still does. I wanted a space to curate all of my work. Written, poetic and photographic. It goes on as do I thankfully.

In the early months here I read a lot. Primarily the work of and To the three of you I owe a huge thank you. Your words resonated, inspired and challenged me to write more and to do so with a deepened sense of the craft at hand and the requirements of doing it masterfully. You all reminded me how much I love reading well written words. Each of you in your own beautiful ways were a foundation stone of this little corner of my Stack. Our conversations over the year in comment sections and DM have been a source of deep joy for me. Forever grateful I am for your collective presence.

Alongside essays, I began posting some photographs and poetry and sometimes both together. My Tree Tanka Series, a work in progress, found some traction, as did some of my photographic posts. Here is the latest of the Tree Tanka Series.

Quite relevant for the time of year methinks. All of this artistic engagement in the context of my personal life changes has been profoundly affirming as I was slowly stepping out from the ruins of my own life and relocating that core which is immovable and if course now deepened.

More connections were made in this lovely community and some very real conversations at very important moments. Shout out here to . Go raibh maith agat a stór. Also a blessing to for your profound wisdoms that landed when needed.

In the summer I gathered with a group of Gaels over a weekend that was set to change the direction of my life. It began a series of domino tumbles that led to my meeting Ann. Little of her have I said here since that day, my birthday in September, but she has been an almost constant companion since and has brought us both a sense of belonging and purpose in the world that we had both dreamed of in the times before now. We are well met and blessed.

In the latter part of the year I have been mostly posting photographs and not writing so much. Life with Ann has been very full and we inhabit two locations in Scotland, so I have literally had less time for writing but always have my camera when we are out in the wilds, hence more pic posts. We will of course settle in time into a routine of living between two postcodes and I do hope to publish more writing. (There is a backlog of drafts. I have not been doing no writing. Just no publishing)

The photo community here is brimming with talent and support. A shout out especially to and for inspirations and support. 2026 may see the return of shooting film. Watch this space!!

To finish this brief reflective piece I am adding a small selection of my own favourite shots, taken on my trusty Olympus EM10 MKII since my March beginnings here.

Finally, a poem for you who have rested here a while over the last months, titled Anam Cara ( Soul Friend)

The trees appear to lean in, monumental beech sentinels,

older than us, and i walk in the deep silence,

my own reverence for them reflected perhaps?

or maybe it is just the wind, which seems to whisper

as my own my breath perhaps as it falls from the sky through cedar,

swooping hawk fluting nature’s song.

There is always a sense here of the other. The more than.

Of called in beauty. Ancestral cloak, echoes of time’s soul tides,

which ebb and flow and moss and fern that hum me green medicine

as i tip-toe through this sacred landscape, heart open and growing.

Heart bursting in measured beats, a symphony of soul.

My tears are joy filled and gratitude’s crucible has me gripped

and bound for soul.

And without you dear friend to share this with what then, of Anam Cara?

To all who have engaged here over this year, Thank You. See you in 2026.

Never one to miss a photo opportunity and needing to keep moving as the surface temperature on the platform was just above zero, I set off on a walk about the place. The light was beautiful and the station offered up a plethora of lines and perspectives. Here is a wee selection of my favourites, beginning with a few colour shots.

Now the black and whites, which I have to say I enjoyed shooting more in this location. Something about the lines and the light seemed more suited to monochrome.

I am going to post a few pictures here from a recent walk up to a wild mountain bothy in this stunning landscape and along with each photograph a poetic slice that I thought might compliment it. You might be familiar with the words, and, if you are not, this might encourage you to follow the links and read more.

Enjoy my photographs and some wonderful snippets from a selection of poems.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree. W.B.Yeats

Song of the Open Road. Walt Whitman.

Wuthering Heights.Sylvia Plath.

The River. Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Bothy. Sarah Jackson.

At a Window. Carl Sandburg.

Dunkeld is a town in Perth and Kinross, situated on the river Tay in Scotland. The town lies close to the geological Highland Boundary Fault, and is frequently described as the “Gateway to the Highlands” due to its position on the main road and rail lines north.

The name in Gaelic is Dùn Chailleann which translates as“Fort of the Caledonians.” It is the location of a historic cathedral and the site of the ancient Birnam Oak, an example of Sessile oak (Quercus petraea) dating back an approximate 600 years. Old enough for a mention by old Will.

There is also an Oak tree famed for it’s contribution to the music of Scotland, where once sat Neil Gow, composer of many ‘strathspeys and reels.’

Having arrived the night before and slept the sleep of tired folk, we breakfasted at home and then began our walk with a stroll along the River Tay into Birnam.

The Birnam Oak is a beautiful specimen and had a larger but reputedly younger neighbour just yards away. This wondrous Sycamore was just as eye catching.

Upon reaching the bridge connecting Birnam to Dunkeld we headed into the town for tasty pastries and great coffee from the Aran Bakery.

After a wee sit to eat and drink we headed towards the cathedral site. The original cathedral at Dunkeld dated from the sixth or early seventh century, and was founded as a monastery after an expedition by Saint Columba, he of Iona fame, to the Land of Alba. Relics of Saint Columba, including his bones, were said to have been kept at Dunkeld until the Reformation, at which time they were removed to Ireland. Some believe there are still undiscovered Columban relics buried within the cathedral grounds. The cathedral is used as one of two parish churches in Dunkeld to this day.

The cathedral was sited at the edge of the town and surrounded by fields and trees. The knave and tower were under repair and only the church part was accessible. Inside was a statue of The Wolf of Badenoch. An interesting character. Read more about him here.

The trees in and around the cathedral were stunning. Larch, ancient Yew, Lime, Oak and Beech were among these amazing Standing Ones. Enjoy the final gallery.

As things turned out I was a few days out with my prediction and so a few days after the last shoot the evening threw up some beautiful light for me to ponder. In my head, as I sat outside the cabin taking in this wonderful light, my brain said, ‘No need to take the camera out now Paul. You cannot better that last series.’ Luckily for me I have been shooting long enough to recognise this as a moment to do exactly that. Take the camera out.

So I did. The light was breathtaking and I walked through the woodlands that I know so intimately, and in which I had taken the wonderful Beech series just days before, as if seeing them for the first time. It brought tears to my eyes. The first picture I took required me to lie flat down on the Earth. A prostration of deep reverence. A prayer to this beautiful Sycamore leaf.

I walked along a pathway I have walked many hundreds of times in the 15 years I have lived here. I was in an altered state of consciousness. It was all brand new. Tree lines that I know intimately were gently whispering, “Look again Paul.”

This was a life lesson. Repetition is not always repetition. The same roads are not always the same roads. The spiraling nature of the world we live in sees to it that we can meet a ‘known’ place differently, because in this moment, we are not the same and neither is it. There is always an opportunity for another look. So look I did.

I took a lot of photos. I am offering just a small selection here because, well because small is beautiful right? On the walk back to the cabin I took two final pictures.

I do hope that these pictures convey some of the beauty and magic I experienced and that you too have enjoyed the views that I got to enjoy.