Glencoe & Isle of Skye, a story and a LF Portfolio

[Vieri]

The first time I took off from Glasgow heading north towards Glencoe and the Isle of Skye, in 2009, I didn’t know how much that journey would have impacted and changed me. Leaving behind the bustling airport area, my wife and I passed the Erskine bridge and quickly got to the shores of Loch Lomond, where I started realizing we were in for something unique.

The weather was cloudy and moody, but that was just perfect for the landscapes under it. The color palette was muted, hues of dark greens and browns reigned, and the waters of the Loch took a metal tone that made them both ominous and inspiring.

Driving north, we passed Crianlarich, Bridge of Orchy and the switchback over Loch Tulla, finally getting to the top of Glencoe. Glencoe and the surrounding areas are spectacular, dramatic and full of photographic inspiration and opportunities. For me, Glencoe is the place where Scotland slowly started getting into my soul, never to leave.

The whole story is a bit too long to fit here, you'll find it - together with the whole, 25 images Portfolio, on my blog here:

GLENCOE & ISLE OF SKYE: A 4×5″ PORTFOLIO

Below some photographs out of the Portfolio for you to enjoy:

Enjoy! Best regards,

Vieri

 

[thronobulax]

Quite lovely. thanks for sharing these.

 

[Flack]

Very nice you can't beat that area for photography.

 

[Alan Clark]

Years ago I had a friend who did quite a lot of photography in the Scottish Highlands - a long trip up from Staffordshire. He kept telling us how wonderful Rannoch Moor was - a huge wilderness with no roads. He wanted several of us to go up there with him and hire a pony to carry the tents and all the gear, and have the photographic holiday of a lifetime. It never happened. For my own part, I have been to the Highlands but never did much photography there. I much prefer to photograph things that I know well and with which I have a personal connection.
Eventually my friend gave up photography in the most spectacular manner. One day he decided he'd had enough. He went to a camera fair at Wolverhampton and sold all his gear. Then he piled all his extensive collection of 20 x 16 mounted prints into a big heap on his lawn - and set fire to them. And that was the end of that!

 

[SRLP]

Alan, that's quite the story, and I respect it. If you burn the ships, you can't return; it's a new beginning. Although I would have done my best to make that trip happen

 

[Ian Grant]

Alan, that's quite the story, and I respect it. If you burn the ships, you can't return; it's a new beginning. Although I would have done my best to make that trip happen

Back in the late 1980s I made a huge shift in direction photographically. I embraced the Zone System and spent a year shooting one small bridge, I was also exploring new projects

I went to a John Blakemore workshop and while presenting my work showed some from that series. John said read Kafta "The Bridge", Peter Goldfield had the book of short stories and came back with a photo copy.

But I had already moved on.




Kaftka - The Bridge

I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge.

It was toward evening one day—was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell—my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in summer, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step! To me, to me. Straighten yourself, bridge, make ready, railless beams, to hold up the passenger entrusted to you. If his steps are uncertain, steady them unobtrusively, but if he stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl him across to land.

He came, he tapped me with the iron point of his stick, then he lifted my coattails with it and put them in order upon me. He plunged the point of his stick into my bushy hair and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me no doubt while he wildly gazed around him. But then—I was just following him in thought over mountain and valley—he jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening. Who was it? A child? A dream? A wayfarer? A suicide? A tempter? A destroyer? And I turned so as to see him. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quite around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn and transpierced by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water.

We don't follow tripod holes,

Ian

 

[Vieri]

Quite lovely. thanks for sharing these.

Thank you very much, happy you liked them!

Very nice you can't beat that area for photography.

Thank you so much! Indeed, the Highlands of Scotland are amazing, I am never tired to go back.

Years ago I had a friend who did quite a lot of photography in the Scottish Highlands - a long trip up from Staffordshire. He kept telling us how wonderful Rannoch Moor was - a huge wilderness with no roads. He wanted several of us to go up there with him and hire a pony to carry the tents and all the gear, and have the photographic holiday of a lifetime. It never happened. For my own part, I have been to the Highlands but never did much photography there. I much prefer to photograph things that I know well and with which I have a personal connection.
Eventually my friend gave up photography in the most spectacular manner. One day he decided he'd had enough. He went to a camera fair at Wolverhampton and sold all his gear. Then he piled all his extensive collection of 20 x 16 mounted prints into a big heap on his lawn - and set fire to them. And that was the end of that!

Hey Alan, what a great story - that's quite a drastic ending, but one I can definitely see and respect. When I decided to end my classical music playing career, which brought me to perform all over the world, record CDs and so on, and dedicate myself to photography full time, I just sold the flute and moved on. Never played one note again.

Alan, that's quite the story, and I respect it. If you burn the ships, you can't return; it's a new beginning. Although I would have done my best to make that trip happen

So would have I.

Back in the late 1980s I made a huge shift in direction photographically. I embraced the Zone System and spent a year shooting one small bridge, I was also exploring new projects

I went to a John Blakemore workshop and while presenting my work showed some from that series. John said read Kafta "The Bridge", Peter Goldfield had the book of short stories and came back with a photo copy.

But I had already moved on.

View attachment 5145


Kaftka - The Bridge

I was stiff and cold, I was a bridge, I lay over a ravine. My toes on one side, my fingers clutching the other, I had clamped myself fast into the crumbling clay. The tails of my coat fluttered at my sides. Far below brawled the icy trout stream. No tourist strayed to this impassable height, the bridge was not yet traced on any map. So I lay and waited; I could only wait. Without falling, no bridge, once spanned, can cease to be a bridge.

It was toward evening one day—was it the first, was it the thousandth? I cannot tell—my thoughts were always in confusion and perpetually moving in a circle. It was toward evening in summer, the roar of the stream had grown deeper, when I heard the sound of a human step! To me, to me. Straighten yourself, bridge, make ready, railless beams, to hold up the passenger entrusted to you. If his steps are uncertain, steady them unobtrusively, but if he stumbles show what you are made of and like a mountain god hurl him across to land.

He came, he tapped me with the iron point of his stick, then he lifted my coattails with it and put them in order upon me. He plunged the point of his stick into my bushy hair and let it lie there for a long time, forgetting me no doubt while he wildly gazed around him. But then—I was just following him in thought over mountain and valley—he jumped with both feet on the middle of my body. I shuddered with wild pain, not knowing what was happening. Who was it? A child? A dream? A wayfarer? A suicide? A tempter? A destroyer? And I turned so as to see him. A bridge to turn around! I had not yet turned quite around when I already began to fall, I fell and in a moment I was torn and transpierced by the sharp rocks which had always gazed up at me so peacefully from the rushing water.

We don't follow tripod holes,

Ian

Thank you for sharing, Ian.

Best regards,

Vieri

 

[Alan Clark]

Vieri, your story about how you stopped working as a classical musician and sold your flute and stopped playing is interesting. A very close friend of mine is a classically trained violinist. He played in lots of orchestras and ensembles for many years. Then his hearing went and he just stopped playing. He still has his violin but hasn't touched it for several years. The irony is that I have just finished making a violin. In the past Ray would have picked it up and played the Bach chaconne on it, just to test it out. Not any more, sadly.

Alan

 

[AERO]

Must be dreadful to be a musician and lose the hearing....

 

[Vieri]

Vieri, your story about how you stopped working as a classical musician and sold your flute and stopped playing is interesting. A very close friend of mine is a classically trained violinist. He played in lots of orchestras and ensembles for many years. Then his hearing went and he just stopped playing. He still has his violin but hasn't touched it for several years. The irony is that I have just finished making a violin. In the past Ray would have picked it up and played the Bach chaconne on it, just to test it out. Not any more, sadly.

Alan

Hello Alan, so sorry to hear about your friend Ray, very sad story. I have been very lucky in being able to choose when to leave, and even more so since I could do that when I was on top of my game.

Must be dreadful to be a musician and lose the hearing....

When I was playing, that was my worst nightmare...

Best regards,

Vieri

 

[AERO]

Hello Alan, so sorry to hear about your friend Ray, very sad story. I have been very lucky in being able to choose when to leave, and even more so since I could do that when I was on top of my game.

When I was playing, that was my worst nightmare...

Best regards,

Vieri

I am 91.. still have my hearing albeit with tinnitus.. I got this from aircraft noise on a flight deck of a carrier in the 1950s when they had a mixture of prop aircraft on the back end and jets up front..the noise was horrendous and all we had were little cloth helmets..no ear muffs. H&S was non existant in those day.s
The odd thing is........tinnitus doesnt bother me unless I relax and think - " Mmm tinnuus is a bit loud".......weird......and atmospheric pressure (high) seems to make it louder......

 

[Vieri]

I am 91.. still have my hearing albeit with tinnitus.. I got this from aircraft noise on a flight deck of a carrier in the 1950s when they had a mixture of prop aircraft on the back end and jets up front..the noise was horrendous and all we had were little cloth helmets..no ear muffs. H&S was non existant in those day.s
The odd thing is........tinnitus doesnt bother me unless I relax and think - " Mmm tinnuus is a bit loud".......weird......and atmospheric pressure (high) seems to make it louder......

Wow, 91! That is amazing! I have a right ear sound - a present I got from all the years I spent playing the flute - which doctor says is not technically tinnitus but as far as I understood tinnitus, it manifest itself pretty similarly. Doesn't bother me at all, I am used to it, but it's always there, doesn't change with pressure or anything (for now at least).

Best regards,

Vieri