High-resolution resolution

When, at 20, I took some scraped-together grant cash to a camera shop in Innsbruck to purchase Agfa CT18, the proprietor suggested substituting Kodachrome II (later called Kodachrome 25) for the out-of-stock Agfa. Those 36 exposures had to be eked out over several weeks, but when I eventually viewed the slides, it was as if suddenly the sunny mountain scenes taken on my Voigtländer Vitoret had leapt into 3D. So began a thirty year infatuation with the fine-grained, saturated, but slow Kodak emulsion. 

Another veil fell away with acquisition of my first SLR, a battered Pentax Spotmatic with three SMC Takumar lenses, in 1979. The sheer (for those days) vividness of the results drew me deeper into mountain photography. Fellow Wyndham Mountaineering Club photographer Bert Jenkins introduced me to publishers like Ken Wilson, Richard Gilbert and Peter Hodgkiss, who were encouraging about the technical qualities that I managed  with my Takumar lenses and Kodachrome 25, or equally fine-grained black and white film Ilford XP. Several photos were published in books and magazines, including my greatest coup: the jacket photo for Ken Wilson & Richard Gilbert's Wild Walks 

I must admit I was a mountaineer who took photographs, rather than a landscape photographer. The chief aim was to achieve mountain objectives, and only secondly (but for me always importantly) to record that attainment. Difficulty of access to the locations probably contributed as much to my modest success as artistic merit. Bert Jenkins once likened the approach to that of a war photographer, working fast and fluently in uncomfortable circumstances to bring home the images. His admired monochromes of helicopter rescues from the Wasdale fells reinforced the military parallel. To be honest, it never occurred to me to use a tripod. This was photography on the fly, intended to impress for its unusual viewpoints accessible only by sustained physical effort.

Maurienne, Ciamarella from Pointe Fracesetti, September 1990

I got away with this cavalier style thanks to usually strong lighting, static scenes (Kodachrome 25 was mostly hopeless for climbing action shots) and editors’, by today’s standards, lower expectations regarding resolution and sharpness. My guess is that even Kodachrome 25 has been overtaken by sensor resolution, which now reveals depth of field limitations once mercifully camouflaged by film grain.

My Canon DSLR is reassuringly chunky yet eminently portable, so dangerously reminiscent of my much missed Pentax Spotmatic. The temptation therefore is to carry on as before, hand-holding and snapping away merrily. But wait – inside that nouveau-Spotmatic lurks a medium-format wolf in 35mm clothing. Its high-resolution sensor cruelly exposes sloppiness. Just as in the 80s a landscape photographer wouldn’t have been seen dead hand-holding a Hasselblad, so with around 20 megapixels small apertures and rock-steady support are de rigeur. I could save lots of money with a used, lower-resolution camera, and probably should, if satisfied with shaky results from an expensive one. But, although I’ve for the time being suspended the pipe dream of earning a living from photography, there remains the allure of being at least publishable, if not published. So I have to find a way of integrating acceptable photographic technique with ingrained vagabond-explorer tendencies.

Recent conversations with Outer Hebridean and Seattle photographers David Fleet and Francis Zera  respectively, surely no strangers to complex photographic environments, focused my mind on the issue. The writing’s on the wall: they are both critical friends whose eagle eyes no hand-held shot can evade. If I must move on from a 35mm film approach to wilderness photography and regard a tripod as a permanent fixture on the underside of my camera, then it had better be slick and manoeuvrable as a whippet. My present tripod is neither, so a compromise might be to follow David’s suggestion of an update such as this.

The next task will be accurately to distinguish those exceptional moments when only hand-held will get the shot 

Sunburst, Caton Moor, Roeburndale, Lancashire, UK, 12 Dec 2011

(because there’s truly no time or place to set up the tripod) from those when not using one is an outmoded habit. 

Mallowdale Pike unconquered: Walking in Roeburndale

The waters from the remote uplands at the heart of Bowland flow, usually merrily, sometimes savagely, down secluded Roeburndale to the pretty stone houses of Wray. I never tire of the classic journey from homeliness to wilderness and back. The valley lacks the blazed trails of Lakeland valleys. In Roeburndale, knowing one’s patch is as useful as the Ordnance Survey in navigating the steep woodlands and, higher up, boggy pastures.

Having at last joined up the puzzle pieces of an approach, I thought the shrinking daylight might yet permit climbing the alluring cone of Mallowdale Pike, the object most resembling a mountain hereabouts.

The final, as yet untried link was between the right of way along the private road to Mallowdale Farm and the open moor rising to the summits. I thought to follow the river bank south-eastwards from Mallowdale Bridge along the edge of the enclosed farmland for a few hundred metres until the access land opened up fully to the south-west. This narrow corridor turned out to be pathless, steep, and bracken-choked. The combined effects of this and earlier photographic dallyings led to it being nearly sunset when I reached the foot of Mallowdale Pike. With Ingleborough catching the final glow I turned my back on the elusive peaklet.

I do like a challenge, so I’ll be back – but not this way, as I’ve no wish to pioneer an outlaw path on this vulnerable river bank.

An endearing characteristic of the Forest of Bowland is its freedom from mass leisure exploitation, so I don’t complain of the need to work at solutions, rather as a climber worries away at a new rock route. And, just as in climbing, there are ethics to respect. Only rights of way and proper access links are acceptable, allowing the wild corners to remain undisturbed. I only wish the instigators of the shooting tracks that now compromise the remoteness of the tops were similarly respectful of what they will argue is their, but I believe is our, wilderness. 

Micro-escaping

If only we could find sufficient beauty and adventure within the radius of an hour's walk or cycle ride from home, we wouldn't need to transport ourselves energy-intensively around the globe. Having returned four months ago from an Atlantic-to-Italy cycle ride that involved trains at each end, and being a European and linguist at heart, I can't claim uncompromising adherence to this ideal. However, with South Cumbria / North Lancashire as my chosen domicile, muscle power suffices to access a refreshing change of scene. That happened this afternoon, with just an hour and a half from start to finish of the micro-escape.

People power: the best publicity

As an occupational therapist I believe in lifelong learning - the idea that knowledge never stands still, so we can never rest from updating it. My new focus on older things doesn't change that underlying attitude. Hardly a day goes by without my discovering something about the design and engineering of classic bicycles. But I learn still more about running a business - a new experience for me after half a lifetime of employment. And the most exciting learning connects clearly with the person-centredness of occupational therapy: it's about how my business interacts with people. I've tried advertising in a periodical to no avail. I've increasingly used social networking, to somewhat greater effect. But the big breakthrough came when I started riding an example of my product - a red Harry Hall road bike - to places where cyclists gather.

The fascination of the tangible object and the agreeable conversations that ensued have led to worthwhile transactions and a positive presence for Proud to Ride Classic, building good will on the timeless foundation of face-to-face communication. Technology is probably indispensable, but I've learned that even buying and selling bicycles is essentially a person-centred business.

Classic tandems, anyone?

I've had an unusual day, visiting the Fylde coast by the estuary of the River Wyre, mainly to view two tandems for possible refurbishment and resale. I want to gauge interest before committing to this relatively heavy investment, so I'm not yet in possession of them and have no photos. Anyway, my original plan to ride one of them back to base was somewhat undermined by the realisation that it lacks wheels. Nonetheless, it would be wonderful to see these two beautiful machines back on the road. So I'd really appreciate any advance expressions of interest to encourage me to take the plunge. The details are:

Tandem (1): Claud Butler 531, circa 1952, 21" + 21", short wheelbase. White, chrome ends, one professional re-enamelling with addition of cantilever bosses and braze-on front derailleur. Paint generally in good condition, but needs attention near seat bolt. Takes 650 (26") narrow-tyred (road, not off-road) wheels. TA double chainset, Campagnolo rear derailleur.

Tandem (2): Thorn, 21" + childback. No further details available, but looked in good condition behind other items.

*** Expressions of interest, please! ***

Whilst in the Fylde I also took the opportunity to savour the wide skies and pancake-flat landscape, so different from my favoured hill country, but reminiscent of my late childhood cycling forays along the dike-fringed East Friesian coast of North Germany. Here is a mini-portfoliio of the day.

The art of active listening: Back Room SAM designs a new logo

Whilst investing much energy in the infrastructure for our household provisioning, I'd not forgotten Proud to Ride Classic. I commissioned Sarah Thornton of Back Room SAM to design a logo for my business, replacing my stopgap photo of a red Harry Hall racing cycle. Sarah's approach is purposeful: she listens, checks understanding, and focuses on the agreed outcomes like a greyhound racing for the finish line. This is how I like to work too, so our collaboration was efficient and harmonious. Starting from my freshly taken photograph of the iconic bike

she used her computer graphics knowledge to simplify and stylise the image according to my brief. After discussing refinements to her mock-ups, she soon presented the finished logo.

In my therapeutic and teaching work I appreciated the principles of SMART goal setting, according to which goals should be

• Specific
• Measurable
• Agreed
• Realistic
• Time-boundaried

It's exhilarating to work with someone who instinctively applies these principles to a project. Here's the result, of which I'm very proud. Thank you, Sarah!

Home from home

It took several more sessions in the rapidly shortening days to make the shed fully 'habitable'. Not as critical as the cladding and weatherproofing, the interior fittings nonetheless posed some interesting problems as the supply of materials dwindled. Throughout the project I bought virtually nothing, always improvising with what I had to hand. As supplies were used up, more and more adaptation was necessary. Designs were modified, discarded scraps of wood retrieved from the Kelly kettle's firewood box and the darkest recesses of the toolbox scoured for suitable screw sizes. The rough-hewn economy creates a down-home atmosphere redolent of an Alpine hut or American log cabin.

Thanks to Jennifer Lauruol for the inspiration and for acquiring the shed for a new lease of life, and to Anne O'Connor for celebratory bunting.

I'm a proud craftsman, but what have I created? Hmmm.... Is it a boat? Is it a plane? Is it life, but not as we know it? What does it remind YOU of? My FAVOURITE of YOUR suggestions (comment here or anywhere these photos appear) will be shared across the Proud to Ride Classic network, with full credit to the author. Closes 23.59 (one minute to midnight) on Thursday November 17th 2011.  Good luck!

The split-windscreen VW campervan look: