Portknockie's Other Rock

I felt pretty defeated about my night shoot, so next day I went out to cheer myself up. Oscar and I went for a climb down to the shore at Quineland to see the amusingly called "Shitten Craig". I can only guess at the name - it is a rock that has been turned white by the sea birds guano and is called in the guidebooks "White Craig". The more colourful name seems to be the local variant. Not as unusual as Bow Fiddle Rock, Shitten Craig is still a striking lump of stone. Huge, triangular like a sharks fin, white and covered in sea birds, the waves crash and break on it protecting the Portknockie natural harbour at Quineland . In the area a Quine is Doric for a girl, so I assume this was where the women worked at mending nets, gutting fish etc. I think only a lunatic would go out to sea around that wild coast so maybe it is appropriate that young lads are called "Loons". Oscar louped about the area and although he had great fun lying in the rock pools and climbing the cliffs, thankfully he stayed out of the big waves while I took a series of shots of the jagged coast. I got a few good ones as well, there is something about water, rocks and a lack of people that makes photography great fun.

What did I learn on this shoot - the local tourist attraction may not always be the most photogenic, explore the quiet places and when a 3 stone dog runs over a grassy area, it doesn't mean that a 15 stone man can do the same without getting ankle deep in the bog.

Night Time Adventures at the Coast

With changeable weather the photography in Banffshire was not easy, but I persevered throughout the holiday, visiting Bow Fiddle at all hours and spending time climbing down to Quineland and the rocky beach at Portknockie. On the second last night I went for a night shot of Bow Fiddle. Tripod, mirror lockup, bulb exposure, and torch to play on the rock and light my way home. All set for the picture in my mind of the rock on a misty calm sea (through a long exposure) with star trails above. Wrong. It was cloudy, darkness fell quickly, I misjudged the exposure very badly. Time to go back, except it was pitch dark by this time, I was cold and my torch would only let me see the grassy slope of the cliff behind me. In the dark, even with a torch, a grassy path looks exactly like a grassy slope. And a shallow slope looks awfully lie a steep slope. I hadn't expected that, but OK , going up should be the answer. With the waves crashing at my back and the slope in front of me off I set. The grass got longer, the ground boggier and my heart was starting to race. I felt really stupid and could see myself having to sit till dawn or call for help - far too embarrassing to do either. On I went, climbing a little in places until finally, my foot hit a firmer bit of ground and I could see it was the path. My second scary time of the holiday. It does you good to have wee adventures though :-)

On my way home, walking through the quaint streets of the old town , I decided to salvage the evening and get some shots by street light. Setting up my tripod I didn't reckon on Highland Living. Almost immediately as I set up, an old lady, dressed very smartly and clutching a bible (no doubt to ward off heathen southerners) came beetling up to me - "Can I ask what your doing?". So I explained that the streets were very different from my home town and I thought there could be a nice photograph of the gable ends. "Hmm, one of these gable ends is mine!" she said pointedly. "Oh I'm sorry, I do hope you don't mind", I said, "I'm an amateur photographer and I think this town is beautiful". "Hmm", she replied, "Are you a church goer!". What to say… I reckoned the truth was probably best, I suspected she would see through any lies, "Not very often I'm afraid, just now and then" (mainly then I thought). "And what do you want to take a photograph for? Do you enjoy it?" (dripping scorn). "Yes" I replied trying to look as simple as she obviously thought I was. "Well, so long as you enjoy it", and off she went. I had been scrutinised, deemed as a an ungodly simpleton and she was probably away off to type up her report on me for the towns next municipal meeting.

So I continued to set up and reckoned I needed a 4 minute exposure of the deserted street. 2 minutes into it, along came an older man, looking at the tripod and camera, looking at me… "I won't ask" he said. I figured this was exactly the sort of glib attitude that would have had the old lady crossing herself. I decided I like this one. "you can if you want, I'll only tell you" I said. But he didn't break stride and strode past calling "I'm off to the harbour, I'll ask if you're here when I come back". He returned about a minute later with a "Well?". So I told him about the shot, told him about competition photography and showed him what the results were like. In return he told me he had live there for 60 years and gave me the history of Portknockie. These are the people that are a joy to meet when you are out taking pictures. In the end the shot wasn't great (too many distractions I think) but it was an amusing end to my night shoot.

Banffshire Weather

We had a great time exploring the area and just ignored the rain and the wind (and the snow, sleet and hailstones - really). Most of the time we managed to coincide our activities with dry weather. On one of the days we visited Crovie (or "Crivvy") as the locals say, in a howling coastal gale. Crovie is a tiny hamlet at the foot of a sea cliff, perched on a rocky ledge that some eedgit thought would make a handy place to build their house. The houses are 6 feet from the sea and are built gable end on to the water so that the waves crash against the walls instead of the windows. You can't drive into the village as the road is too narrow. Well you can, but you would have to reverse back out again. We arrived at the car park situated on the cliffs above Crovie in driving rain and 70mph winds and got out for a quick look. Then we got back in again sharpish. The car was rocking in the wind and I was suddenly very aware of the roof box on top of it - visions of our cars wing being grabbed by the gale and the us being flipped out to sea ran through our minds. Of course you cant drive all that way and then sit in the car, so the intrepid Mrs MacD jumped out and walked to the viewpoint. Walked as in leaning into the gale while being drenched by buckets of rain water. As she stood there squinting, while the car rocked alarmingly and the kids were screaming and crying in the back, I decided enough was enough, the camera would not be getting out of it's bag. I honked the horn, repeatedly to tell her to get back in but due to the massive distance separating the car from my wife (20 feet) and the mad wind, she didn't hear. We rocked a bit more. Sometime suddenly and sickeningly. Children cried. Father tried to look calm and reassuring. Eventually she go back in and off we sped for a drive about inland. When the wind died down back we went and actually managed a couple of pics. I could not live there. Hats off to the people of Crivvy (probably through a gale flinging those hats 3 miles out to sea).

Rugged Coastal Adventures

This blog may be riddled with spelling typos - I'm only just getting the feeling back in my fingers. For the last week I have been clambering about the cliffs of the Moray Firth in the snow, hail and rain, while being buffeted by 70mph winds. I've been up at dawn hoping for just a wee hint of colour in the sky and stumbling about in the dark trying to get slow exposures shots. Oscar the dog has learned to climb (he's sickeningly good at it) and he's repeatedly helped me by sticking his furry wee head into the corners of otherwise well composed shots. On the plus side, when he leans against me it keeps my legs a wee bit warmer and, being a handsome wee brute, he's great for starting conversations with the locals to get a few wee location tips!
Always on the look out for a cracking location and a bargain, the family MacD was dragged (only partially willingly) to the ancient wee fishing village of Portknockie for the school break. "Is there anything to do in Banffshire in October" they innocently enquired. "Of course!" I replied enthusiastically. After all I thought (but didn't voice) there is Bow Fiddle Rock (an incredible sea arch), there's wind and big waves, there are freezing cold beaches with interesting sand patterns, there would be ramshackle tumble down buildings and rusty wee boats and maybe even some weather beaten fishermen mending nets and lifeboats fighting their way out the harbour! But instead I said "There are endless deserted beaches, we might see dolphins, there are seals, all the swing parks will be quiet, the comfort food is brilliant up there (mmmmm Cullen skink and butteries) and the fish and chips will be superb. Anyway I've found this cheap wee self catering cottage at a last minute bargain price." The words "cheap" or "bargain" always appeal to Mrs MacD and that was that, off we went. Kids crammed into the back of the car with the tripod at their feet, camera bag being carefully cradled in the lap of the well instructed and incredibly tolerant Mrs MacD, the dog in the boot and the cases in the new rooftop luggage box (or "wing" as it was shortly to become known). Just a quick wee jaunt up the A9, four and a half hours of 3 kids under 12 "playing in the back" and a sing along to the one CD we'd remembered to take. I have now learned that 6 year olds never tire of hearing the same CD over and over and over again. And again and again.
But after fixing our usual holiday flat tyre, and despite starting off late and having a wee break at Carrbridge to stretch our legs - mine were stretched in the direction of the bridge itself for a quick few snaps of a wedding party who were trying to walk over it in high heels (madness) - we made it to Portknockie in good time just as darkness fell and we settled into our wee cottage. I grabbed the dog and daughter number 1 for a quick walk around the area and made a beeline for Bow Fiddle Rock - which we would have oohed and ahhed at had we been able to see it in the dark. But the route and time to the rock were noted and the dog was walked so it was straight back to the cottage for pizza (yum).
I had great intentions of dawn starts every day but was knackered and decided to lie in the first day. And would have too if Mrs MacD hadn't woken early, muttered what a beautiful pink sky it was and then rolled over back to sleep again. A beautiful pink sky, eh? What if it rains for the rest of the week (remember Glencoe this time last year)? Damn. Up I got, ran down the stairs and walked briskly to Bow Fiddle. I was there by 7:30am and snapping away. It really is superb. By the time the pink had left the sky and the rock was just rock coloured again, it was 9am and I was able to get back to the house in time for coffee and breakfast, with my shots in the can. Brilliant. And just as well. The next few days saw me ducking in and out of the house every time the weather stopped landing with force upon the town, and trying to get better shots of the rock and the harbour area. I never did get really good light for Bow Fiddle again, so another valuable lesson learned - never squander the light!