New (Cumulative)
In photography, as in other walks of life, a reassuring sense of nostalgia can be conjured up by re-visiting favourite moments from the past. This is, I think, one of the main reasons that we do photography - to create a ‘bookmark in time’ to a cherished place or special occasion, forever rekindling those otherwise fading memories. And so it is when compiling or viewing a portfolio of the type presented here.
Yet to remain truly vibrant, it’s also important that any portfolio or gallery is afforded space to grow. This helps to keep things alive and open the door to fresh experiences… to ensure that I still see myself as a Photographer at Work, in the spirit of Karen’s garden portrait from the 2020 lockdown. After all, the world is crammed full of compositions waiting to be discovered, their potential silently beckoning!
The current sub-section is designed to highlight these fresh experiences. And from a practical point of view, it allows the viewer to check for recently-added content without needing to review all of my other portfolio sections (which, let’s face it, is hardly likely to happen!). So while the images presented here may not be my greatest, they can at least claim to be my latest! ;-)
The content that follows is an archive to my rolling Portfolio (New) page, accumulating once-new images (from late 2022 onwards) as they were originally posted to this part of my website. The main sub-sections are presented in reverse chronological order (newest first).
“Photographer at Work”
by Karen Scott (May 2020)
The Lone Hawthorn
(Dartmoor, April 2025)
The trouble with iconic venues is that they carry a certain weight of expectation. As a photographer, you feel disappointed if you don’t come away with something jaw-dropping, even if conditions aren’t great or your muse is still tucked up under the eiderdown.
Talking of Jaws dropping, the pressure of shooting on Dartmoor is ramped up even higher by Hollywood icon Steven Spielberg, who commented as follows while filming War Horse in 2010…
“I have never before, in my long and eclectic career, been gifted with such an abundance of natural beauty as I experienced on Dartmoor… with two-and-a-half weeks of extensive coverage of landscapes and skies, I hardly scratched the surface of the visual opportunities that were offered to me."
So there it is… an endorsement of the region’s “visual opportunities'“ from the master story-teller himself. Yet humble pretenders, looking to convey their own story in a single modest frame, are clearly unlikely to rival Indiana Jones or Jurassic Park. The key, I think, is to lower expectations, soak up the atmosphere, and simply enjoy whatever scenes happen to unfold.
In my case, however, I did have a secret weapon - a pair of intrepid swashbucklers in the shape of my Dad (Nigel) and trusty hound (Moogie). By bounding to the crest of a nearby granite outcrop, oblivious to the peril, they were able to augment my view of the lone hawthorn and distant Hay Tor.
Admittedly it’s more One Mann and His Dog than Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but no matter… sometimes the landscape is alien enough already! ;-)
”Anyone seen the Devil’s Tower?”
(Exploring the Rocky Roots of Dartmoor)
“Landscapes and Skies”
(Dartmoor’s Iconic Lone Hawthorn)
Pining for the Fords
(Exebridge Return, April 2025)
First Hisley Bridge, now Exebridge… it seems that returning to bridges (or fords) is becoming something of a habit as I wade further into the spring of 2025.
In the case of Exebridge - where the aptly-named River Exe meanders through the Exmoor foothills - I returned with quite a specific purpose in mind. My previous visit, one month earlier, had been specifically designed to test my new fishing waders… so my focus was naturally on the river itself. But as such, I’d neglected to photograph a fine lone tree in the adjacent field.
When I’d first glimpsed it, camera unwisely packed away, this tree had been magically illuminated by the rising sun. There was even a pond in a frosty hollow at its base, which I’d begun to frame up before realising that the moment had passed. This time, I was banking on the dawn conditions re-aligning; and when they did, however briefly, I would surely be ready!
Yet, as so often when preconceptions run rampant, I was to be disappointed. I made it to the field for Sunday sunrise, but skies were just too clear. Golden hour became a harsh glare; and compositionally, I couldn’t separate the tree from a distant messy background.
So I gave up on the lone tree, and looked around for anything else to shoot. Unsure of which focal length to use, I decided to constrain myself by fitting an 80mm prime (i.e. a lens with non-adjustable zoom). And for better or worse, this led me to pick out High Pines…
High Pines
(Exe Valley, Devon/Somerset Border)
Now I’m often content with one picture per photoshoot, but I was conscious that High Pines wasn’t really what I’d come for. And with the river so close by (in fact, it was just over the stile at the bottom-left of the image), I couldn’t resist a quick gander - if not a quick paddle!
The trouble is, this time I was sans waders. I was wearing wellingtons though, and water levels had fallen significantly since last month’s visit. This meant that some of the previously-submerged rocks were now spawning mini-rapids; and if I was hyper-careful, the river was just shallow enough for me to splosh around without the ice-cold water spilling over into my wellies.
At this stage, I should acknowledge that a simple snap of the tree-lined river would probably be much more of a crowd-pleaser than my arty attempts at semi-abstract close-ups. Yet, I seem to have developed a liking for texture and patterns, augmented in this case by the dappled sunlight which was just starting to skim the white water.
I anchored my tripod and teed up a single composition, pressing the shutter twice to experiment with different shutter speeds: firstly, just over three seconds; and secondly, just under one second. I think I prefer the latter, though present them both for posterity.
A nearby wooden sign, presumably for fisher-folk, calls this part of the river Rocky Pool - an apt if simple name. Personally, I’m happier taking photos rather than fish! ;-)
Go with the Flow
(Rocky Pool Rapids, River Exe)
By the Light of a Crescent Sun
(Partial Solar Eclipse, March 2025)
It’s a fine Saturday morning at the end of March, and I have two free hours to kill between dropping Karen off at art class and collecting her again. By a curious coincidence, this time span marks the exact duration of a partial solar eclipse which is set to sweep across the UK between 10am and midday. While Karen paints a sunflower, I’ll focus on the sun…
Much as I love astronomy, I do have reservations. Eclipses are magnificent to behold - literally cosmic events - yet from a photographic standpoint, everyone tends to end up with the same basic composition. I’d also captured something similar before (the so-called Celestial Jaffa Cake of June 2021). And worse still, there’s always somebody with a bigger telescope…
In a vain attempt to counter all of this, I develop a hare-brained notion to capture a foreground silhouette within the eclipsed disc of the sun - a bird, say, perched in a treetop. So I drive to the nearby countryside, where there’s a quiet riverside pasture, and set up my tripod beneath a tree with a prominent upper branch.
But I can see straight away that this is hopeless. The sun is high in the sky, so I’m tucked right in under the tree - and consequently, the branch is pretty close. With my longest lens and teleconverter fitted, there’s no way on earth that the branch and sun will both be in focus. And then there’s the solar filter, which renders everything except the sun completely black. Even aligning the branch with the moving sun seems an astronomical task.
Then, to top it all, a bank of cloud drifts across and obscures the sun entirely. And there’s clearly more to come, bubbling up from the south. With the maximum extent of the eclipse only minutes away, I seem to have missed my chance. Dejectedly, I collect my gear and wander off to explore the river instead.
Yet, just as I’m contemplating an abstract shot of a mini-rapid, the scene is flooded with sunlight. And sure enough, a small gap has opened up in the cloud, with just a few wisps remaining to mute the sun’s disc. I can’t really look with the naked eye, but the dark curve of the moon is definitely intruding, somehow sensed as much as seen.
Now in something of a panic, I hurriedly re-apply the solar filter, spin round my tripod and zoom in to this celestial wonder. Any thought of a fancy silhouette now seems absurd - simply capturing the eclipse is challenging enough, and there’s a real feel of excitement at witnessing something so magical as it finally emerges, shakily at first, through my camera’s viewfinder. I dial in the settings and fire off a couple of shots, before thicker cloud once again blows in. But it’s now in the can… not the ‘money shot’ that I’d dreamt of, but something realistic and worthwhile. I pack up my camera bag and head contentedly back to the car.
Yet photoshoots can be emotional rollercoasters… and as I glance over at my original tree, I’m brought back to earth with a bump. I notice that a lone buzzard has perched on the tree’s upper branch… the very branch that I’d been attempting to tee up before I’d impatiently abandoned my post. The bird flies away as I approach, and probably wouldn’t have landed there had I been in the vicinity - but still, it’s fun to wonder, like the archetypal fisherman, about the one that got away!
The main thing is, I made it back to the art centre on time to collect Karen. She has her sunflower and I have my sun. Perhaps we should hang them next to each other on the wall, to mark an artistic Saturday morning artfully spent! ;-)
IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER… the solar eclipse pics shown below were taken through a specialised solar filter. Never look directly at the sun with the naked eye; if using optical equipment (including cameras), ensure that suitable precautions are in place.
Eclipsing my Photographic Art -
Karen’s Acrylic Sunflower
(Spot the Sunspot!)
(Devon, 29th March 2025)
Hisley Bridge Revisited
(Edge of Dartmoor, March 2025)
Over a month had passed since I’d last visited Hisley Bridge… and it was gradually dawning on me that I had unfinished business.
On that previous occasion, I’d failed to find a compelling composition of the ancient bridge or River Bovey, and had instead found myself sizing up a nearby stagnant pool. The resulting image, Foot of the Forest, hopefully has its merits - but if I’m honest, I hadn’t really done the place justice.
So one weekend at the tail-end of March, I once again engaged the services of local guide Nigel and tracker dog Moo. As before, Hisley Bridge was in our sights - and thankfully, though the weather was grey, the drizzle stayed away!
This time, I also had a secret weapon up my sleeve - or rather, almost everywhere except my sleeve - for I’d clumsily donned my comical pair of fishing waders. And while I self-consciously sploshed around, my Dad waited patiently on the bank and fielded questions from puzzled walkers about what that strange man was doing in the river?!
Actually, I’m not so sure of that myself… answers on a postcard! ;-)
The Old Rugged Crossing
(Hisley Bridge, River Bovey)
Taking a Bough - The Split Tree
(Darkest Devon, March 2025)
I’d first noticed the ‘Split Tree’ while driving home from the dentist - a time when I’m especially sensitive to crumbling decay - during the autumn of 2024.
Despite the tree’s obvious potential, a follow-up recce during the Christmas holiday hadn’t been encouraging. Perhaps influenced by the dull grey weather at the time, all I could see were problems. For one thing, the adjacent ‘trunk’ road made me self-conscious, clearly hindering surreptitious use of the field. Then there were the background telegraph wires - a classic photographic eyesore. And finally, closer inspection revealed that the Business Park opposite, which I’d eyed on the map as a potential parking area, had a barrier and 24-hour security. Hmm… time to look elsewhere! :-(
Yet the lure of the ‘Split Tree’ never entirely left me. I’d sometimes imagine how it would look in snow (which never materialised), or in thick fog (which did materialise, but only when I was at work or in bed!). But thinking about it, I hadn’t shot any nightscapes in a while - and the cover of darkness would solve the busy ‘trunk’ road problem, perhaps even obscuring those pesky telegraph wires…
So fast-forward to March, and I set off one murky Saturday night for a spot of covert photography. OK, so I’d need to park some distance up the road and walk in, stumbling along the verge in the partial moonlight. But this could be worth it, for the adventure alone. I was soon tiptoeing past that Business Park security post at midnight, camera and tripod in hand… if only I could evade detection, maybe I’d avoid being arrested as an industrial spy! (If questioned, this website must surely aid my cover story of being a hapless, indeed slightly obsessive, landscape photographer!) ;-)
As it transpired, one further constraint was that the field was planted with a crop, meaning that I could only look on from the edge. Yet I enjoyed experimenting, watching the clouds float by as I tried different exposure times in which to ‘light-paint’ the split tree using a torch (timed to avoid the bewilderment of passing motorists!).
To conclude, I even ‘branched out’ a little into the realm of abstract, waving torch and tripod to generate a kind-of ‘tractor beam’ effect over the tree. Aliens everywhere, beware! :-0
Exe Valley Abstracts
(River Exe at Exebridge, March 2025)
The first Sunday of March may have blossomed into a fine sunny day, but it began with a cold and frosty dawn. For me, this was an opportunity to try out my new pair of fishing waders, purchased (to much family hilarity) for the sole purpose of immersive water photography. So I set out just before dawn - around 6:30am - and decided to explore the Exe Valley north of Tiverton, where the River Exe snakes its way out of the Exmoor foothills.
Beautiful as this area is, I found the emerging light a little harsh for conventional landscape shots - and besides, I had a river to clamber into! So I parked up at Exebridge, on the Devon/Somerset border, and walked the shaded banks in search of any enticing white water.
The river around here is wide and serene, yet a modest line of rapids at least held some abstract potential. So I clumsily donned my waders and sploshed in, using my tripod to brace against the current. I must have been anchored there for almost an hour, growing extremely cold as I waited for some side light to infiltrate the valley’s wooded slopes.
Exposure times of 2 to 3 seconds allowed for some blurring of the water… which led me to wonder whether these rapids, viewed upside down, might be indistinguishable from brooding clouds. Simulacra in nature, that sort of thing.
And maybe there’s something in this, as my Facebook posting of Watercolour Sky (An Exe Valley Abstract) so far remains unchallenged as a genuine sky shot. Or maybe it’s just lack of interest. No matter - either way, I enjoyed creating it! ;-)
Extra Texture - River Exe Rapids
(Viewed the right way up!)
Watercolour Sky
(An Exe Valley Abstract)
Foot of the Forest
(Hisley Bridge Pool, February 2025)
Hisley Bridge, spanning the River Bovey on the wooded fringes of Dartmoor, is surely one of the most historic and photogenic packhorse bridges in the country.
Unfortunately, on this grey and drizzly winter’s day, I just couldn’t find a composition. And so, not for the first time, I ended up in something of a stagnant puddle.
Let’s call it a pool rather than a puddle… and let’s be even more generous by giving the picture a title.
So here’s my inaugural image of 2025 - allow me to present Foot of the Forest…
Keep Culm and Carry On
Devon’s Culm Vale at Christmas
(December 2024)
On the penultimate day of 2024, rebuffing the damp greyness which had dominated the festive break, I headed out to the nearby fields of Devon’s Culm Vale.
As suspected, the resulting shoot failed to yield any real portfolio pics (despite the trio below sneaking onto this page!). The low sun failed to break through, and the images really needed something - if not golden light then a touch of frost or fog - to add a layer of mystery. Yet there were no wispy tendrils to draw a veil across… well, the vale.
No matter; such is life. And if there’s no vibrant colour to be found, we always have the option of turning monochrome (as per my opening, minimalist shot). Or of framing some distant sheep…
Iconic Cornwall - A Taste of Kernow
(September/October 2024)
As the Autumn of 2024 rolled around, our latest family escape took us to a remote farmhouse deep in the Cornish countryside…
Cornish Curves… looking out from our holiday farmland to a particularly sinuous hedge,
rising above Stithians Lake (our local reservoir and bird sanctuary)
Swallowed by Nature… Cornish mine workings at Tyacke’s Shaft (near Penkellis)
The area is rightly renowned for its mining heritage, which transformed the Cornish landscape throughout the Industrial Revolution - a time when global demand for copper and tin spawned very big business. Yet this once-booming endeavour is now reduced to industrial relics, the county’s ruined Engine Houses offering iconic reminders of bygone days. And poignantly, even these are slowly but surely being reclaimed by nature… as illustrated by the tangle of trees in the above image of Tyacke’s Shaft.
Trewavas Mine
While Tyacke’s Shaft is discretely tucked away in the Cornish countryside, the mine workings at Trewavas Head (near Porthleven) stand proudly atop granite sea cliffs… conforming much more strongly to the idealised archetype. Here I’ll offer three different images of Trewavas, effectively variations on a single composition. The first is an appropriately ‘ghostly’ black & white (can you spot the ‘ghost coast’ phantom?), with the second featuring a fully formed apparition. Yet the third is presented as ‘best’… a 17-second exposure thankfully stripped of my earlier selfie shenanigans!
This was clearly a beautiful yet hostile working environment, right up until the mine’s abrupt closure back in 1846 - apparently, due to the sudden flooding of shafts beneath the seabed. The modern photographer’s clifftop plight seems trivial by comparison! :-0
Kynance Cove
Now that I’m focusing on the Cornish coast, I’ll stick with this theme and move to a special place on the storm-lashed Lizard peninsula. It’s a destination which captures the essence of Cornwall like nowhere else, even without featuring in an age-old Mann family anecdote (which I won’t go into here!). And if ever a name was begging to be recited in a pirate accent, it’s surely this one: Kynance Cove.
I was lucky enough to visit Kynance Cove just before sunset - and while sundown itself was nothing spectacular, I was there at evening high tide on the day after a storm. You might call it the magic of ‘Eventide’.
It’s not an experience to be easily forgotten - and if the National Trust car park hadn’t closed at 7pm, I’d probably be there still! :-)
Godrevy Island
The final afternoon of our Cornish holiday allowed an opportunity to delay the inevitable packing and instead visit Godrevy Cove, to photograph the nearby island of the same name. I hadn’t ever explored here before, although I’d regularly admired the island - and its prominent lighthouse - from across the bay on Hayle Sands.
And like Kynance Cove, Godrevy Island featured in old Mann family reminiscences of the area - only a minor connection, perhaps, yet enough to add that spark of motivation to an already alluring subject.
Others clearly felt the same way, as tourist boats seemed drawn to the island like magnets (despite the fact that this was a weekday in early October). A small yellow one can be seen in my first exploratory snap…
Having pottered around the shore of Godrevy Cove for a little while, it was only toward the end of my visit that I found what I was looking for: a chasm in the rocks which perfectly framed the lighthouse. Here was my opportunity to sign off the trip with something archetypally Cornish! :-)
I decided to smooth the water by applying a polariser and filter, giving a 30-second exposure which I hoped would lend a suitable degree of tranquility to my impromptu theme of ‘Light at the end of the tunnel’. Yet my pebbly tripod stance was awkward, while the exposure itself could be tricky (shooting as I was from a dark place into bright sunlight). I also wasn’t sure which zoom level would work best, and only had time for three shots before the rising tide forced a hasty retreat. But hopefully they came out OK - I’ll present all three below, and let the viewer decide which is preferred…
Light at the End of the Tunnel
(Godrevy Lighthouse, Cornwall)
Accidental Art and Inadvertent Abstracts
(Summer 2024)
If photography is an artform, it’s surely about more than the laborious choreography of planning, composing, shooting, post-processing…? Maybe randomness should also play a part? What you might call a healthy dose of serendipity?
This idea led to a curious (non-)project, prompted by my tenuous grasp of modern technology (if not modern art). During Jan 2024 I inherited a second-hand smartphone, in a battered old purple cover, and definitely didn’t know how to use it. Upon picking it up, I’d often find myself facing a strange setting, as if I’d handled the phone awkwardly and inadvertently activated something. And then one day, I realised that I had activated something. I’d accidentally taken a photo.
For the modern-day photographer in a hurry, what could be better? Here was fate doing it for me. All I had to do was wait for my mobile to misfire, download the inadvertent abstracts, and package it up as accidental art.
Well… it’s certainly accidental, but I’ll let the viewer decide whether it’s art. Are these images a serendipitous reflection of modern life? Or just a load of old Jackson Pollocks? :-0
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Island Time;
Back on the Beautiful Isle of Arran
(May 2024)
May 2024… time to slap on the suncream, slip on the Bermuda shorts, and make our annual pilgrimage to the beautiful Isle of Arran.
OK, so reality didn’t always live up to the fairy tale - I missed seeing a spectacular display of Northern Lights by one night, while the ensuing ‘golden hours’ were often closer to grey. Conditions varied from heavy rain to a near-heatwave (then back again), with neither extreme being ideal for camera-work. But surely that’s why we love landscape photography, especially on the west coast of Scotland… you never quite know what you’re going to get! :-)
Anyway, let’s forget any weather woes and dive straight in. For better or worse, here are a few modest highlights of our holiday…
(For additional text and images, please see the Arran section of my 2024 Gallery)
Late to the Lightshow…
No Northern Lights - though their absence reveals a Crescent Moon over Lamlash Bay!
(West Kildonan Shoreline and Pladda)
Grey Dawn
(Kildonan Awakes)
The Yellow Arch
(A Window on Bennen Head)
(West Kildonan Cataract)
(Ripples in the Sand, East Kildonan)
Although most of the images on this page are from dedicated Fuji X-T3 outings, I also wanted to include just a smattering of ‘holiday snaps’. As the saying goes, the best camera is the one you have with you - and while the following shots may not be the best technically, they wouldn’t exist at all if I hadn’t been able to ‘borrow’ Karen’s wee point-and-shoot… ;-)
Holy Isle dominates Lamlash Bay, just off Arran’s south-eastern seaboard. As the name suggests, this is a special and spiritual place, currently serving as a Buddhist retreat. Our Sunday day-trip to the island was made aboard the Sallyforth, courtesy of Lamlash Cruises.
The Holy Isle photos shown here were all taken on the move, documentary-style, while Mel and I traversed the island’s high point and returned along the western shore. After meeting a flock of wild Soay sheep, we concluded with a pilgrimage to the sacred cave of St. Molaise.
(Holy Isle, Firth of Clyde)
(Holy Isle Shore)
(Rock Art Simulacra)
(Picture of a Picture!)
The Holy Fern
(St. Molaise’s Cave, Holy Isle)
and Cìr Mhòr
(Cloudy Morning, Glen Rosa)
(Binnein Wood, Glen Rosa)
The Tragic Faraway Tree;
One Last Night Beneath the Stars
(Darkest Devon, April 2024)
A ‘Tall Tree’ Tribute…
Late April brought the poignant news that the raggedy old tree behind our house - a local landmark and great wildlife haven - would get the chop after failing a medical.
A bittersweet ‘astro’ shoot was hastily arranged in our back garden to commemorate the tree’s last night standing proud beneath the stars... :-(
Devon Life
(A ‘Flying Visit’ to the Culm Vale Countryside - April 2024)
My Wellington ‘astro’ shoot aside, photographic plans were slow to take shape during the first few months of 2024. A wet and windy late winter/early spring didn’t exactly sell the great outdoors! Still, it was good to get back into the swing of things toward mid-April, when a sunnier weekend at last lured some bug-life to a fallen log in my local Devon countryside.
I must admit, I was feeling a little out of practice - and short on subjects - as I headed out over the fields. But if in doubt about finding an expansive landscape composition, it sometimes helps to think on an altogether smaller scale and reach for the trusty macro lens… ;-)
Finally Facing My Waterloo
(Wellington Monument - March 2024)
My opening salvo of 2024 depicts a stellar night out at the Wellington Monument, somewhere in the Blackdown Hills of darkest Somerset.
For a ‘sneak peek’ behind the scenes of this photoshoot - including an object lesson in how not to assemble a tripod - please see the unplanned confessional which opens my 2024 Gallery… :-0
The Obelisk
Wellington Monument, atop Somerset’s Blackdown Hills, is the tallest three-sided obelisk in the world.
It commemorates the Duke of Wellington’s victory at the 1815 Battle of Waterloo… where, as the song succinctly states, “Napoleon did surrender”.
Intriguingly, many of the background stars are so far away that we’re seeing them long before Napoleon - or his erstwhile beau, Joséphine - were starry twinkles in anyone’s eye! ;-)
A Walk Beside the Waves
(Hayle Sands)
The Coast of Kernow (Deepest Cornwall - November 2023)
It’s become something of a tradition for us to escape to the Cornish coast as autumn gives way to winter, the deserted (desert-like) beaches providing ample compensation for the dark nights and oft-stormy weather.
This year our sojourn took us to Marazion, a village near Penzance which is renowned for offering access to the dramatic tidal island of St. Michael’s Mount. With such a celebrated subject close at hand, my small number of ‘photoshoots’ were conducted straight from our front door, the coastline beneath allowing for a mini-study of Mount’s Bay.
This was also my first time trying out a new carbon-fibre tripod - a Benro Tortoise - so you may need to excuse the odd gratuitous long exposure! :-)
For my final shoot of the holiday, the desired sunset didn’t really materialise - so I instead searched for a distinctive foreground and stumbled across a boulder which I dubbed Neptune Rock, on account of its likeness to a face rising from the sea (or maybe I'd had one smuggled rum too many?).
Whether Neptune-related or not, it's curious that a magnitude 2.7 earthquake would have its epicentre in Mount’s Bay shortly afterwards, just hours after we’d returned home. Now that would have made an interesting test for the tripod! :-0
Pools and Patterns
(Hayle Sands)
(Morning Light, Mount's Bay)
(Sun on the Harbour Wall)
(Monochrome)
(Neptune Rock and St. Michael's Mount)
(Gathering Dusk, Mount's Bay)
Scarduish
(Front elevation)
The Magic of Moidart (Western Highlands - September 2023)
I’ve titled this section The Magic of Moidart because that’s where we were based - a remote part of Moidart, in a cottage called Scarduish which nestled idyllically between craggy wooded hills and a scenic sea loch. Just around the corner was a ruined castle on a tidal islet, while eagles soared overhead and a herd of red deer would visit our garden at night (much to the astonishment of our doggies!).
Surrounded by all this beauty, local images of Moidart do indeed feature prominently in the selection below. However, it’s not all about Moidart - we would also venture north to Morar, east to Ardgour, south to Ardnamurchan, and even west to the enigmatic Isle of Eigg. Hopefully my captions will fill in any gaps.
As for the Magic part of the title… well, it was certainly magical being there. I’ll be content if just a small part of this magic (“not a lot!”) is conveyed on camera! :-)
Scarduish
(Rear elevation)
(Above Scarduish)
(High Tide)
(Loch Moidart)
(The Blue Lagoon - Deepest Moidart)
(A Sea of Cloud - Looking across Loch Moidart to the Distant Islands of Eigg and Rùm)
(Surveying the Cloud Inversion - Loch Moidart from Cruach nam Meann)
(Here to 'Poach a Scramble'!)
(The Ultimate Back Garden Rockery!)
(5-pic panorama; Muck and Rùm beyond)
('Countryfile' meets 'Close Encounters'!)
(Sadly not a Spaceship!)
(From the slopes of Ben Hiant, Ardnamurchan)
(Loch Sunart from Ben Hiant)
(From the Bare Bones of Ben Hiant to the Hazy Hills of Moidart)
(River Shiel, Moidart)
(Old Shiel Bridge, Abstract #1)
(Old Shiel Bridge, Abstract #2)
(Sgùrr of Eigg beyond)
(Castle Tioram across Loch Moidart)
(Our Highland Retreat)
(Rocky and Moo, Scarduish)
(Sighting #1)
(Sighting #2)
(Golden Eagle)
(Loch Shiel, Acharacle)
(Tranquil Acharacle)
(Morning Mist, Loch Shiel)
(Loch Shiel and Beinn Resipol)
(The Long View)
(The Short View)
(In Honour of Robert the Bruce!)
(Loch Shiel and Beinn Resipol)
(Overlooking Glen Moidart)
(Taking the High Road)
(Landing Place of Bonnie Prince Charlie and his 'Seven Men of Moidart', Summer 1745)
(The Silver Walk)
(The Monochrome Walk)
(Beneath Garbh Bheinn of Ardgour)
(Burn of the Corrie of the Yew)
(Coire an Iubhair)
(Coire an Iubhair)
(Allt Coire an Iubhair and Beinn Bheag)
Log Life (Devon Macro - August 2023)
Isle of Arran (Home From Home - May 2023)
Arran Interiors (Falls and Forest)
(Eas Mòr Wood, Upper Kildonan)
(West Kildonan Cataract)
(Glenashdale Bluebell)
(Glenashdale Falls)
(Photographic Pencil Drawing)
(Psychedelic Firs?)
Arran Exteriors (Surf and Sealife)
(Holy Isle from Lamlash)
(Pladda from Kildonan)
(No Laughing Matter!)
(Gonna Need a Bigger Fog Lamp!)
(Pladda from Kildonan)
(Holiday Cottage at Centre)
(Swanning Around at Kildonan)
(Couple #1)
(Couple #2)
(Sea Pink, Kildonan Shoreline)
(Sleepy Seal, West Kildonan Coast)
Arran Rooflines (The Battle of Sannox Burn)
to the Depths of the Baryte Mines -
then Return to the Sannox Burn!
(The Burn, Glen Sannox)
Easter Sunday Morning (Devon’s Culm Vale - April 2023)
Cornish Return (North Cornwall’s Coast and Countryside - February 2023)
(St. Michael's Chapel and Hermitage, Roche Rock)
(Almost Stranded at Trebarwith Strand!)
(Boscastle at Dusk)
(Jupiter and Venus in Conjunction over the North Cornish Coast)
The Hobbit Tree (Killerton Park Astro - January 2023)
‘Winter Moon Tree’ and Friends (Killerton Park Reconnaissance - December 2022)
Cornish Capers (Roseland Peninsula - November 2022)
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