We British are notorious for moaning and whingeing about our weather. This is because we never know what it is going to be like from day to day. Our weather prediction services seem to be totally incapable of getting their forecasts right and you may as well hang a piece of seaweed outside your front door and use that to tell you whether you are going to need an umbrella, coat or rowing boat that day.
However, for us photographer’s, the British weather is just so good at getting atmospheric pictures. Rainstorms, frost and snow all occur (probably more frequently than we would want) but they offer fantastic opportunities for landscape images or close-ups of rain-soaked plants, morning dew, frost on windows and mist over hills.
This selection of three photographs was taken in fields not far from my home in early November. It was one of those damp chilly mornings that was very still and quiet. Every sound and every colour were muted. Even the birds were quiet and walking through woods to the fields the only sound was the drip, drip of moisture from the trees on to the undergrowth.
I was at the very nice Batsford Arboretum today with a couple of members of the photo club. It started off pretty dark and overcast with some fog still sticking around the base of the trees. Knowing that light was going to be scarce, I took my monopod on the shoot, and I’m glad I did as I needed to get some sufficient depth of field with the low light levels.
We did get some sunshine through just before lunch, but before I had even finished my beef sandwich in their excellent café, the light disappeared once again and the gloom descended. Out in the arboretum once again, it was suggested as we looked from one of the high view points over the cotswolds, that we should take a picture of the landscape and turn what would be a boring landscape view into something more interesting in processing.
So, once home and images downloaded, I used Lightroom and Photoshop to try and give the image a dawn feel to it. It’s a little overdone, but I enjoyed doing it. The first image is the original, the second the processed version.
Taken with a Nikon D7100 and 24-85mm f/3.5-4.5 G full frame lens.
I trudged across the fields of Berkswell today in an effort to get some foggy, autumn pictures.
The fog was quite dense and the only noises piercing its sound dampening properties were the cries of the crows in the trees, the seagulls on the lake and the drip, drip of the water on the leaves of the trees as I waked under them. The air was cold and damp and the footpaths muddy, slippy and well-trodden.
Out of the gloom of the fog the trees continually emerged as I walked on. In the distance the trees faded into an indistinct line on the horizon, all detail and contrast flattened by the fog.
The particular oak tree in the image below stood on the top of a rise in the field. The orange and yellow leaves barely hanging on to the branches. I was captivated by the flatness and quietness of the scene, all tones muted to browns and golds.
I took the photograph with my D800 and a 50mm f/1.8 standard lens. I used the dehaze tool in Photoshop to increase the contrast in the tree and to make it more prominent.
This weekend Mrs M and I took the first trip this year down to Batsford Arboretum, just outside Moreton-in-Marsh in Gloucestershire. We like to go and have a look at the gardens and trees a few times a year to take in the fabulous colours that swap and change through the seasons.
The Arboretum is in full spring dress at the moment, and the photograph below shows one of the glades that are absolutely awash with spring wild flowers.
This image was taken as I walked along the gorge cut through the woods by the River Braan, near Dunkeld in Perthshire.
The sun was just filtering into the trees and the lack of leaves meant that the thin branches were illuminated whilst the trees and thicker branches were rim lit. The thinner tendril-like branches were so delicate and lit so beautifully that it looked like a forest of spider webs hung from the moss shrouded trees that lined the river gorge.
It was a fabulous sight and one which prompted many photographs at various settings to try and capture the gossamer light.
Fifteen minutes later, the sun had moved slightly and the magical light on the branches had gone.