Tag: nature photography

Half Deaf in the Forêt de Grasla

Posted on Posted in Black and White Photography, Film Photography, France, VendéeTagged , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

The roll started at the Jardin Extraordinaire. It finished here.

I’d loaded the Pentax ME Super with 100 ASA and put on the 50mm f/1.7: a classic pairing, and I wanted that creamy bokeh you get wide open on a prime. The Jardin gave me the first half of the roll. The Forêt de Grasla got the rest.

It’s not far. That was part of the appeal. Staying local, keeping it simple.

The forest is loud in late April. Birdsong, yes; but mostly frogs. Excitable ones. Small things, but what a noise. Good job that I’m half deaf. I found a picnic table, sat down to write, and a wolf spider walked along the wood beside me, not paying any attention whatsoever. I approved of that. The mosquitoes were less indifferent: there was one with designs on me, and I kept my eyes peeled.

I wanted tree shots, and the forest had those. It also had toads, which I hadn’t expected. The latter end of April means the canopy is full, the undergrowth is thick, and everything is moving. In that kind of light, in that kind of density, I dropped the aperture: nothing above f/8.0. Wide open would have been chaos. The forest rewards patience and a stopped-down lens.

There’s a memorial at the edge of the wood: a granite cross, a Madonna behind ironwork, and a bronze plaque to Charette and the parishioners of Grasla massacred for their faith. The Vendée is that kind of place. History sits quietly in the trees.

I still had the Panama on. Still keeping the sun off my head.

All photographs shot on 100 ASA, Pentax ME Super, 50mm f/1.7. Forêt de Grasla, April 2026.

P.S. The frogs were still going when I left.

Black and white film photograph of a straight forest road with dappled tree shadow, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a lake seen through overhanging branches, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of an empty wooden bench beside a lake, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a lake with an overhanging tree branch, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a granite cross with a Madonna figure in an iron-grille niche, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of an ivy-covered tree trunk in the Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a curving sandy track through woodland, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a straight dirt track through forest, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white close-up film photograph of backlit beech leaves with a hanging catkin, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white close-up film photograph of a lichen-covered branch, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a sunlit sapling in a dark forest interior, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a wide forest track receding into the distance, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph looking up through tree branches into the forest canopy, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a family with a pushchair on a forest track in the distance, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.
Black and white film photograph of a family cycling away along a sunlit forest track, Forêt de Grasla, Vendée.

The Pyrenees Mountains – and the Pont d’Espagne which isn’t in Spain

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If the Vendée is Jane Birkin — elegant, understated — then the Pyrenees are full-on Marilyn. Proper mountains. Vast. Unapologetic. Even in May, some peaks were still capped in snow.

I was in Lourdes hoping to strengthen my faith. I think Killian needed that too — but more than anything, he needed his mountains. Now, finally, I get it. Up there, I saw him more clearly: less the boy I once knew, more the man he’s becoming.

Like most of us, he has his issues — but he’s working through them. And sometimes, he even lets me help. Those are the moments I think I might just be getting somewhere as a father.

He’d decided we were heading to see his beloved mountains. The place? The Pont d’Espagne — yes, in France, despite the name. I may have mentioned that. Maybe.

We left the impressive foothills of Lourdes behind and climbed into the real mountains. Snowy peaks against blue sky and drifting clouds. Windows down, music low, we drove toward the famous pont. It had better be worth it.

Killian and I travel at a relaxed pace. If the view’s good, we’ll pull over. Get the camera out. Take a few shots. See what happens.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s a fiasco. But more often than not, we come away with something.

Oh no! Catastrophe! A village where you can park, and go and get an ice cream. Ah well. We took one for the team, and the lady behind the counter told us that the previous week they had snow and were shut, yet this week everything looked just like a day in May should look like. Ice cream seems to have this way of just hitting “that” spot. It’s not the tidiest of foods to eat, but it’s one I’ve developed a great fondness for it over the years.

I was already learning how to approach the infamous concept of the hairpin bend. As you know, a full head of hair hasn’t been my issue for years — let alone hairpins. But the name fits. The main thing is to drive slowly, carefully, and not die… Given I’m writing this now, reports of my untimely demise were, as they say, greatly exaggerated.

We arrived at the Parc National des Pyrénées. You go through a barrier that didn’t seem to be working — one that had given up on life and was just standing to attention, waiting for whatever ‘it’ might be. So, being the thoroughly decent chaps and all-round good eggs that we are, we tried to find a ticket. We couldn’t, but since we had tried, we said something that rhymes with bucket, and started walking to see, at long last, the bloody bridge. It had better be worth it.

I had the X100F with me and Killian was carrying my DSLR and kit. What a good lad he is. He later said that if I wasn’t lugging it around, we might’ve gone just that little bit further. So back to the pont…

Before we even saw the bridge, we heard it: the sound of the water was tremendous. Water is a primeval force, and this was huge. I wanted the “money” shot, and decided to try with the X100F, giving it a sporting chance. The Canon 6D Mark II, with its stabilised lens, would come out on top. Handheld at 1/6th of a second? Not ideal — but fun to try. You get the feeling of movement in your shot, and with the magic of ND filters, you’re not overexposed.

The site itself is just astounding — not just because of the view or the sound, but because of the raw power of the place. Killian led me grumbling up the hill and we sat down to have our picnic. We fed the ants a bit of our pâté en croûte and watched them discover it, then devour it completely. And devour it they did.

He led me past the téléphérique — closed, of course — and followed the river until we reached a wide, flat-bottomed valley with water snaking through it. We saw traces of horses and wild boars, which are a lot less boring than you might think. I noticed the clouds coming round the mountains as they go, but not singing. I don’t know a huge amount about mountains, but that’s usually a cue to get back to the car…

The walk back to the car was just about being father and son — taking the mickey out of each other as we went. It seemed to be the way we operated, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Saint Cado

Posted on Posted in Bretagne, Landscape Photography, Music, ReportageTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 6 Comments

The concert was for the municipality of Lorient and was more I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine. Sometimes as musicians we have to kowtow to certain political matters to keep the municipality sweet. They said it would be cramped, but it was, at worst, cosy, so no complaints there.

After the concert, I had organised my car so I could sleep in it. I parked up in front of my mother-in-law’s house to spend the night and get some photography in during the early hours of the morning — and because my mother-in-law can be intense, and I don’t like bothering people. It’s not that I don’t like staying overnight in people’s houses, but at one stage on exercise with the RCT (Royal Corps of Transport) back in the late 1980s, I learnt that I could sleep anywhere and that it was nothing to worry about. I didn’t have my sleeping bag from those days, which would let me sleep comfortably in minus temperatures, but I did have a couple of Scottish tartan blankets that would keep me nice and warm.

It wasn’t long before I got off to sleep. I actually slept quite well, considering, and bought myself breakfast at the local boulangerie. No snoring to contend with and no risk of being shouted at because the dog was awake and needed to go outside to poop. Yes, a very satisfying night.

After my wonderful bakery breakfast, I headed to St Cado, which really is a cadeau — a gift — for the eyes. You’ll see what I mean when you see the pictures.

I relish solitude, not just because I’m an introvert, but because I like calm and quiet. And the idea of being up at the crack of dawn is wonderful, especially when I don’t have to get out of my bed and stop hugging my wife. I was on my own and loving every minute of it.

I arrived at St Cado and used the public conveniences, as it is not the done thing to poop in front of everyone. I’m not a dog, after all. St Cado was there waiting for me to get some photos in some beautiful light. I’ve started bracketing lately to get as much as I can out of each image. Bracketing, for those who think I am speaking in Chinese, consists of taking the same photo three times — once with normal metering for light, once underexposed, and once overexposed. Back in the day, you would set up your tripod and take each photo one at a time, but now I press the button and it does it automatically. On film you would lose film doing this, but on digital, with an empty SD card — why not?

As the morning light continued to change and the village slowly came to life, I packed up my gear feeling quietly content. These simple moments — waking early, capturing the beauty of a place like St Cado, and enjoying solitude — remind me why I keep a camera close. It’s not just about the photos, but about being present and finding peace in the everyday. Saint Cado truly was a gift to the senses, and I’m grateful for the chance to savour it in my own way.

Photography Philosophy – Part VII – The Philosophy of Impermanence

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A moment you can’t get back

The second you name a moment, it’s already gone. Not the present any more, the past, and there’s no getting it back or repeating it. You can try to recreate it, same spot, same light, same people, but it will never be identical. Time’s already moved on to the next thing. Photography is the strange art of grabbing hold of that moment anyway, knowing full well it can’t be exactly reproduced.

So what do you do with that, as a photographer? Spend your time mourning everything that’s already slipped past, or feel lucky you managed to catch some of it on the way? I go back and forth. Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moment is really just this idea dressed up in French. Like comedy, apparently, photography is mostly timing. Do you freeze the action with a fast shutter, or slow down and let some blur and motion into the frame? How fleeting is what you’re actually chasing, and what does a bit of movement add to it?

My own version of this

Over the years I’ve got better at noticing these moments and trying to hold onto them, especially with my kids, especially when they’re playing together and don’t know I’m watching. I want the mess and the spontaneity of it, not a posed version. Any parent will tell you the same thing: they grow up while you’re not looking properly, and then one day you are looking properly, at old photos, thinking where did that go. My son’s 25 now. My daughter’s 15. I still don’t quite believe either number.

Learning to live with mistakes

I’ll be honest, I don’t take to mistakes easily. I like precision, I like planning a shot properly, I don’t enjoy leaving things to chance, so when something goes wrong there’s a proper flash of frustration. A blurred frame, blown highlights, a moment I simply missed. Those are the things I try hardest to avoid, and mostly fail to avoid.

But looking back over what I’ve actually shot, the path to a photo I’m proud of was never a straight line. It’s trial and error the whole way, learning to see a scene not just through the lens but through everything I got wrong trying to shoot it the first time.

It’s usually the misfires that make me rethink what I’m doing, shift the frame, check the focus again. They show me an angle I wouldn’t have tried, or drag out a feeling I wasn’t expecting to capture at all. Each mistake teaches me something, even when I’d rather it hadn’t needed teaching. They’re not really setbacks. More like uncomfortable nudges toward seeing the same photograph with slightly fresher eyes.

The photo I end up keeping is almost never the first frame, or the second, or the third. It’s whatever’s left after a run of adjustments and false starts and moments of thinking this isn’t working. Take those out of the process and I’m not sure the image I actually wanted would ever have turned up.

So yes, I still want control. I’m not pretending otherwise. But I’ve come round to thinking there’s something in the unexpected too, the mistakes, the missed shots, the ones I got completely wrong. That’s as much a part of my photography as anything I planned properly, and it usually gets me closer to whatever it was I was actually trying to say with the picture.

Where that leaves me

Photography, when I strip away the gear talk and the technique, is really just an attempt to hold onto something that’s already leaving. Every photo I take is an admission that the moment won’t come back, and somehow that doesn’t feel morbid to me, it feels closer to the point. You’re documenting not only what you saw but roughly what it felt like to be the one holding the camera.

I still want the shot to be right. I still get annoyed when it isn’t. But I’ve stopped expecting the process to be tidy, because it never has been, not once, not for me. The mess is where most of the good ones come from anyway. If that’s the trade, catching a moment you can’t keep in exchange for never quite controlling how you catch it, I’ll take it. I don’t see another option, really, and thirty-odd years in I’ve stopped wanting one.

Also in this series: Part I — An Introduction  ·  Part II — Why Do We Photograph?  ·  Part III — The Emotions of Photography  ·  Part IV — The Art of Storytelling  ·  Part V — Identity & Self-Expression  ·  Part VI — Connection Through Photography  ·  Part VII — The Philosophy of Impermanence  ·  Conclusion

The Opening of the Film Archives – April 2017 On the Border

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Good evening Dear Reader.  Some of you may know that I live in France, despite being originally from the UK, and despite probably having gone native after living here for 30 years.  I have even been accused of being a little “Continental” whatever that may mean..  I live in the west of France.  You could think that I live in Nantes just judging by the quantity of photos taken in that city.

I actually live in a smallish village at the very northern edge of the Vendée and my village borders the “la Loire Inférieure” or to use the more modern term “la Loire Atlantique.”  Our department number is 85 and theirs is 44.  I’m not saying there is any animosity between the two, in the same way that there isn’t any animosity between the inhabitant of Lancashire, and God’s own county of Yorkshire.  Absolutely none at all.

You now know where I am.  Let’s have a closer look at that area through the lens of my Canon AE1.  This series of photos was taken along my route to work.  You can see the milestone on the road where the border between the two departments finds itself.  

The trees along this stretch form a natural tunnel, creating an otherworldly atmosphere as sunlight filters through the canopy. Capturing that interplay of light and shadow was my goal with the Canon AE1. Despite some doubts about its metering capabilities, the camera performed admirably, and I’m thrilled with the results.

Since I took these photos, some of the trees have been cut back, making these images even more precious. They preserve a fleeting beauty—a reminder of how photography can immortalise moments before they change forever.

At the base of the hill runs a quiet stream, tame in spring but often overflowing in winter. Its stillness offers another perspective, reflecting the surrounding trees and clusters of mistletoe hanging high in their branches. These reflections, captured on film, reveal a different kind of magic—a mirror-like calm that contrasts with the lively interplay of light above.

This installment of the Film Archives is a tribute to the quiet beauty of my daily commute. Through these photographs, I hope to share not just a sense of place but a moment in time that speaks to the power of film photography to hold onto the ephemeral.

Browse the full Film Archives →

The Opening of the Film Archives – Penthièvres July 2016

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This set was taken on Penthièvres beach, on the Quiberon peninsula in the Morbihan. It has a special place in my heart — not just the sea itself, but the smell of the sea air and the feel of it on my face. It’s somewhere I go to escape a bit, especially when family visits get chaotic.

In some ways it’s strange going to the beach to “relax,” since that’s usually something I hate. Towels down, rocks weighing down each corner, watching the kids swim so nobody drowns (or you’ll get an earful), other people’s children screaming somewhere nearby, sand in every crevice by the time you’re back in the car with what feels like half the beach in tow.

But this was different. Boots stayed on. No screaming children. Just the wind, the sun, and being an observer rather than a participant, with nobody to make conversation with. Getting the beach down on film. Proper, solitary bliss.

So, camera and film for the day. The film was the usual Ilford HP5 I was shooting at the time. The camera was a Ukrainian-made rangefinder, the FED 5, from the Soviet era. You load it by unscrewing the base plate, much like a Leica, and the “ghost image” focusing is spot on and genuinely satisfying to use. I still love the smell of the leather case. As with a lot of my film photography, the experience of shooting it matters as much to me as the pictures that come out the other end.

Penthièvres ended up being more than just somewhere to point a camera. It’s become one of the places I go back to in my head when I need to, and these shots are what’s left of that particular afternoon.

Manual Mastery – a beginner’s guide Part I

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How many times have I seen grown men go to pieces at the suggestion of using manual mode?  Or worse, how many times have I seen other grown men saying that to be a real photographer you have to master manual mode otherwise you’re not a real photographer?  Let me assure you that it’s not as complicated as it sounds.  When I took my first  photography lessons in 1984, I learnt it as a child.  You’ve got this, and I’m here to accompany you through the process.   As the Hitchkiker’s Guide so elegantly says, in comforting letters, “Don’t Panic!”

There are some basic concepts to understand, the first of which is the exposure triangle which we were introduced to in the Photography 101 article. Those three things to consider are, ISO, or film sensitivity, shutter speed, aperture, and balancing them together.

Are you ready?  We’ll go step by step telling you how each of these settings influence your shot, and how we will balance them to create the image that “you” want instead of the image that your “camera” wants to take.  You are the creative boss after all.  And that is the reason that people use Manual Mode.

ISO, or film sensitivity

When I started learning photography in the last century was I was a young boy, yes I was young once, we only had film as a means to capture our images.  You would choose your film in function of the light available.  And when using my film cameras I still work in this way.  100 ASA (which is the same as ISO on modern camera) for sunny conditions, sometimes even 50 ASA, where the film can be used in bright conditions, going through to 200 ASA when it’s cloudy, but with sun shining through, to 400 ASA when overcast, 800 ASA when inside or even 1600 ASA, to 3200 ASA for night photography.  

In the film days we would talk about the presence or absence of grain and this was part of the deal.  You would get less grain the lower down the ASA range you went, and more grain the further up you went.  And this grain was a result of the crystals on the film emulsion, and the chemical developing process.  The choice could be as much about lighting conditions as an artistic decision.  Once the film you chose was in the camera however, it didn’t change until you changed your film.

Nowadays with all this modern technology palaver, you can change this ISO (because it’s digital photography) and change it for each photo.  Unfortunately the higher up you go in these values, the more “noise” you will get.  This digital noise is in a random pattern and totally unlike the grain of film photography.

Shutter speed

Shutter speed, as the words suggest, is about the speed of which the shutter opens  and closes to expose either the film or camera’s sensor.  You see, I told you that this would be simple to understand.  If I can get it, then so can you.  So now we’re on to speed.  When changing the speed of which the light hits the film or the shutter, I can freeze motion, of get a conscious motion blur, where the photo will seem animated.

Let’s say I want to take a photo of somebody running towards me. I will use a higher shutter speed to freeze the action.  Think of sports photography, of catching a  pass of a ball in rugby, or a footballer stopping a ball etc.  Those factors will make or break your image.  Imagine a photo of a football match and you can’t see the ball because it’s going faster than your shutter.  It might not work out for you.  In this situation, on my film cameras I will let the shutter curtain open for just 1/1000th of a second.  Depending on which digital camera I can go as quick as 1/8000 th of a second.

Let’s go to the other extreme.  I’m taking photos of a landscape and I want to show the motion of trees in the wind, the movement of the clouds, or the movement of water. I will use a longer shutter speed, say anything from 1/8th of a second to one second…  The subject will be moving faster than the shutter curtain, and I will get that artistic blur. 

I could be somewhere very dark, so in order to get a clear photo, I will have to let more light through onto my film or sensor.There I might have to use bulb mode in order to leave the shutter curtain for longer than 2 seconds.

For shooting a subject walking I would use 1/125th to 1/250th of a second to freeze the frame.  When using a flash in manual mode, I would aim to be around 1/60th of a second (which depends on your camera’s flash sync value).  When talking about shutter speeds I’m thinking of my film cameras  and bearing in mind that most digital cameras will have wider ranges of shutter speed.  Another tip for you would be to not let your shutter speed go below the number of your focal length (the legendary reciprocal rule).  Let’s say I’m using a 50mm lens, then I would not use a speed under 1/50th of a second, or even 1/60th of a second.  If I have a 200mm lens I would not go under 1/200th of a second. This is to counterbalance the weight of the lens and avoid lens shake.

Conclusion

This article has a lot of information in it and I have decided to separate everything and have a Part II.  In this Part I we have talked about sensitivity to light be that film, and the different ratings of films for various lighting situations.  In digital photography we have a wider range of ISO settings and with the newer cameras, the noise in an ISO 3200 setting will produce a much less grainy image than with film.  However this “grain” can be used as an artistic choice and I will let “you” experiment and see what each film gives you.

We have talked about shutter speed, and the ability to freeze an instant with a higher speed.  And the opposite of this to create motion in our image.

In my next article, we will talk about Aperture and how this effects depth of field and discover the rich creaminess of bokeh.  We will also explore various scenarii and give concrete examples of the effects of this triangle and how to turn it into an advantage.

Also in this series: Manual Mastery Part I  ·  Manual Mastery Part II

Finding Balance: Photography and Personal Wellness

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Photography is one of the best ways I know to switch off. When I’m behind the camera, I stop overthinking and just look at what’s in front of me, which is its own kind of relief from the noise of daily life.

It doesn’t always produce a good photo. That’s fine. The time spent actually looking at something is worth it regardless of what ends up in the final frame.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed, picking up a camera and going for a walk is cheap therapy. It’s helped me more than once.