Tag Archives: travel

Ethiopia: T Minus 20

With twenty days until I leave for Ethiopia, and it being my last chance before then to perform all the time consuming checks, the pace has picked up on the trip planning.

The most fundamental task was to ensure that I have all the clothing and equipment that I will need to take with me and to that end I have been purchasing bits over the past few weeks. This weekend’s task was to collect it all together and see what’s is missing – and if it is all going to fit!

Clothing

When I went to Antarctica I went through the pain of having to research, and then buy, a complete cold-weather wardrobe. Now I have had to do the same for the other end of the climate scale. As with the online advice for cold-weather gear, advice for hot-weather clothing is equally diverse. In the end though I have settled upon taking the following:

  • One pair hiking boots – Salomon Quest 4D GTX (plus spare laces)
  • One pair hiking shoes – Salomon Ultra X
  • Two Rohan “Core Silver T” base-layer T-shirts
  • Two Bspoke “Epping” Coolmax base-layer T-shirts
  • One Rab “MeCo 120” base-layer T-shirt
  • Four pairs Rohan “Cool Silver” Trunks
  • One pair Rab “MeCo 120” Trunks
  • Two pair Smartwool “PHD Outdoor Ultra Light” Socks
  • One Pair Icebreaker “Hike Light” Socks
  • Three Craghoppers Nosilife long sleeve shirts
  • Two pairs hiking trousers [TBC]
  • One Berghaus Polartec 100 fleece.
  • My trusty wide-brimmed hat

As you can see it is a bit of a mix: three different types of base-layer t-shirt for example. My reasoning for this is simply that when reading around the general consensus was that synthetic material doesn’t work well for some people: I didn’t want to stick to one brand or technology only to find that it didn’t work for me.

The hiking boots and shoes are both new. My trusty 18 year-old Scarpa BX boots failed in Iceland and despite being waxed began letting in water. My Merrell Moab hiking shoes finally fell apart in Israel – only just surviving due to a couple of tubes of superglue. So back in September I went in to the local GoOutdoors shop with the intent of trying them on and them buying online and went through several makes – Mendl, Scarpa, Mammut – but all slipped when I walked – a recipe for blisters. In the end the guy took one feel of the shape of my heel and ankle, disappeared and came back with the Salomon. They fit like a glove (well, a foot-glove). The whole process took 40 minutes and it was not service that should go unrewarded by then buying elsewhere. I was so impressed that I even emailed them to say how pleasantly surprised I was, and that rarely happens. The hiking shoes were bought yesterday, Salomon again due to the fit.

The other thing – which is a new experience for me – is that I’m taking only five days of clean clothes for a two week trip. For the experienced trekkers amongst you this may not seem particularly noteworthy, but for me is it a big departure from what I am used to. Well, almost. On my trips to Iceland and then Israel earlier this year, despite having sufficient clothes for a daily swap of underwear and t-shirt, I didn’t use half of them. So this is really just an extension of that although it will be much hotter than both Iceland and Israel in the Danakil Depression and so sweat will be more of an issue. As a backup I am taking a small tube of travel washing liquid although given the lack of running water and that the only bodies of water are either highly acidic, poisonous or have a higher salt concentration than the Dead Sea, I’m not altogether sure how I would get to use it.

The trousers are still to be bought as I am still stuck on the decision: I love the multiple pockets of cargo-style trousers, but I also like the idea of those which can be converted to shorts. This is a decision that needs to be finalised this week. I’ll also be buying two more pairs of lightweight hiking socks.

Equipment

For the majority of the expedition we’ll be away from civilisation and in the middle of nowhere. This means no electricity, gas, running water, mobile phone coverage and no sanitary facilities. With the exception of the first night in Awash and the last night in Mek’ele, accommodation is listed as being ‘under the stars’  – a euphemistic term for sleeping on the ground. Our comfort – and more importantly health – will be dependent upon whatever we take with us.

  • A Vango Sherpa 65 litre backpack
  • Snugpak “jungle” sleeping bag
  • Exped Ultralight inflatable pillow
  • Karrimor sleeping mat
  • Gas mask
  • Mountain Warehouse large travel towel
  • Lenser P7 LED torch
  • Petzl Tikka XP head torch
  • Medical kit
  • Voltaic Systems’ 18W solar charging kit
  • Swiss Army knife
  • A funnel
  • Several large plastic bags and some zip-loc bags

The pillow may seem like a luxury item but I’ve woken up with a stiff neck too many times to know that it can real pain (so to speak) to have a sore neck when you’re rushing around. And at 46g in weight, it is not exactly cumbersome.

The jungle bag – so called as it is a lightweight one season sleeping bag- is less to keep warm and more to provide protection from the little critters that will be roaming around – mosquitoes included. It has a thermal comfort rating of down to 7°C and includes a handy zip-up mosquito net over the head opening. The pillow fits in the hood nicely.

The gas mask is probably the oddest item on the list, but it is required for certain areas, especially around the crater of the volcano and the lava lake. The biggest risks here will be hydrogen sulphide and sulphur dioxide gasses, both of which have a habit of killing you if left untreated. As we’ll be around 600km from any form of medical aid, prevention is definitely better than cure in this case.

The solar panel is the luxury item. As mentioned in a previous post it is there to charge the camera batteries and the battery on my trusty MacBook Air. I could survive without the laptop – although doing of would make checking image quality tricky – and five camera batteries may be enough for the trip. In a pinch I could charge the batteries off the cigarette lighter socket in the 4WD, but there is possibility that may not be an option. Any in any event, there is nothing wrong with a bit a tech geekery!

So, the big question is: Has this weekend been a success? The answer is both yes and no.

No in the sense that I have not performed a complete test pack and checked the weight. This is only a little annoying in that it would have been nice to do, but a quick educated guess would suggest that I should be OK.

Yes in the sense that I now have a final shopping list which can be summarised as:

  • Two more pairs lightweight hiking socks
  • Two pairs of hiking trousers
  • Medical supplies
  • Sanitary and personal care supplies
  • An inflatable globe
  • Glucose tablets, energy bars, dried nuts and fruit.

The biggest challenge of this is the trousers simply as I need to actually go somewhere that has what I am after and try them on – a struggle given my busy work schedule and hence why this weekend was so important. By contrast the other items are easy to come by.

Including the all important inflatable globe of the World…

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Power on Location: Part 1

Whilst every trip that I have embarked upon has had its own unique character and challenges, they have all had their similarities too, so much so that I just simply accept their existence. So, when beginning to think about the practicalities of the forthcoming trip to the Danakil Depression, it was a bit of a surprise to be hit by a rather obvious fact: There’ll be no electricity. Now really, this should be of no surprise whatsoever as we will be, quite literally, in one of the most desolate and inhospitable places on the face of the planet but still, up until this trip it is not a problem I have had to face before.

Now to call this a problem may seem a little melodramatic – Mankind had lived quite happily without electricity for millennia and so I’m sure I can cope for a mere two weeks. It’ll even be fun. No, Man does not need electricity to survive. But camera batteries do.

A few years ago I was up in the Andes on a four-day trip between San Pedro de Atacama in northern Chile and Uyuni in Southern Bolivia. We travelled in jeeps, slept in refuges and ate fried spam for dinner. In many ways it was the forerunner to the Ethiopia trip; a barren wilderness unscathed by humans. And no electricity. I managed to survive on the five camera batteries I had, but did run most of them down. That was four days without being ‘connected’. Now I have two camera bodies, invariably forget to turn off battery-sucking image stablisation and am shooting more video – and 13 days of power to provide.

To make matters worse, I’ll be taking my trusty 13” MacBook Air with me which serves the dual purpose raw file backup and Adobe Lightroom viewer. I did spend a while thinking that I could just do without the laptop – a luxury after all – but I have increasingly found the ability to look at images on a big screen at the end of each day invaluable. After all, I’ll not be going back and so I want to make sure that those killer shots on the camera’s LCD display are equally killer when viewed at a more normal size. And just like the camera batteries, the Air is not solar powered.

But it could be.

I know basically how solar charging works but I also know that the theory does not always translate into a practical solution, or at least an affordable and portable practical solution. And Google was throwing many, many options my way. In the end I found the interesting web site of Voltaic Systems a company based in the USA who stood out for two reasons. First, they offered a complete charging kit; the panel, the lithium ion battery and all the cables and adapters. Second, they offered the right cables and adapters. They had a charging adapter suitable for my Canon 5D2 and 7D cameras batteries and they had an adapter cable for my 2011 model MacBookAir. In short they were a one-stop shop for exactly what I was after.

A few emails were exchanged over the weekend and later that week a package turned up on my desk, followed a few days later by a smaller one containing some adapters to allow the solar panel to be strapped to a backpack. And so I was sorted. If it works, that is.

The core elements of the solar charging kit: The panel, the battery and a cable to connect the two...

The core elements of the solar charging kit: The panel, the battery and a cable to connect the two…

The kit looks to be essentially very straightforward to use: You use the panel to charge the 20,000mAh lithium polymer battery and then use the battery to charge the laptop or camera batteries. You can charge the batteries directly from the solar panel, but Voltaic Systems strongly advise against connecting a laptop direct, presumably due to voltage regulation issues. The V72 battery in the kit is estimated to provide a MacBook Air with a single full charge. So, at the end of the day I could be charging the Air whilst charging a battery. For my Canon LP-E6 batteries, the estimate is six hours charge time.

Initial tests were, frankly, disappointing. I spent a few hours in my study with the panel facing the window and eagerly watched the provided battery show signs of charging by the miracle of harnessing the power of nature. Except that it didn’t. Being the geek that I am, I adopted the nuclear approach and immediately reached for the voltmeter – 15.9V. It is rated as an 18V panel and so at least something was working. It was only then that I did what a normal person would have done and read the copious instructions on the website.

So, rule number one: Perhaps the clue is in the name – solar charging kit –  but it doesn’t work very well when indoors. Even window glass will reduce the amount of light reaching the panel. Once I opened the window and gave the panel a more direct view of the sky, the voltage jumped up to a more usable 17.9V. And more importantly the indicators on the battery sprang into life. I had finally mastered nature!

And then they died again.

This happened several times over the next hour and no amount of cable-wiggling or repositioning of the panel helped. But the voltmeter did show the voltage coming off the panel was intermittently fluctuating and then I worked out why. So, rule number 2: Clouds passing in front of the sun can cause the voltage to drop enough to stop charging.

This was all way back in August and having some time I today went out into a bright British November afternoon for more testing. So, how did it do?

If the panel can generate 21.2 volts on a November afternoon in the UK, I'm hoping it will drink up the African sun...

If the panel can generate 21.2 volts on a November afternoon in the UK, I’m hoping it will drink up the African sun…

Whilst 21 volts may not seem like much it is worth remembering that a car battery generates 12 volts and most mobile phone and tablets require a mere 5 volts. But, does it charge the all-important V72 battery?

 

Now it may not be the most exciting movie but to me those LEDs lighting up in sequence is pure action-adventure because it means that, just like the movie guns with an endless supply of bullets, I’ll be able to keep on shooting all day long…

 

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The Danakil Gamble 

It’s funny how time has a habit of passing by quicker than you would like, but the forthcoming expedition to the Danakil Depression in northeast Ethiopia has gone from being a comfortable 100 or so days distant to a more immediate 55 days with what I can only describe as alarming speed. So, it is time once again to start preparing for travel – assuming that I actually get there. After all, of all my trips, the expedition to northern Ethiopia represents the biggest gamble to date and there are many reasons why I might not be going.

The first of these is the kill date; the date before which I can cancel the trip without loosing the full cost of the whole adventure. Cancelling before this date means that I will lose the cost of the return flight to Addis Ababa and the deposit paid to Volcano Discovery. The kill date is really only a formality as I’m beginning to feel the excitement growing, but it does mark a symbolic milestone: Once the kill date has been passed, well, then I will really feel like I am going!

That being said, even once the kill date has been passed there are external issues that an cause the trip to be cancelled. The first of these is political or military unrest. As mentioned in a previous blog post the north of Ethiopia isn’t considered a particularly safe place to travel by many Western governments and the UK government’s advice is still “no travel for any reason”. The Danakil Depression, and the ghost town of Dallol is about as north as you can go before ending up in the middle of nowhere. It may still be a barren, desolate wilderness, but at least it is a barren, desolate wilderness with a name. The northern edge of Ethiopia borders Eritrea and it is this hotly contested border that causes foreign governments concern for those traveling to the area. We’ll be within 8km of the border and so, should anything flare up, we’ll be right in the hot seat. But, right now the situation appears to be calm and aside from an incident in 2012, no hostilities are being reported. In any event we’ll have a military escort.

The second issue that may arise is the ongoing spread of Ebola. What started as a surprising, but low-level outbreak a few months ago in Western Africa has been slowly spreading with cases arising internationally. A casual glance at a map show that Africa is a vast continent, but some would worry about going anywhere on the same continent during an outbreak. In this case however, I’m not really that concerned; Not only is there a large distance between the ‘hot-zones’ of Liberia and Sierra Leone in the far west and where I’ll be in East Africa, but Ebola is spread through human contact – specifically through coming into contact with the bodily fluids of an infected person. As mentioned above, the Danakil Depression isn’t exactly a popular spot to go to – one person going so far as to describe it, somewhat un-euphemistically as the “arse end of nowhere” and so I’m very unlikely to meet anyone who would pose a risk. No, in many ways I would be more concerned about contracting Ebola in London than I would in Dallol or its surroundings.

Of course the sensible thing to do when booking any trip – let alone an expensive expedition – is to ensure that you have proper and adequate travel insurance. Many people have travel insurance as part of their financial package with their bank and this provides a sensible level of cover for the basics – limited illness cover, loss/theft of possessions, cancellation of the trip by either yourself (due to family emergency, for example) or cancellation by the trip operator. I’ve used this kind of policy many times.

For some destinations, such as Antarctica, I needed some additional insurance to cover the cost of repatriation should I have become so ill that I needed to be airlifted back to the UK, but again this type of insurance is readily available as so many people these days go on skiing or other ‘adventure’ holidays. In fact such travel is so commonplace that it is not even that expensive to buy this additional cover any more. No, travel insurance is easy and affordable.

We can all choose to see beyond the daily World in which we live and beyond into the unknown. But, as with any journey, there are risks...

As with Neo’s choice in The Matrix, we can all choose to see beyond the daily World in which we live and beyond into the unknown. But, as with any journey, there are risks…

So why is this all such a gamble?

Simply put, all travel insurance policies in the UK have one fundamental requirement: That the destination that you are travelling to is assessed by the UK government’s Foreign & Commonwealth Office to be safe to travel to. If the FCO recommends against travel and you go anyway, then the policy is null and void. So given the FCO’s ongoing recommendation for northern Ethiopia, no UK insurance policy will cover me.

Now, you would be insane to travel without medical insurance and I have been able to find a company the specialises in high-risk travel insurance – the kind of insurance used by military contractors and bodyguards – and so I have medical insurance should I become ill or the volcano gets a bit too playful, or I fall in one of the acid lakes. Perhaps reassuringly it covers me for kidnap and torture too.

But, there is no cancellation insurance. So if the political situation were to change, or the spread of Ebola moves east across the continent, or the local Afar tribe decide to deny passage through their region, or my international flight is delayed or cancelled, or I am ill then I’ll have no ability to regain any financial losses. And at just over £4000 that is a lot to lose for anyone. I am not a gambler and spend a lot of time on risk mitigation (through planning) or risk transference (through buying insurance). So this situation is definitely outside of my comfort zone – there is a very real risk of it all falling apart.

So, am I still risking it? Of course I am! I’d be crazy to pass up an opportunity to visit one of the most bizarre landscapes on Earth just because I’m worrying about what could happen. But, come December 22nd, if you see a sorry looking figure sobbing into a pint of beer in the Reading area here in the UK, you can come and tell me I should have taken the blue pill…

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Time to Evolve…

There haven’t been many updates of late on the site simply because there hasn’t been much happening on the photographic front. But, as October draws to a close, that is about to change.

There have been changes, of course. The most obvious is that the web site has undergone a facelift and now sports a full page showcase gallery. I’ve long since wanted that but until the recent release of Photocrati – the plugin I use to set up and maintain the galleries – it simply wasn’t possible.

The second is that I’ve finally sorted out the veiledworld.com domain name. I have owned the domain name for some time now, but hadn’t got around to setting up the mechanism that allows people to type the name into their browser and get to my web site.

But, there have been struggles. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I’ve been having the same struggle that I’ve had for a couple of years now. When I first stared in photography I’d photograph anything that moved and then lament that fact that none of the photographs were any good. Over the years I’ve slowed down and become less ‘snap-happy’. I research a lot more, watch the scene a lot more and wait for the right moment a lot more. More than once I’ve even turned up at a site, watched the scene unfold before me and then leave a few hours later without raising the camera once, simply because I didn’t feel “it”. Whatever “it” is.

I’ve also drifted from architectural photography to landscape photography despite the insanely early mornings this can mean. But as I have become more confident in my handling of a location and as I have become more sure of the field of photography that interests me what was a nagging, but ill-defined, disquiet has also become clearer and in the past month, I have finally come to understand one thing: My photography will not improve until I stop taking photographs.

OK, that probably need some explanation! One of the photographers I follow on Twitter has been running an on-going series of posts about notable photographers, both past and present. In each post he recommends some books to highlight their work and, with a bit of spare money from sales on eBay, I decided to buy a few books. And, aside from some stunning images one fact was so obvious that I have no idea why I never thought of it: None of the photographers took just landscapes, or just portraits, or just wildlife. They specialised in one specific aspect of their chosen field. Mitch Dobrowner specialises in storm weather in the American Mid-West; Nick Brandt in endangered species in East Africa; Edward Burtynsky in how industry changes the natural world. And because of their specialisation they have built up an impressive body of work. And now I understand this, I can see why I’ll never improve beyond where I am: I have no focus.

Some people find their style easier than others...

Some people find their style easier than others…

Luckily for me, I have two possible options that of interest, both of which are fairly narrow in scope and – relatively speaking – not many photographers follow. My next trip should help clarify for me the path I will take although right now it just doesn’t feel right to have a self-imposed restriction.

But, the other thing I’ve learnt over the years, aside from patience, is that I’m not always right!

 

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Ethiopia: The Danakil Depression

With the Iceland gallery in its final stages of preparation meaning that I no longer have to worry about it, it does free up some much needed time to plan the next trip: The Danakil Depression in Northern Ethiopia. And this trip really does represent my biggest challenge to date.

Looking at some of my recent trips (Iceland, Antarctica and the Bolivian Andes being examples in point) and you probably come to the conclusion that I’m a cold weather kind of guy. And I am. So the thought of spending time in a place whose average daily temperature – in Winter – doesn’t drift much below 40 °C doesn’t really make me want to rush and pack my suitcase. To be fair, I’ve survived 40 °C plus temperatures before, in Egypt, but that was insanely low humidity and I spent much of the midday hours under cover. In the Danakil Depression, the lowest point in Africa and the second lowest land point on the planet, the humidity is to put it mildly, horrific.

 

The Danakil Depression - Dalol on the map - isn't exactly recommended.

The Danakil Depression – Dalol on the map – isn’t exactly recommended.

 

The second aspect that would raise an element of concern for most is its location about eight kilometres from the border with Eritrea. A hotly disputed border. The Foreign & Commonwealth Office (or FCO) – the UK’s governmental department responsible for issues travel guidelines and assisting UK nationals around the World via regional embassies – is the go-to site when assessing the safety of travelling to various countries. The travel advice for Danakil is “Advise against all travel”. Digging a little deeper however and, aside from an unfortunate episode in 2012, there have been no real problems in the past few years. That said, however, without FCO approval, no normal travel insurance policy will cover you. So I’ve had to look into specialist insurance.  I don’t know if I should be comforted or concerned that they all include kidnap and torture cover.

The third issue is that the area is the home to the Afar tribe, a nomadic people who live off the land by mining salt from the region’s salt flats and transporting it back to civilisation via  camel train. My experience of African people (in Africa) is that they are a proud race but apparently the Afar take that pride up a few notches. So, I’ve got to read up on Afar (and tribal) societies, lest I do something that offends. Not that I’ll come to any harm, but it could well mark the end of my being allowed in what is their homeland.

But despite all of this it is the fourth point that, for many, would be the most problematic. The Danakil Depression is regarded as one of the most remote and inhospitable places on the planet. It is a barren, unending desert scrubland. There is no running water here, surface lakes being either extremely poisonous or highly acidic. There is no gas or electricity supply, no medical facilities, in fact there are, well, no facilities at all. Including toilets. If you are the least bit conscious about bodily functions then this is not the place for you. It is not so much you go and squat behind a bush – there are no bushes. No, when you need to go it is a case of grab the paper, walk two hundred metres out on the flat expanse and hope no-one heads your way. And, given that, you can safely assume that there are no washing or bathing facilities at all – a highlight of day eight on the expedition I’m taking is that we get to have a makeshift shower in a river.

So, why on earth would anyone want to put themselves through all of this?

The first reason is that the Danakil Depression hosts the second of five known lava lakes on the planet – the first being up a mountain in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and currently inaccessible after recent civil war. It may be deemed the second best, but it is the oldest lake and still hugely impressive.

The second is that the Danakil region itself hosts some of the most insanely coloured and textured landscapes ever. They look like they’re from another world, or a game designers imagination.

And, as a budding landscape photographer, what more could I ask?

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Svínafellsjökull: Walking on Water

A long time ago I had a couple of bad experiences with organised trips, bad enough to tarnish the experience in fact. After the second I resolved that I would never go on an organised trip again. Never.

The problem is that, if you are interested in travel photography there are only two options: You rely on someone else to plan the trip or do it yourself and because my obstinance on the matter had precluded the former option I have had, over the years, to become quite adept at the latter. To be honest, I’ve even come to actually enjoy the process and wholeheartedly believe in the old axiom: If something is worth doing, do it yourself – or something along those lines…

But there are some things that you can’t, or shouldn’t, attempt alone.

Destinations such as Antarctica firmly fall into the can’t category. Just getting there is a challenge: The Drake Passage is not a body of water that you would want to cross in a fishing boat and nor would you want a fishing boat captain, and specialist vessels and specialist staff require specialist organisations.

As for the shouldn’t category, well, that’s a bigger list. However here’s one example from Iceland.

Of the three organised trips I booked in Iceland the first was a glacier walk on Vatnajökull, Europe’s largest glacier. Walking on glaciers is not only fun, but presents great photographic opportunities too. But walking on a glacier can also be dangerous – after all, you’re essentially walking on a gigantic skating rink, albeit one with man-eating crevasses, soft spots and, of course, gravity-affirming slopes. Walking out onto a glacier when you do not know what you are doing or are ill-equipped usually puts you one step closer to asking your maker – personally – as to why such wonders of nature exist in the first place.

There are several operators who offer glacier hiking but I went with Icelandic Mountain Guides, aka MountainGuides.is, for a couple of reasons. The first was the number of options they offered for glacier hiking. I was on a tight time schedule and having various options available meant that I could plan my limited time effectively whilst still getting the experience into my itinerary. I initially opted for the full-day hike, but ended up taking the half-day for the reasons discussed below. They also included all the safety kit – so I didn’t have to worry about last minute costs or hassle. Probably the thing that ‘sealed the deal’ however, was that they responded quickly to my emails – when I am planning something I want to get it organised quickly and out of the way. I want people to move at my speed.

It was only a few weeks after booking that I saw the BBC documentary “Julia Bradbury’s Icelandic Walk” and Icelandic Mountain Guides were the local guides involved. If they’re good enough for the BBC, they were good enough for me!

Even after paying my money, they were very responsive and, when they had to cancel the full-day trip I had booked as I was the only person, they gave me an option to have a full refund, move to the half-day trip (and refund the difference) or move to another day. They really could not have done much more.

 

_MG_7484

The day before the start of the season and operators are out checking safety conditions.

 

So what are the benefits of going on an organised glacier hike?

The first is, quite simply, safety. Certain activities carry a significantly higher risk of serious or fatal injury for those who are badly equipped and  glacier hiking is one of them. I only have to cast my mind back to last winter here in the UK when a bit of ice resulted in the endless news spots showing  people slipping and falling over.  Ice is nice, but there more of it there is, usually the more dangerous it can be. With an organised hike all the necessary safety equipment is provided and all you have to do is use it. Perhaps more importantly, there’s someone watching to make sure you use it properly. Of course, you could walk past a crevasse without using guide ropes and 99 times out of 100 you would be perfectly fine. But that one time out of 100 will really ruin your day.

Going with the experts has a number of benefits. Not falling into a crevasse being one.

Going with the experts has a number of benefits. Not falling into a crevasse being one.

The next benefit it is educational. Do you know what an ablation zone is? Do you know that the ice at the front of the Svínafellsjökull tongue moves at 1.5 metres per year whereas the ice at the rear moves at 50 metres per year? Do you know why? Do you know why crevasses form at different angles? I didn’t. But after a few hours with Árni, our guide, I did, along with a whole bunch of other interesting facts. At some point you’re going to be telling the folks at home about your trip and it is going to be so much more interesting to them if you can explain why the patterns in the ice are the way they are. Yes, you’ll learn that too.

300 year old art: Icelandic glaciers mix pure ice and volcanic ash to create some truly stunning abstract art. It is possible that the catalyst of the French Revolution is in this very photograph…

300 year old art: Icelandic glaciers mix pure ice and volcanic ash to create some truly stunning abstract art. It is possible that the catalyst of the French Revolution is in this very photograph…

The third is that you meet new people. That is always a reward.

So, maybe I am slowly recovering from my earlier experiences with tour operators and that my adamant refusal to consider them in the past is exactly that – in the past. As the saying goes, never say never…

 

 

Disclaimer: If this post sounds like a bit of an advert for Icelandic Mountain Guides, I guess it is. One of the problems I’ve always had in planning a trip is finding recommendations for excursion operators that are photographer-friendly. Whilst this trip is not a photographic hike – and I was the only photographer on this particular hike – two things make me recommend it. The first is that I felt like I had plenty of time for photography. Whilst I spent a lot of time shooting on the move, there were plenty of stops. The second is that I was pretty much allowed to move at my own pace – I frequently drifted behind the group to get them in the ‘sense of scale’ shots as well as look around at other things that caught my eye. Other than keeping a watchful eye on me, Árni let me drift behind and catch up as I needed. It was only as I approached something potentially dangerous that he intervened.

Some more shots from the hike…

From a distance you get a real sense of the scale of Vatnajökull - Svinafellsjokull is a relatively small glacial tongue.

From a distance you get a real sense of the scale of Vatnajökull – Svinafellsjokull is a relatively small glacial tongue.

 

At the foot of the glacial tongue. Up close the black rocks in front of us turned out to be ash-covered ice.

At the foot of the glacial tongue. Up close the black rocks in front of us turned out to be ash-covered ice.

 

Close to the mountainside friction causes the glacier to twist and buckle.

Close to the mountainside friction causes the glacier to twist and buckle.

 

Having an experienced guide like Arni meant that I could concentrate on photography safe in the knowledge that I wasn't going to kill myself.

Having an experienced guide like Árni meant that I could concentrate on photography safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t going to kill myself.

 

If you've never tried hiking on a glacier, you should add it to your list - it is great fun!

If you’ve never tried hiking on a glacier, you should add it to your list – it is great fun!

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The Day I Realised That I Would Outlive the World.

In a recent post on Facebook announcing my beginning to plan the 2015 photography expedition to Erta Ale, a friend replied and questioned, somewhat jokingly (at least I think it was jokingly) as to whether my shift away from architectural photography to landscape photography was the result of an early midlife crisis. I can categorically state that this is not the case, based on three facts. And here they are…

First, any midlife crisis I suffer now would not be an early one.

Second, I think I already had my midlife crisis when I was around 27, which at least got that out of the way, although it wasn’t a particularly impressive one as, like most 27 year-olds, there isn’t much at that age to have a crisis about. It was probably more a long sulk than an actual crisis.

Third, and the real reason for my shift to landscapes can, very definitely, be attributed to one particular experience in 2010 when I visited a place that is probably the most strikingly beautiful place I have ever seen. That place is Southwest Bolivia.

Now, the whole of southwest Bolivia is stunning and a single post wouldn’t really do it justice, so this time I want to reminisce about one particular part: The Salar de Uyuni.

The Salar de Uyuni is hard to miss - you can even see it from the moon. (Hint: Not that you need help but it is the white bit!)

The Salar de Uyuni is hard to miss – you can even see it from the moon. (Hint: Not that you need help but it is the white bit!)

 

There is an urban myth about being able to see the Great Wall of China from space, but when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin set foot on the moon for the first time in 1969 they definitely spotted the Salar de Uyuni, apparently mistaking it for a glacier.

For anything to be seen, unaided, from the moon it has to be big. And at 4,100 square miles (10,500 square km) the salar certainly is big. Neil and Buzz can be forgiven for thinking that it was a glacier as there aren’t really many alternatives for geologic features that are pure white. But there is one: Salt. The Salar de Uyuni is not only the World’s largest salt flats, but at an altitude of 3,650 metres it is the highest too. The salar’s existence can be traced back to the very formation of the Andes when the Nazca tectonic plate subducted below the South American continental plate forcing the latter, in places five kilometres skywards. During this (geologically speaking) abrupt process, a vast amount of sea water was scoped up and when the area settled down a rather bizarre sea was created at around 3,650 metres. Over the millennia evaporation has reduced the sea to nothing but its constituent minerals and being nestled in the northern Andes – referred to as the ‘Dry Andes’ being close to the equator – with an monthly rainfall of approximately 1 mm there is little danger of the sea returning.

This is what a sea looks like after several million years of evaporation.

This is what a sea looks like after millennia of evaporation.

 

Now, the most obvious aspect of the salar is that it is so dazzlingly white although this is perhaps a little unsurprising given that there is an estimated ten billion tonnes of salt contained within. The next thing to notice is that it is also very, very flat. So flat, in fact, that orbiting satellites use the salar to calibrate their altimeters as they pass overhead. The high altitude, near perfectly clear blue skies and high reflectivity of the surface makes the salar an ideal calibration tool.

 

The evaporating waters from the ‘rainy’ season leave a flat surface with a curious pattern.

The evaporating waters from the ‘rainy’ season leave a flat surface with a curious pattern.

 

The reason the salar is so flat is that during the rainy season (‘rainy’ being a relative term in a desert) the rain water dissolves the salt at the surface. When the rain water evaporates, a uniformly flat surface is left, albeit one with a geometric pattern. There is a bunch of science as to why the pattern emerges that I once understood, but has long since been lost…

When researching the salar, it was difficult to find a widely agreed figure for the depth of the salt, but in the end I found the Mineral Corporation of Bolivia’s website. It appears that a 1989 study by a French research institute drilled a borehole down 120 metres while a 2004 study by American Duke University drilled a similar borehole down 214 metres. In both cases they found alternating layers of salt crust and clay – in the latter study a total 170 metres of salt – without touching the bottom of the salar. Of course, it’s not that deep over the entire salar, but even so, it’s impressive. Photographs really do not do justice to the area and to really appreciate the beauty of the salar you have to go and experience it yourself. And that leads me on to the pivotal moment when I changed from architecture to landscape photography.

Bolivia is one of the poorest countries on Earth and one that derives a lot of its income from tourism and a limited mineral and metal export industry. The export industry is limited due to the radical left government’s unwillingness to form trade partnerships with US and European companies. The lack of large scale trade partnerships makes tourism all the more important to the income of your average Bolivian and the salar is a major tourist draw. So, what I learnt next was the catalyst to my change.

Aside from the 10 billion tonnes of salt covering the salar, there is a far more precious element beneath the surface and one that you, and everyone you know, depends on every day. It is an element that has, in the last twenty years, become a globally sought resource and one that, for the foreseeable future will shape your daily existence.

Under all that salt is lithium. The element is found in every single piece of modern portable consumer electronics. Phones, tablets, battery-powered watches, GPS units, laptops and increasingly hybrid and electric vehicles.  Your reliance on any of these is a reliance on the underlying power source. And that, right now, is lithium. The problem for Bolivia and for the salar is that there is an estimated 9 million tonnes of lithium under the surface or, to put that in a global context, approximately 35% of the World’s total lithium deposits, based on the most conservative of estimates.

Now, that doesn’t seem to be so much of a problem. You’re a desperately poor nation, but you just happen to have a significant proportion of one of the most sought after elements in the World as a natural resource. But just like winning a rollover lottery, all this good fortune will come at a price.

The first is political: To date billions of dollars of investment have been offered to the Bolivian government and all offers have been declined. But with the increase in public interest in hybrid and electric vehicles, which require far larger batteries, now seeing the car industry showing interest in lithium the drive to find resources will only see Bolivia under more pressure to develop trade partnerships.

The second is logistical: The lithium is 3,650 metres up on the altiplano with no infrastructure. No roads, no electricity, no gas, no water. Getting to the lithium will require developing all these infrastructures as well as the mining facilities and that is a lot of time and expense.

But, for me, it was that third impact that made me reconsider my views. In order to mine the lithium, the salar – as a stunning piece of natural beauty – must go. You cannot have a mining operation and an area of natural beauty side-by-side. Even if you start with a small mining operation, it will grow as time, and demand, increases. And as I discovered whilst reading an article earlier this year that is exactly what is happening.

So, at the time, whilst standing atop Isla Incawasi I realised that by 2020 the beauty of Salar de Uyuni may be forever lost. This may be my last chance to experience it. And what of the other places I had idly wanted to visit: the Arctic, the Antarctic, Peru, Jordan and Cambodia? How long before they too are irrecoverably altered? So that is when I changed to landscape photography: The day that I realised that I’ll outlive parts of the World around me.

Whilst the salt may be unusually flat, this is still high up in the Andes. Volcanoes and other mountains can soar up to 2,000 metres higher. Here I’m a mere 100 metres higher.

Whilst the salt may be unusually flat, this is still high up in the Andes. Volcanoes and other mountains can soar up to 2,000 metres higher. Here I’m a mere 100 metres higher.

 

The dark tracks that can be seen crossing the surface are unofficial 4WD paths. Whether this is to preserve as much of the beauty as possible or simply to avoid getting lost is one of many questions I have no answer to.

The dark tracks that can be seen crossing the surface are 4WD paths. Whether they stick to the same route to preserve as much of the beauty as possible or simply to avoid getting lost is one of many questions I have no answer to.

 

This is Isla Incawasi, a refuge for cacti that, despite the high salt content and lack of water continue to grow at a rate of 2.5 cm per year.

This is Isla Incawasi, a refuge for cacti that, despite the high salt content and lack of water continue to grow at a rate of 2.5 cm per year.

 

At 3,650m there day/night temperature variance is not to be ignored. Walking across the salar would be suicide unless properly prepared. And pack your sun block too. UV radiation is three times stronger at this altitude than at sea level.

At 3,650m there day/night temperature variance is not to be ignored. Walking across the salar would be suicide unless properly prepared. And pack your sun block too. UV radiation is three times stronger at this altitude than at sea level.

 

The near perfect flatness and vast size of the salar gives the brain a hard time when interpreting perspective, a fact tourists have loved for years.

The near perfect flatness and vast size of the salar gives the brain a hard time when interpreting perspective, a fact tourists have loved for years.

 

A salt hotel is no idle title – The building is made of salt, the table and chairs are made of salt, the beds are even made of salt.

A salt hotel is no idle title – The building is made of salt, the table and chairs are made of salt, the beds are even made of salt.

 

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The Waiting Game

The other day I was talking to someone just getting started in photography and later got thinking about what I have discovered over the past few years and if there was any advice that I could give other than the usual – and obvious – “know how your camera works” or “practice, practice, practice” advice. And there is: Good photographs rarely just happen.

Part of the joy of solo travel is that I can afford to spend lots of time waiting. And waiting. Usually it is for inspiration, or thinking about how to shoot a scene, or the light. But often it waiting for people to get out of the way. Iceland is a great case in point. One of the popular tourist spots along the southern coast is Dyrholaey. It is especially popular with bird watchers as several species, including puffins choose it as their nesting grounds. So, leave it to me to visit during nesting season when, what felt like every bird watcher on the planet, was out on the cliffs keeping a lookout. If that were not enough there is a fantastic black volcanic sand beach there with a cave at the far end and I can understand why people were keen to walk along to the cave and back. I would, usually. But I had this image in my head and it did not include people on cliffs. Or beaches. Or even, as cute as they are, a passing puffin. It just had the landscape.

So I set up the tripod, framed the shot, ran a few test shots to check focus, exposure and the creative look and then waited. For a few hours. The cliff line would clear, but people were still on the beach, or vice versa. Or both were clear, but the clouds had moved in. There was always something not right. I waited so long that the tide came in, changing the images, luckily in a way I liked.

Then it happened: No people, no birds, no grim clouds and an, as if to reward me, an incoming wave. Lovely.

Don't tell her but my mother was right: Patience is a virtue. 4secs, f/13 ISO 100

Don’t tell her but my mother was right: Patience is a virtue.
4secs, f/13 ISO 100

Now yes, I could have cloned people out in post production, but I shoot to print at a metre plus in size and unless you’re really very good, Photoshopping can be spotted. Anyway, you really can’t remove clouds or add waves in Photoshop so getting it right in camera is usually the best course of action. So, my advice is simply that. Good shots don’t just happen – you make them happen.

By changing your viewpoint, or removing the waste bin sitting next to the rustic door, or by picking up rubbish seen in frame. Or simply by waiting.

Posted in Hints and Tips, Landscape Also tagged , , , , |

Time waits for no man…

Well, back from Iceland less than a week and by now I would be running through the first pick photographs. But I’ve spent five of seven nights working – or travelling for work – and I’m off to Israel in a week. So, as amazing as Iceland was, first pick has to wait as it is time to wrap up the trip plans for Israel.

First up is a pretty major change to the itinerary. Originally it was Tel Aviv (as the course that work has put me on is there), then straight out to Jerusalem for a couple of days before moving on to Ein Bokek at the Dead Sea. But, I have long had this nagging doubt about how wise the Jerusalem/Dead Sea time split was and so, when filling in the exit form that Isreali immigration requires I began to think about changing the plan. And so I have.

Essentially, after leaving Tel Aviv, I’m basing myself in Jerusalem, giving me five full days, plus bits on the arrival and departure days. The Dead Sea is easily reachable from Jerusalem being about an hour away, less if you hire a car. So I can still travel there pretty freely. But I feel the need to just spend a more leisurely time in the capital.

The main reason for this change is likely because of the leisurely pace of Iceland. It was just so useful to be able say “I can return tomorrow, or the next day” if the weather wasn’t giving me what I was after. Now I can. In Iceland, being able to return to sites meant that I got shots that otherwise would have been missed.

I have ideas on the shots that I want to take and I know my (photographic) limits. So the shots I want to achieve willl take time – and luck – to achieve. I’ve created the time, all I now need is the luck!

 

Posted in Travel, Trip Planning Also tagged , , , , , |

ND Filter Example #1

I mentioned in the last post that I’d give some examples of ND and ND grad filters in action. Here’s the first. If you’re new to this end of photography and are keen to try this with your own camera, see if you can work out which filter I used (ND or ND grad).

Svartifoss

Svartifoss – aka The Black Falls

 

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