Out and About
Nant-y-Frith and the slowing down of water
I’m not a great believer in New Year’s Resolutions, they’re all too often doomed to fail but with a desire to get fitter, I’ve taken to hiking again. Nothing extreme as yet, they’re mostly local for now, either straight from my house on foot or just a 20 minute drive away.
To this end I had driven, camera as my companion, to Nant-y-Ffrith - in north east Wales - the Saturday before last, and found myself mesmerised by the relentless flow of the stream, nestled deep down inside the forested valley. I’d spent more time shooting the water at slow shutter speeds than regular scenes. However, unsure about those photos taken simply handheld, I decided to return the following Wednesday with my little used monopod. With tedious but important matters to deal with on the telephone, I arrived later than I’d originally hoped so I knew time was limited.
Taking note of how icy the lane had become as I neared my parking spot, on leaving the car I trod cautiously to the road’s edge and opted to walk along the grass verge as I aimed for the gap in the fence and into this seemingly ancient woodland. The relatively steep sided valley means the trees and rocks are often starved of light and all sorts of painstakingly slow growing lichen take hold, softening the shapes, blurring the contours.
Cutting through the forest until I hit the logging track, the walk was easy going and after a short while the sound of rushing water, amplified by the slopes, was deceptively loud. Aiming not for the sound itself but further along the valley, I made for the wooden bridge I’d visited just a few days earlier. Stopping just short of it, I pulled the monopod from my rucksack, attached my camera - strap most definitely around my neck- and paddled carefully over shiny rocks into the shallows to shoot.
By slowing down the action the underlying shapes emerged, created by eddy, flow, and collision, the waves and bubbles forming part of a fascinating mini world. I found the colours, reflections, refractions and tiny pockets of calm enticing as the waters raced headlong, knowing nothing but their need to journey.
For me it doesn’t matter that it’s not on a grand scale, the principles, the laws of physics are the same, as is the beauty. In fact, so enamoured was I with this world in detail, that when I realised I could actually get closer to the actual waterfall itself I found it was a bit of a disappointment, almost mundane. The closeness afforded by zooming in on the water with my 16 to 80mm lens had offered an immediacy. It wasn’t just that I felt more connected to the stream in these extended exposure close-ups, I exulted in the fact that they gave more license for artistic interpretation. Not everyone’s idea of photography I know but I felt exhilarated.
Fortunately, with shutter open longer, the light, or rather the lack of it, didn’t impact too much on my shots but after an hour of climbing over boulders, rocks and fallen trees, and scrambling down steep slippery banks, it was time to head back, finger tips a little numb. It was a bit of a slog retracing the path uphill, the calf muscles pulled but a smile played upon my lips as I headed back to the car and my flask of hot tea.
