The Landscape Photographers Diary - Podcast Episode One 'The Mountain Power'

An immersive story from the view of a Landscape Photographer, to listen to this story on my Podcast, follow this link: Click here

The isle of Arran is a small island, it is described by some as the ‘Miniature Scotland’.  An island bountiful with striking mountains and beautiful beaches. Due to changing sea levels and glacial erosion. The island rose from the sea to form the iconic mountains we see today. Arran had two active volcanos, one being the largest in the UK. The Northern Granite on Arran is the remaining roots of one of the volcanos. Nature’s carvings have been hard at work here, what we see when we look at the island is millions of years of craftsmanship. My trip to Arran began in Glasgow. I travelled to a near-by port and crossed the sea on a Ferry. I was guided by a friend who in need of transportation to the island through sheer chance. A vast expanse of water surrounded our little boat as we glided across the waters surface towards the island. Slate grey blue saturated the sea. A mountainous island emerged before me, shards of rocks rose up from the ocean dominating the horizon. I felt the sea air whirl around me and whip my hair. Goose bumps prickled my neck as the cold breeze kissed my skin. An adventure was waiting for me, I could feel it in my core. At this point I had no plan, no idea where I would go and zero expectations of the island. All I had was a burning pull to go into the wildness of nature with just my camera and my backpack. Sometimes, that’s all you need.

I stayed with my friend and her relatives the first night to get my bearings, plan a hiking route and choose an area to solo camp. We opened a large OS map which stretched across the dinner table, I spied the mountains and looked at the routes around Goat fell. Contour lines scattered across the paper detailing the elevation of the mountain range. Like the age lines of a tree trunk, the layers of rings on the map circled closely at the peak and widened at the base. I wanted to go into the belly of the mountains, the heart of nature. Home made Forocaccica bread was torn together followed by a slice of baked cheesecake as we studied the map. A cold beer washed it all down, I savoured each drop. I knew I’d be without these luxuries for a while. A plan was made and I was to set out alone the next day. The morning was fresh, clouds hung above low and heavy as I drove to the starting point of the walk. The route was called Caisteal Abhail and the Witch’s Step near Glen Sannox. 13 km, estimated time 7 hours.

My bag was full with various camping essentials and my photography kit. I left as much as I could in the car, I would return to set up camp later. I packed light, making sure to pack my camera. As approached the beginning of the trail I noticed I had a few extra bags pulling me down. Drawing my shoulders to the ground and weighing heavy like anchors as I walked. A collection of emotions were stuffed inside which I’d taken from other people to help carry their load. Now mine was full, bursting at the seams. A short distance into the route I found a group of shepherd huts which were abandoned. Roofless but offering safe refuge and wind protection, I decided I would set up camp there later. Ahead of me I could see craggy mountains which reared above me. The legs of the mountains were wide, their heads were submerged in the sky as the clouds rolled through and grabbed at their necks. I felt a heaviness as I stood beneath them, they were nivarna quiet. They spoke to me in silence.

Gorse bush and heather scattered the ground around me, the sweet mix of coconut and wild flower filled my nose. The yellow flowers of the Gorse bush danced in the wind, glittering before my eyes. I got my camera out of my bag and looked through the view finder at the landscape before me. I framed up the golden yellow gorse leading to the mountains in the far distanced and click. My first image was taken. I felt content and slight relief that I’d taken my first image at last. I following the river which had carved its path into the ground like a scar on the landscape surface. The water-levels were low so I could step onto large sheets of iron coloured rock, the empty path of the river. Worn, rounded and exposed. The water was rushing, powerful and racing. Almost like it was running away from me. Watching it was mesmerising. I could feel my mind recharging the longer I watched, like a trance. It was captivating my eyes and cleansing my mind.

The mountains hid from me, like a game of cat and mouse. The low cloud grazing across their peaks and swallowing their faces into the sky. As I walked further up into the clouds, I could see everything get smaller and smaller beneath me. Everything looked insignificant. Nothing mattered here. The walk turned into an ascent which then turned into a scramble. This hiking route spoke of grade three scrambles so I knew it was going to be a varied and challenging route. My legs begged for reward as they pushed each muscle upwards. As I rose I was now begging the landscape with my hands as I crawled up the rock surface, clinging onto the edges of the earth with my skin. What was I begging for? To feel alive, to become the rock. It felt as though Mother Earth was in the palm of my hands as I took each grip. I was becoming part of the landscape. Becoming a mountain. As I walked further I felt myself grow wilder. My legs heavy like the rocks, my heart flowing like the river.

When I reached the top I was met with a view only a photograph can truly describe. I got my camera out and took a photograph. I composed the image to include the valley as my main subject as the mountains towered up either side of the photograph. Below the cliff edge was the river, once a large obstacle now a small snacking line, drawn onto the landscape as if by pen. Sloping edges either side cocooned the river and rose up to form the valley. In the far distance was the ocean, a light blue strip of hope saturated in golden light from the sun which was reflecting off the water. The rising mountains either side of me were covered in cloud, which occasionally cleared teasing playfully and allowing a view of the mountain peak.

At the top, I was surrounded by a valley of mountain peaks. Layer upon layer they rolled off into the distance. I looked at their faces and they looked back at me. There is a feeling you get when you look at a mountain, it’s almost as if there is an energy coming off the ground. A silence, a feeling of greatness and stillness I can’t quite describe fully. It amazed me to think that these large plates of rock were once part of a different formation in the ground, over time and pressure they had risen up to create new versions of themselves. Maybe this is what Arran means, maybe this is the power of the mountain.

I walked among the giants and the bags I had with me clung to my back, but one felt lighter almost empty. A few emotions must have tumbled out along the way, maybe the river took them downstream. Flowing down the mountain and deep into the valley below. I pushed further on, higher and deeper into the carvings of the land. Sharp edges and rounded stones surrounded me as they erupted from the ground like towering buildings that’s had been crumpled together. I had to use all of the strength within my body to pull myself up and down the rocky terrain. I moved my body onto large slabs and rose up onto grassy verges, each rock and path changing and challenging. The light began to drop as I climbed across the spine of the mountain. The cloud mist blanketing the sky and stealing the light.  I reached the other side of the mountains and back into the valley I had once started. The race to get up the mountain had passed and it was now a race to get down. I was racing to nowhere. After serval hours of walking, I made it back to my car. It was now dark and the moon dangled above me like a lozenge in the sky. I grabbed my camping gear and headed over to the shepherds hut to set up camp and rest. A fire pit had been left in the centre of the hut which I lit to warm up, the grass was wet with dew and glistened in the firelight. I heated up a hot chocolate on my stove and wrapped up warm under the moonlight. There were breaks in-between the passing clouds, which revealed the stars above. I could see the outline of the mountain giants around me, they looked upon me as I huddled by the fire and smiled. I then snuggled up in my tent and drifted off to sleep to the sound of the wind as it whistled through the fields.