A Lucky Encounter with a Heron

There is a lot of technical skill involved in successful photography, even with today's automated cameras, but sometimes you also need luck, and a lot of that luck involves being in the right place at the right time.

This is partly what Tuesday Travels is all about: making sure that I get out there at least once a week, because if you are not out there you will definitely not be in the right place. But there are exceptions to every rule and this week's episode involved a lot of luck, but no actual travel (and it was Monday not Tuesday!).

Each weekday morning I rise early and, before breakfasting, cycle through the park which my garden backs onto. The purpose of this is two-fold: to keep fit, and to pick up my paper from the local shop so that I can read it over breakfast. It takes about twenty five minutes overall, with the way back being mainly up hill, enabling a decent cardio-vascular workout. On this particular morning, I decided to do an extra bit of cycling and do a lap or two of the lake in the middle of the park.

Half way round the lake I spotted a heron standing in the reeds at the edge of the lake. I stopped to have a closer look and managed to get quite close to it without it flying off. Unfortunately I didn't have my camera with me. Can I get home, get my camera, and get back here again and still find the heron here, I thought? Well it was worth a try, so 15 mins later I was back again, suitably kitted out with my telephoto lens, and also very short of breath.

The heron had not in fact moved, but this time as I approached it flew off to the other side of the lake. Although I didn't think it at the time, this was in fact another stroke of luck, because in it's original position I would have had the sun on the wrong side of the bird, making it difficult to get a nicely lit profile with good detail.

It's new position was much better, with the bright morning sunshine lighting up it's feathers very well. But could I get close to it without spooking it?

Slowly I managed to inch closer and closer, taking record shots all the time as an insurance against it flying off before I could fill the frame with it. Eventually all previous shots were redundant as I got within twenty feet of it and was able to take a great many shots from several different positions.

The heron seemed completely oblivious to me and so, knowing that I already had several decent shots, I decided to get in a bit closer. By this time the heron was totally intent on obtaining it's breakfast, staring intently into the shallows of the lake, ready to pounce in an instant.

Getting in closer I now had a chance to get a really close head shot:

Flushed with success, and getting greedy, I now wanted to get a shot of the heron in flight. I made a few clicking noises and the heron continued to ignore me. But eventually I made a loud enough noise to upset it enough for it to fly off. Unfortunately, my luck, or my skill, now ran out: I did get three shots of it in flight but none were any good.

But I was well pleased with the morning's work and enjoyed my breakfast even more than usual, reflecting on the fact that I had had had a superb photographic episode only a few hundred yards from my home.

Invasions of York

Tuesday came early this week with a visit to York, organised by the Photographic Society. We invaded the city by train (we like to be friendly to the environment) on Saturday morning.

Some members of the society are railway fanatics and immediately headed for the Railway Museum. The more sane amongst us headed in other directions.

As luck would have it the city had also been invaded for the weekend by latter day Vikings, taking part in a Viking Festival. The real Viking Invasion of York began in 866 when Ivar the Boneless(!) led a fleet up the River Ouse. They stayed until 954 when their then leader Eric Bloodaxe was defeated by the English King Eadred.

As there were no digital cameras around in 866, the original invasion was not well recorded by visual media. The antics of the participants in the Festival therefore gave a great opportunity to record what the events might have looked like.

At first I thought that most of the Viking costumes being worn looked a bit naff and definitely had a home made look to them. But as the day wore on I began to realise that they were probably far more authentic than the pristine costumes we see in Hollywod epics. Real Viking attire would have been home made, and with no automatic washing machines and tumble driers around, would tend to look a little on the 'tired' side.

A battle re-enactment was due to take place in the afternoon, but thinking that I might not be able to get close enough to the action I decided to attend an advertised practice session in the morning. This strategy paid off resulting in quite a few decent shots, the best of which was this one:

Summer and Winter on the same day

Global warming has been giving the UK some very warm February days in the last few years and this year seems to be following the pattern. We have had blue skies and Spring like daytime temperatures for quite a few days now. But with clear skies overnight there have been some quite frosty early mornings.

This week I drove over to Bakewell, another small market town in Derbyshire. I spent the morning wandering around the town looking for the best position to photograph the Parish Church of All Saints.

I eventually found a good position on the road out of the town which leads to Chatsworth. Here is the result:-



As you can see were it not for the lack of leaves on the trees, and the remains of the early morning frost on the grass, you would be forgiven for thinking it was Summer. How on earth is one expected to get decent wintery photographs any more?

Well the answer wasn't very far away.

At midday I resisted the temptation to taste the delights of the Bakewell Pudding Shop and drove over to nearby Lathkill Dale. The plan was to have a pleasant walk in the sunshine, maybe finding some very early spring flowers comimg out. But I had forgotten the topography of the dale. Descending into the dale from Over Haddon you immediately see the very steep sides of the dale on the south side of the River Lathkill. Even though it was midday the low winter sun just didn't have the height to illuminate this stretch of the dale.

Consequently it was like walking straight from Summer into Winter. Heavy frost covered the ground and moss-clad branches of trees, and a cold mist still hovered over the river surface. After a few hundred yards walking upstream I came to this stretch of water which seemed particularly cold and eerie looking:



If you look at the right hand top of the photo you can just see a warm glow where the sun is just reaching the top of the trees on the north side of the river.

Oh, and there were no flowers whatsoever, apart from a few forlorn looking snowdrops near the cottage which lies at the entrance to the dale. But in a few weeks time it will be a different story...

Pancake Races too dangerous!

I don't believe it! Apparently a Shrove Tuesday Pancake Race in Ripon, Yorkshire, was cancelled because of 'health and safety' concerns.

Those mamby pamby Tykes ought to come down to Derbyshire for a few lessons in how to have a bit of dangerous fun. Yes, for the second week running I'm back in my home town of Ashbourne, to enjoy the centuries old annual Royal Shrovetide Football game.

This picture should give you a rough idea of what it's all about:-



click on photo to enlarge

Somewhere in the middle of that steaming mass of humanity, called 'the hug', is a large brightly coloured leather covered solid ball. The game starts when the ball is 'turned up' at two o'clock and finishes when a single goal is scored, or when time runs out at ten o'clock in the evening. Play takes place anywhere in the town or surrounding countryside, with just a few areas like churchyards and cemetries out of bounds.

The two opposing teams are the 'Up'ards' and the 'Down'ards', determined by which side of the town they were born on. Up'ards attempt to score a goal at what used to be Sturston Mill, a mile and a half up the River Henmore, while Down'ards attempt the same at what used to be Clifton Mill, a mile and a half down river

The ball spends most of the game in the middle of the hug, which is pushed and shoved all around the town, or in the river, usually moving quite slowly or even getting stuck in one place for minutes on end. Then all of a sudden the ball can be thrown out of the hug and all hell breaks loose as hundreds of players attempt to kick it, pick it up and run with it, or form another hug.

Because the hug has no respect for a few square feet of plate glass the shops in the town centre have to take precautionary measures as shown below:

The scorer of a goal gets to keep the ball, and these are treasured possessions for those who do get them. My grandfather and two of my cousins have scored in the past, one cousin gaining some notoriety by putting the ball in the back of a van and driving it down to the goal! This gave rise to a new rule (one of the few) that motorised transport can not be used. The notoriety did him no harm, however, as in later life he became a JP and chairman of the Shrovetide Football Committee.