Allow me to diverge from the typical scenes of my recent Harris/Lewis trip to introduce a familiar local landmark. This structure holds significance for me as it stands within view from my back bedroom window, perched just 35 meters higher than my own residence which is at 300 meters above sea level. Positioned on the precipice of a hill, it gazes over the Irwell Valley; a conspicuous sight to those journeying northward along the M66.
This structure bears the name "Peel Monument" on maps, erected in 1852 in the aftermath of Robert Peel's passing. Peel, a native of Bury, hailed from a family initially involved in a cotton print works before transitioning to ownership of cotton mills. Serving as Prime Minister on two occasions, he is renowned as the architect of the modern police force, hence the affectionate term "Bobbies" for our local constabulary. Peel staunchly advocated for Free Trade and famously repealed the Corn Laws, driving down grain prices and rendering bread more accessible to the working classes.
Standing tall at 128 feet, the tower's construction material was hewn from the quarry adjacent to its northern flank which is still visible today as a bloody big hole in the ground. Accessible to the public during holidays, its ascent is facilitated by concrete steps winding their way to the summit.
On this particular mid-June evening, the warmth enveloped the air. The idea of capturing a shot like this had lingered in my mind for some time. Yet, with each full moon that graced the sky, thick clouds and rain inevitably obscured the scene, rendering the endeavour futile. Peel Monument shrouded in rain? Hardly a thrilling sight, is it? As twilight began to deepen, the moon emerged above the eastern hills, its size and brilliance captivating. Without hesitation, I decided to seize the moment. Venturing to Holcombe Village, I parked the car just past the school and a steady uphill trek along stony farm tracks awaited me to reach the Tower. Eager as I was, I arrived a bit prematurely, panting like an asthmatic steam engine and sweat dripping off my brow. Assessing the compositional prospects, I navigated along the broad track behind the tower, stumbling in the darkness amidst tussocks and clumps of moorland cotton grass until finding a suitable vantage point.
Setting up the tripod and securing the camera to the ball head, I settled in to wait for the moon's perfect alignment to the right of the tower. The moorland sprawled around me, a plateau of expansive openness and the high view enabling me to see the twinkling lights of the distant Manchester and the vast area of suburbs which surrounds it. Clad only in a t-shirt and shorts, the earlier warm breeze and sweat from the uphill slog now gave way to a distinct chill. What had been a tranquil moment amidst the summer's moorland aroma containing the sweet scent of grass and flowers drifting by on the gentle breeze was now punctuated by shivers and chattering teeth and a gale force wind which prompted brisk pacing back and forth to keep warm and invigorate the blood. I’d never felt this cold, even in winter! As the minutes slipped away, I found myself with ample time to rue my hasty departure and the oversight of not bringing along essentials like a light fleece, something that would have brought a bit of warmth and comfort to my prolonged wait. Despite my brisk pacing up and down to keep warm, time seemed to stand still and the chill in the air seemed to intensify, and the moon stubbornly remained to the left of the tower. "Patience, lad! Patience!" I reminded myself.
As complete darkness encroached, the floodlight atop the tower flickered to life. "Bastard!!" I exclaimed under my breath. The tower's illumination was unpredictable; sometimes it lit up, other times it remained dark—a randomness that had always confounded me. Initially disappointed by the floodlight's intrusion, I begrudgingly admitted to myself that it might actually be a stroke of luck. The light would cast a glow on the left side of the tower, balancing the darkness on the side where the moon would soon appear. After standing muttering curses, and scrutinizing the scene for what felt like an eternity, I accepted the brilliant white floodlight as a potential asset. Anything to prevent the tower from appearing as a featureless imposing silhouette against the night sky was going to be a bonus. As the moon gradually slipped behind the tower, its glow began to illuminate the darker side, gradually improving the composition. Perhaps it was confirmation bias on my part, but the scene was undeniably taking shape. However, the persistent chill refused to abate leaving my fingers numb with the cold.
Around 11:30 PM, the moon finally aligned itself in the desired position, prompting me to swiftly capture several bracketed shots. Knowing that a composite image would be necessary, I opted for multiple exposures to properly capture both the bright moon and the darker areas of the foreground and tower. Each set consisted of 3 or 5 brackets, each spaced 2 stops apart. Once satisfied with the results displayed on the camera's rear screen, I concluded my work. With a sense of accomplishment and chattering teeth, I efficiently packed up my gear, slung the rucksack onto my back, and made my way to the wide track which passed the front of the tower and descended the eastern face of the hill towards my car. I was grateful for the chance to get some warmer blood pumping around the old corpse too. The anticipation of settling into the heated seats spurred my pace, relishing in the simple luxury awaiting me. On my descent I did consider calling in for a swift one at The Shoulder of Mutton pub as I was walking past the front door, however, this was obviously closing when I ambled past at nearly midnight and I doubt I would have been served had I walked in and asked. A mug of hot chocolate would have been more suitable than a well-kept pint of Timothy Taylor’s “Landlord” which is usually on tap at this establishment. Foregoing the refreshment, I sped past the pub and continued my pace along the road towards the school to where I had parked. As I approached the car, I opened it and released the tailgate. Placing my camera bag and tripod into the back of the car, and then climbing into the drivers seat, I fired up the engine and made my way home – driving along the dark, deserted roads, my mind wandered as to how I would edit these shots and hoping they had turned out well enough to be edited. I would have to wait and see, it was already well beyond my bedtime.
***Please note that this image is protected by Pixsy. Any unauthorised use of it will be pursued by Pixsy and their legal team***
Twitter - Michael Dutson Landscape Photos
YouTube Channel - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Instagram - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
TikTok - Michael Dutson Photo
Website - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Vero Social - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
© All Rights Reserved
As I journeyed southward along the main A858 from Barvas, tracing the western edge of Lewis, the morning greeted me with brilliant sunshine and scattered, fluffy clouds. The wind, though still blowing from the west, had considerably mellowed since earlier. Approaching the right-hand junction marked by the signpost for Dail Mor, I followed the winding road, its surface rising and falling gently, leading, as I assumed, toward the beach. This stretch of road was narrow, with just enough room for one vehicle at a time, punctuated by occasional passing spots strategically placed along its length. Fortunately, I encountered no other traffic, allowing me to maintain a steady pace. These were not roads conducive to speeding; rather, one had to be vigilant, ready to yield to oncoming vehicles by quickly manoeuvring into one of the designated pull-ins. Unsure of the local etiquette, I erred on the side of caution, always yielding to the locals who zipped past me with apparent urgency, likely bound by appointments or work commitments, while I, a mere visitor, had the luxury of leisurely holiday time at my disposal.
Along the road, there were scattered houses, but it lacked the cohesive presence of a village. My surprise peaked as I reached the road's end and found myself in a spacious car park equipped with toilet facilities. It dawned on me that there were two cemeteries nearby, likely accounting for the ample parking space. It seemed burying the deceased near the beach was a common practice in this area, evident by the numerous cemeteries lining the coastline. Exiting the car, I retrieved my camera bag and tripod from the boot and made my way down the asphalt path toward a sturdy farm-style galvanised steel gate, leading to a sandy trail that meandered toward the beach. The rhythmic crashing of waves confirmed my navigation. Passing through a brief stretch of dunes flanked by the two graveyards, I noticed the one to my left was considerably smaller than its counterpart to the right. As the shoreline unfolded before me, an underground stream surfaced, carving a path through the pristine sands, adorned with weathered, textured boulders shaped by the relentless force of waves and water. The intriguing erosion patterns on these boulders captured my attention, serving as a promising subject for future photography endeavours, particularly as my initial focus shifted toward capturing the dynamic motion of the waves along the shoreline.
To progress along the beach, I found myself traversing a terrain strewn with boulders, their rounded surfaces posing a risk of twisting an ankle. Determined to preserve the untouched beauty of the sand nearer the water's edge, I opted to carefully navigate these obstacles well away from the waters edge, mindful of leaving behind any footprints as the beach was completely deserted. Negotiating the uneven surface proved to be quite a challenge, requiring deliberate and cautious steps and using the tripod as an impromptu walking pole. Amidst this rocky path, I couldn't help but notice how the stream flowing out towards the west across the beach provided a natural leading line to the foreshore. I made a mental note to revisit the spot later, intrigued by the potential of incorporating it into a composition.
I descended to the shoreline, gently placing my camera rucksack on the sandy ground. Assembling my tripod, I retrieved my camera from the bag, along with the pouch containing my Neutral Density filters necessary for capturing longer exposures under the bright sunlight. Standing amidst the tranquillity of the deserted beach, I observed the waves crashing against the shore. Solitude enveloped me, accompanied solely by the rhythmic symphony of the breaking waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. Embracing the moment, I allowed myself to unwind, inhaling deeply the crisp sea air, filling my lungs with its purity. With each slow breath, I sank deeper into relaxation, my gaze lost in the vast expanse before me. It was a near-meditative state, a harmonious fusion with my surroundings. After a few moments of blissful immersion, my focus gradually returned, ready to tackle the task at hand.
I attached the ND8 filter to the front of my 16-35mm wide-angle lens, my preferred choice for capturing landscape and seascape scenes. I prefer simplicity when it comes to my gear, typically carrying only two lenses in my bag: the 16-35mm and a 28-300mm for general photography. This combination covers most scenarios I encounter while also keeping the weight manageable. Despite the trend toward mirrorless cameras for weight reduction, I have stuck with my faithful D850, considering it part of my fitness regimen, sparing me the need for a gym membership.
With the settings dialled in, I snapped a few test shots to ensure I captured the desired motion of the waves. After some minor adjustments and more shots, I continued along the beach, exploring different vantage points. As I wandered, I lost track of time, immersed in the solitude of my surroundings, my footsteps weaving aimlessly through the sand.
After thoroughly exploring the beach, I retraced my steps to the boulder-strewn stream that ran parallel to the path leading back to the car park. Recalling the potential for a compelling leading line shot, I set up my camera and tripod on the boulders in the middle of the stream. Experimenting with various compositions, I alternated between emphasizing the foreground and zooming in on the sea, envisioning the editing possibilities awaiting me once I returned home from my holiday. After exhausting the potential compositions in the area, my attention was drawn to a wooden bench positioned high above the beach, near the boundary fence of the larger of the two cemeteries. Rather than immediately heading back to the car, I seized the opportunity to bask in the sunshine for a half-hour, perched on the bench overlooking the beach and the surrounding bay at Dail Mor. I climbed the steep sandy slope heading upwards towards the cemetery fence and with a sigh of relief, I removed my camera bag and settled onto the wooden slats, facing westward towards the beach below me.
My timing proved fortuitous, as no sooner had I seated myself than a family appeared, accompanied by two energetic dogs bounding along the shoreline and frolicking in the foamy surf. The children, though less physically active, made up for it with their exuberant voices echoing across the beach, their playful shrieks filling the air.
Inspired by the lively scene below, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to capture aerial shots of the location using my drone, as well as getting some video footage for sharing on social media platforms at a later date. After depleting the first battery of my drone, I made the decision to return to the car. Spotting an opening in the boundary fence, I leisurely strolled back, gradually ascending through the maze of headstones that dotted the landscape. It seemed that MacLeod and MacDonald were prevalent in this area, judging by the abundance of markers bearing those surnames.
Navigating through the kissing gate marking the pedestrian entrance to the cemetery, I noticed two more cars pulling up, their occupants and canine companions spilling out onto the grounds. Relieved to depart from the bustling activity at the Dead Centre of Dail Mor, I looked forward to exploring quieter surroundings, preferably with fewer individuals—living ones, that is!
***Please note that this image is protected by Pixsy. Any unauthorised use of it will be pursued by Pixsy and their legal team***
Twitter - Michael Dutson Landscape Photos
YouTube Channel - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Instagram - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
TikTok - Michael Dutson Photo
Website - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Vero Social - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
Tags: Scotland Isle of Harris seascape
© All Rights Reserved
As the side road leading to Luskentyre vanished in my rear-view mirror, I accelerated along the recently constructed single-track road. This curving causeway separated the expansive sandy area of Traigh Losgaintir, formed by the estuary's head, from the salt flats neighbouring Loch Carron. Racing uphill through Seilebost, my mind shifted to the next destination. Long exposure beach shots were on my agenda for the day, and despite the stormy start, the weather appeared to be improving as the day unfolded. However, the persistent 60 mph westerly wind showed no signs of relenting despite the sky indicating otherwise.
Considering the beaches around Seilebost, I mentally noted to explore them for future reference as I drove past, even if I did not capture any shots. Continuing south on the A859, the next beach on my route was Traigh Niosaboist, accessible through a sharp right turn onto Horgabost campsite and a track across the dunes leading to a small car park above the beach. Though I slowed as I approached, I decided to push forward and explore on the way back later in the day as the sun would be better positioned (if it stayed visible) and who knows sunset may be colourful affair today. The undulating road followed the coastline, and after cresting a hill, the car traversed a noisy cattle grid before descending to the parking area above Traigh Iar. The beach came into full view, with massive waves thundering in from the Atlantic, crashing against the shoreline in a tumult of white foam. Quickly pulling over into a marked parking bay, I rolled down the window, to be greeted by the roar of foaming breakers and the relentless wind, which also buffeted the car quite noticeably.
Seated in contemplation, my mind was occupied with the desire to capture long exposure shots. However, attempting this endeavour in the midst of a strong wind seemed futile. The relentless gusts threatened to induce movement in the camera, potentially rendering the images soft or, worse, blurry. Complicating matters, the addition of neutral density filters to achieve the desired longer exposures did nothing to improve the camera's aerodynamics; if anything, it exacerbated the situation, behaving like a sail on a small boat.
Caught in a dilemma, I pondered my options. Eventually, I decided to venture out and assess the difficulty first-hand. Summoning up the courage I stepped out of the car, and braced the door against the oncoming blast, squeezing my bulk through the limited gap it afforded. The car door almost closed by itself. After securing my camera bag, tripod, and flapping Paramo 'Halcon' jacket from the back seat, I descended to the beach through a timber gate. Making my way down a short gravel path, I traversed some small dunes until the vast expanse of the beach lay before me, devoid of any other soul. Thankfully, it stood in stark contrast to Traigh Rosamol, a mere 2 ½ miles away along the coast northwards.
Arriving at any new location, my initial ritual involved aimlessly wandering for the first 15 minutes, simply observing and attempting to discern the nuances of the surroundings whilst mentally calculating their compositional value. On the horizon, a substantial dark cloud loomed, its unmistakable silhouette signalling an imminent heavy downpour. Faced with the prospect of quick action once again, I weighed the abundant opportunities for capturing remarkable shots so opted for a more laissez-faire attitude and systematically proceeded with my routine and let the dark cloud go about its business without any impact at all on my speed of setting up.
Retrieving my camera from the backpack, I secured it onto the tripod, firmly embedding the legs into the sand to prevent any mishaps in the gusty wind. Next, I delved into my camera bag to extract the filter pouch, a repository of graduated and neutral density filters. These attachments allowed me to swiftly decrease the shutter speed for long exposure shots. Safely stowing the pouch in the capacious inside pocket of my Halcon jacket, I appreciated its functionality for accommodating various photography essentials like lenses, lens cloths, filters, lens caps, and batteries. With around ten pockets at my disposal, stuff was readily to hand, but I acknowledged the potential for organizational challenges, especially when combined with the numerous pockets in my Craghoppers 'Kiwi' shirt and trousers. These clothing items bringing the pocket total to over twenty. Despite contemplating the need for a systematic approach to stowing items, I often found myself forgetting the system devised on previous photography trips, leading to the occasional, albeit temporary, 'loss' of items that were, in fact, on my person all the time. Lens caps, batteries, remote triggers, car keys, glasses, food items, compass, map print out and phone have all seemingly “vanished” in the past, only to be miraculously found again an hour later in a random pocket somewhere. A humorous reflection on the need for better organizational habits with my clothing crossed my mind, but practical considerations prevailed - I had not taken a shot yet and that dark cloud was still approaching.
Choosing to set up my equipment on the foreshore, I aimed to capture the incoming waves. While they appeared dramatic and sizable from the vantage point near my parked car, the perspective from the foreshore revealed a different story. The gently shelving beach created a significant distance between the foaming breakers and the ebb and flow of the waters edge on the sandy expanse. I was a bit disappointed by this as I was hoping to catch some large waves crashing in, but this gentle shelving turned out to be advantageous. The shallow, slower moving water created highly intricate patterns and textures, offering a diverse range of compositions which were far more suited to what I had in mind. Large, crashing waves would have lost any detail with a long exposure, and most likely resulted in a mass of over-exposed white shades without any detail at all. Upon reflection, and from study of the LCD screen on the back of the camera, it became evident that I had successfully captured the essence of the seawater's movement and fluidity in several shots and this was my aim when setting out.
As the tide continued its rhythmic dance, waves repeatedly washed around and over my shoes, gradually submerging them until the water reached well above my ankles. Unsure whether the tide was advancing swiftly or if my weight, combined with the water's movement, caused me to sink into the saturated sand, I looked down and contemplated the puzzle as the water swirled around my legs. Ultimately, I chose to relocate, carefully picking my path to avoid leaving footprints in the pristine scenes I intended to photograph. With the beach in its unspoiled state, any intrusion of size 10 footprints would be solely my responsibility. Wearing my Merrell hiking sandals proved to be a wise decision, allowing me to disregard wet feet altogether. The previous year, I had opted to forego heavy boots or wellies between April and the end of October, relying solely on these versatile hiking sandals. Originally purchased as a wet-shoe for paddleboarding, their comfort and practicality had made them my preferred outdoor footwear. Crafted from neoprene with a robust Vibram sole, they facilitated wading through water without the worry of damp boots, wet socks or just general water ‘overtopping’ of my chosen footwear. Drying quickly when wet and worn without socks, they did accumulate some dirt throughout the day, but a simple toss into the washing machine restored them to a brand-new appearance. Their ease of maintenance and adaptability for various outdoor activities, particularly photography, earned them my enthusiastic recommendation.
Venturing towards the southern stretch of the beach, I encountered a rugged terrain with scattered rocks rising above the sandy beach. Isolated rocks and water pools presented themselves as potential foreground points of interest. Adorned with a layer of seaweed, the rocks offered a contrasting texture against the smooth sand. As I set up the tripod again, the tide continued its advance, and the once-distant storm cloud now revealed its proximity through the onset of raindrops. Choosing a rocky perch, I elevated my camera rucksack from the tide and shielded the camera and lens with a thermal beanie hat stretched over it to provide shelter from the rain. Pulling up my hood and cinching it around my chin, I buried my hands deep into the jacket's lined pockets, hunkering down for a brief respite as the rain passed. In this peculiar scene, I must have appeared quite eccentric to passers-by. Standing on the beach in the midst of a heavy rainstorm seemed an unusual choice; however, the strategic placement of the camera tripod served as a visual cue. It became my tacit excuse - a way to nonchalantly dismiss any quizzical looks from those who might question my sanity of being on a beach under such adverse weather conditions.
After five minutes, the majority of the storm had moved on, and the rain had subsided, but the persistent wind lingered. With the advancing breakers, the wind now propelled sea spray, sand and occasionally seaweed horizontally across the sands. As I aligned my shots, waiting for the dynamic movement of the water, I stood hunched over the camera, armed with a microfiber cloth at the ready in my right hand just out of shot, waiting to ‘pounce’ in a cat-like manner and swiftly wipe the ND Filter of sea spray. Normally, I let the camera automatically bracket my shots in sets of three, but this time, I took a different approach, manually operating the shutter between brackets. This unusual tactic was an attempt to fend off the sea spray by allowing me time to quickly wipe the filter prior to the next shot occurring. It felt somewhat futile, given that I was shooting directly into the path from which the spray originated. Frustrated, all I could do was fervently wipe the filter and click the shutter, hoping to capture something worthwhile. The wind-induced vibrations and swirling water around both mine and the tripod legs, which could potentially affect the stability of the long exposure became the least of my concerns.
Lost in the moment and absorbed in my own world and maintaining my position for about 15 minutes, the water now reached up to my knees. The surging seawater near the rocks had buried my feet in the sand, causing the tripod to lose about 8 inches of height too. I realized it was again time to move on, return to the car and head further down the coast. Retrieving my bag, lifting the camera and tripod onto my shoulder, I waded through the advancing water and ascended the gently sloping sand onto the grass and the narrow gravel path leading to the road. Pausing at the top of the beach, I turned around to absorb the panorama - silently witnessing the mighty Atlantic breakers crashing against the shore with a roar of white noise and a heavy spattering of salty spray. After a moment of reflection, I turned away and made my way to the gate leading to the car, contemplating what awaited me next lower down the coast.
***Please note that this image is protected by Pixsy. Any unauthorised use of it will be pursued by Pixsy and their legal team***
Twitter - Michael Dutson Landscape Photos
YouTube Channel - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Instagram - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
TikTok - Michael Dutson Photo
Website - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Vero Social - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
© All Rights Reserved
As I navigated the roads crisscrossing the islands of Harris and Lewis, my primary focus was on scouting for suitable subjects to capture through my camera lens, all while ensuring I didn't impede the flow of local traffic on the swift roads. The weather conditions on that particular day provided an ideal backdrop for photography. Blustery storms intermittently swept across the landscape, punctuated by fleeting moments of radiant sunlight and captivating rays. However, these brief interludes were swiftly replaced by heavy rain and hail downpours.
While my description of the weather as "great" might not align with the conventional notion of pleasant conditions, it perfectly suited my preferences. Unlike those who revel in extended stays in popular summer destinations drinking cold lager in the tattooed jungle, my appreciation for weather stems from its ability to introduce infinite variety to a specific composition. Some places I explore offer only a single captivating shot, regardless of how much I traverse the area. Yet, other locations boast numerous compositions, especially when coupled with an ever-changing sky and dramatic lighting—such moments are a photographer's delight.
The day I captured this particular shot epitomized the latter—a day where opportunities for striking compositions seemed boundless. However, the drawback of such days is the inevitable consequence of ending up thoroughly drenched and chilled to the bone. The constant need to dry off equipment arises whenever a brief respite from the elements allows.
As I drove through the days, I encountered several recently abandoned crofts, each telling a silent tale of bygone eras. Many of these humble abodes, I suspected, once housed elderly inhabitants who clung to 'the old ways.' It seemed that with their passing, the properties had been inherited by their children, who either no longer resided on the islands or lacked the time and resources to return and breathe new life into the ancestral homes.
My watchful eye scanned the landscape, revealing a scattering of these old crofts in various states of decay. Some stood with missing roofs and tumbled-down walls, while others, though clearly uninhabited, retained a semblance of structural integrity. Observing these abandoned buildings, a melancholy settled over me, prompting my mind to wander through the corridors of vanished events.
In a time long ago, when these houses were first erected, they undoubtedly stood as the owners' pride and joy. It's likely that they, along with their families, played a role in the construction, manifesting a house-proud attitude that maintained a spotlessly clean and orderly interior. Births, family gatherings, birthdays, letters written, and significant life milestones like baptisms, marriages, and, regrettably, funerals—all transpired within the four stone walls. Now, however, the once-sturdy structures crumbled, and these events linger only as unnoticed shadows of life's celebrations long passed and the echoes of these events now fading away and forgotten.
This Lewis residence stands vivid in my memory, as I distinctly recall the initial drive past it, followed by a prompt U-turn to revisit. Despite my familiarity, pinpointing its location on a map proves challenging and lacking a high level of certainty. In an unusual departure from my usual routine, I refrained from lingering for an hour, patiently awaiting the perfect play of light. Instead, I opted for a handheld approach, with the tripod relegated to the back seat of the car. In and out. Bish. Bosh. In the bag! Done!
The tempestuous winds swept through the surroundings. This 'thin wind,' whilst wearing a light fleece emphasizing swiftness, necessitated a quick photographic pursuit. The tripod's abandonment was a deliberate choice, as any endeavour exceeding a mere five minutes risked a shift in the predominant keyword from 'speed' to 'wet,' given the unpredictable weather conditions. I was feeling quite risk averse at this point of the day.
Having hastily captured a series of bracketed shots, I briskly traversed the asphalted road. After swinging open the car door, I eased back into the driver's seat. Pausing for a moment, I reviewed the shots on my camera, involuntarily mumbling to myself. Nodding in agreement with my own muttered commentary, I contorted myself between the two front seats, placing the camera on the back seat before shifting the gear into 'Drive.' Moving onward, I embarked on the journey to another location, one that might materialize unexpectedly in the captivating expanse of this rugged island. This trip is turning into a bona-fide Mystery Tour.
***Please note that this image is protected by Pixsy. Any unauthorised use of it will be pursued by Pixsy and their legal team***
Twitter - Michael Dutson Landscape Photos
YouTube Channel - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Instagram - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
TikTok - Michael Dutson Photo
Website - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Vero Social - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
© All Rights Reserved
I awoke to the sound of another blustery morning. Nestled beneath the warmth of my bed covers, I could discern the relentless drumming of rain against the bedroom window. Outside, darkness still prevailed. The bedroom's westward-facing window supposedly offered a view of the sea, and the weather, audibly racing in from the Atlantic Ocean, painted a vivid picture in my mind.
With the Isle of Harris on my agenda for the day, my plan was to explore the southern beaches of Seilebost—Traigh Niosaboist, Traigh Iar, Traigh Mor, Traigh Scarasta (for the eagle-eyed among you, ‘traigh’ is Gaelic for beach!)—and gradually make my way down to Northton for some leisurely exploration.
In the dimly lit room, I fumbled for my phone on the bedside cabinet. As soon as I moved it, the screen burst into life, forcing me to squint against its sudden brightness. After navigating to my most trusted weather app, I scrolled through the day's forecast. The hourly predictions granted me an additional 10 minutes of repose in bed. The weather promised high winds of approximately 60 mph, accompanied by sporadic clouds and rain showers. An intriguing day lay ahead if the forecast held true.
Reluctantly, I emerged from the cosy embrace of the bed, donned my attire, and meandered into the kitchen. True to the norm for such excursions, the kitchen table was strewn with an array of battery chargers, drone components, GoPro cameras, and lenses meticulously cleaned the prior evening to rid them of wind-blown grit. I brewed a pot of tea, settled at the cluttered table, and consulted the OS Map on my tablet to chart out a plan.
Daylight gradually seeped through the overcast sky, signalling the futility of haste, as a spectacular sunrise was not on the cards and, truth be told, I was already a tad late for that. I organized the chaos on the kitchen table, stashing away most of the gear and reserving the battery chargers for later use—no need to overdo it—before securing everything in its designated bag in the car's boot. The pot of Yorkshire Tea dwindled slowly as I contemplated my southern journey.
The gravel of the driveway crunched and rattled beneath the tyres as I departed, veering left onto the A857, embarking on a southward journey through Barvas, settling in for a 1-hour and 15-minute drive. Progressing southward, the weather displayed signs of improvement, with intermittent bright patches punctuating the persistent downpour—though the wind continued its boisterous dance.
Passing through Tarbert, I continued my journey southward, the car ascending higher up the steep hill, offering a commanding view of the harbour below. The road, a well-paced stretch winding around the hills at a high level toward Seilebost, allowed for swift progress. As I descended steadily toward the minor road junction leading to Luskentyre, I grappled with the decision of whether to make a stop there or not. Having lost count of my visits, I pondered the potential for capturing anything new. I do not subscribe to the 'been there, shot that!' mentality, and willingly acknowledge that conditions evolve, and coastal landscapes, in particular, undergo changes influenced by the sea and wind which lead it being different every time. Approaching the junction, I slowed down, indicating a right turn onto the single-track road leading to the car park at Traigh Rosamol. Despite the risk of being labelled a pedant, I couldn't help but consider the misnaming of this beach on social media platforms — many images titled 'Luskentyre Beach' when they were, in fact, of Rosamol Beach. Luskentyre Beach lay farther back along the road from the car park and public toilets at Rosamol.
Continuing along the track, I approached the end and crested the final undulation in the road, only to be taken aback by the multitude of camper vans scattered haphazardly across the car park. There must have been over a dozen! My heart sank at the realization that the beach would likely be bustling with activity, making photography a challenging endeavour without including unintended subjects in the shots. After parking, I turned off the engine and sat for a moment, contemplating whether it was worth the effort to unpack my camera gear. Ultimately, I settled on the age-old philosophical adage, "You're here now, so what is there to lose?"
I retrieved my camera bag and tripod from the car boot, hoisting the weighty pack onto my shoulders. Trudging through the dunes to the seashore, I was met with the full force of the wind as I ascended the final dune. Taken aback by the gritty blast, I found myself squinting tightly, reminiscent of Clint Eastwood in one of his 'Spaghetti Westerns’, to shield my eyes from the scouring beach sand. The gusts of wind were lifting small ridges of sand and depositing them higher up the beach, creating a fascinating, continuously moving spectacle until one of the numerous dogs running joyously on the beach disrupted the moment by leaving a deep paw-print on the delicate formations.
Attempting to capture some long exposure shots of the waves breaking on the foreshore proved challenging. Despite my efforts to anchor the tripod firmly into the sand, the relentless wind buffeted the camera, softening the edges of the images - a futile task. Observing the lively scene—small dogs in full sprint, crowds of people, toddlers wobbling about with exuberant shrieks, large dogs squatting and shitting everywhere—I decided to give it another 10 minutes before retreating to the car in search of a less bustling locale, and something more serene than the Blackpool-esque atmosphere surrounding me.
As I stood there, hands thrust deep into my pockets, back turned against the wind, a sudden rainstorm swept through, prompting many to scatter and seek refuge in their vehicles—an unexpected relief. Well-acquainted with standing through hours of rain or hail, I held my ground, remaining alert to the shifting conditions. Fortunately, as the storm passed and a radiant patch of sunshine emerged, we were treated to a magnificent, full double rainbow gracefully arching above the moody Sound of Taransay. A fleeting delight!
After a mere 20 seconds, the bright patch dissipated, and so did the rainbow, closely followed by my enthusiasm for navigating through crowds of people and playful dogs. I sighed. Rolling my eyes I slung the camera bag onto my back, shouldered the tripod and camera, and strolled briskly back to the car. Making a mental note that I was now ‘done’ with Luskentyre, even though I was actually stood on Rosamol Beach. I pondered whether it was a victim of its own natural beauty or perhaps a casualty of overexposure on Instagram. I did know, however, and making a point of my own exceptionalism, that it would be a long time until I visit it again as this is one location where I now do subscribe to the “Been there, shot that!” mentality.
***Please note that this image is protected by Pixsy. Any unauthorised use of it will be pursued by Pixsy and their legal team***
Twitter - Michael Dutson Landscape Photos
YouTube Channel - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Instagram - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
TikTok - Michael Dutson Photo
Website - Michael Dutson Landscape Photography
Vero Social - Michael Dutson Landscape Photo
© All Rights Reserved