Mt Adams

A trip up Mt Adams, a notably geographically prominent peak west of the Main Divide on New Zealand’s South Island. I’ve been wanting to get up there for a long time, including one abandoned winter ascent. November 2015 I got my chance. It was a fantastic trip – climbing up into the mist with almost zero visibility we set up camp at 1767m on the snow. After a feast of a dinner the clouds parted at about 7pm to revel breathtaking views up and down the Coast and out over the Tasman Sea. The next morning dawned clear and calm, and an overnight freeze made for exquisite cramponing conditions for our trip to the summit. On to the next objective…

The Remus

This is a series of images I captured a few nights ago. It has generated quite a lot of interest on Facebook so I thought it would be good to post it here with a fuller version of events.

Fishing boat Remus hit by a large wave.

The fishing boat Remus takes a blow as it lines up a run across the Grey River bar.

There was drama in the sky on the evening of Wednesday the 6th of August. Billowing clouds crowded the sky, and the sun broke though the gaps in triumphant rays. I had been chatting with my fellow photographer and good friend Stewart Nimmo about the potential for a good sunset in the afternoon, and we thought it better to be out in case than miss it and curse ourselves. So even as it looked 50/50 with cloud banking on the horizon, we shot down to the Blaketown Breakwater to see what was happening.

The sun put on a bit of a show, but things fizzled pretty quickly as the heavy cloud to the west stifled the light and the evening went dull. While we shot a few frames of the large swells crashing into the rocks we noticed a fishing boat steaming back and forth a few hundred metres out. There were a number of people gathering on each breakwater, apparently to watch the bar crossing. A fairly morbid past-time, indeed, but apparently a tradition. I’ve happened down to the river mouth on several occasions when a sizeable crowd has been there to witness a rough crossing. Conditions, to my inexperienced eye, looked unpleasant at best. With high tide occurring just after sunset, and worse weather in the forecast, the pressure was obviously on the skipper to give it a go. As the boat chugged about and waited for a chance more people arrived and much speculation ensued. Some suggested it wasn’t as bad as they’d seen, others were stony faced and silent, but generally many unqualified opinions were advanced and tossed about.

Soon enough, with the light fading quickly, the skipper started creeping in and testing the conditions. At one point the boat snuck in quite close between sets, and appeared to second guess the timing. They hovered, and another set sprang up behind them. My gut lurched at the first swell of the set reared up and broke right behind the boat. I clicked off a series of frames, as the stern was lifted and pushed to port, the boat swung broadside to the wave, and collected the force of the blow to the middle of their starboard side. As the vessel pitched and then listed violently I thought we were witnessing calamity. Fortunately the skipper, or perhaps luck, kept the vessel from broaching completely and they got away with a thorough rinse (and I’m sure a moment of terror on board!). Luckily there wasn’t much more in the set, and they managed to get clear of the breakers without another incident.

It was crunch time, by this point, as darkness fell and the tide approached its peak. Go or no go. They decided to make their run on the back of a set, and caught one more good wave on the stern while finding the right position. Then, between sets, the Remus steamed across the bar quite calmly and smoothly, much to my relief and I’m sure that of my fellow observers.

The Grey River bar has seen more than its share of mishaps over the years. Seeing these events unfold gave me a lot to think about. Fishing crews risking their lives under a combination of pressures: fuel limitations, fish on board, commercial pressure, bad weather with worse to come, personal commitments, and much more. If the Remus had come to grief that night it would have been a dangerous rescue in rough conditions and poor light. Finding a person in the water would have been extremely difficult, let alone pulling them to safety.

I’ve since been in touch with the skipper and sold him a couple of prints – not that he’ll need any help remembering that crossing in a hurry! And I had to give him a special price. After all, he did the hard part!

Tasman

The Tasman Sea is a huge part of the West Coast. Beyond simply delineating the land’s edge, it has a pervasive influence on life here. I suppose that is true for all coastal communities and their briny neighbours, but it feels extra strong here. Perhaps it’s the fact that there is only a tiny sliver of habitable land, squished between the Tasman and the Southern Alps. Perhaps it’s the wild, inconstant nature of our particular puddle that impresses itself so heavily on our lives. I’m no meteorologist, but I gather the Tasman plays a pretty significant role in our local weather. It certainly plays a significant role in my heart. I really love this place, and gazing out over this body of water, whether tempestuous or tranquil, makes something inside me feel so at home. For all that, I don’t think I’ve paid a great deal of photographic attention on the Tasman as a subject. More often I am preoccupied with the grandeur, the spectacle and drama of the landscape, the bigger picture. One morning recently I headed up the Coast early with my good friend and fellow shooter Stewart Nimmo hoping for some magic morning light. It was looking a bit dreary and we nearly turned back without shooting a frame. But once you’ve dragged yourself out of bed before dawn you may as well get out and get some fresh air at least, right? So we did, and I ran up and down between the waves to catch some moody, minimal portraits of that dynamic zone where the sea meets the land and they play out the battle of eons called erosion. I’m glad I did.

As with any images I post here, these are available for purchase as fine-art prints. Get in touch to discuss options and prices. I’d love to hear from you.

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Rome Ridge

Chris looks back over the valley we came from.

Chris looks back over the valley we came from.

Climbing mountains is a pretty special thing to do. Those of us who do it are fortunate enough to be able-bodied, have access to or own expensive equipment, have the time to learn the skills required, the money to travel, etc. Lately, I have been reflecting on this privilege and what it means. I cam to the conclusion that I’ve been squandering said privilege. I have the gear, the ability, the knowledge, and the time, but I don’t get around to putting it all together. And somehow that feels inexcusable. Mountains are one of my passions. There really isn’t anywhere better, to me, than to be above the bushline, climbing a big hill. I don’t care a great deal for summits, or even technical difficulty. I mean, the best view is generally form the top, and the climbing is more engaging if it is varied and challenging, but I don’t have a great desire to bag particular peaks based on their height or their grade. Mostly I love to be up there, both in good company and in solitude. I love to feel totally exhausted at the end of a great trip. I love to make critical decisions, work in teams, rely on myself, push through sapping energy, overcome fear, and just absorb the wonder of high places.

My good friend Chris ascending Rome Ridge on Mt Rolleston, shortly after clearing the valley fog, and the bushline.

My good friend Chris ascending Rome Ridge on Mt Rolleston, shortly after clearing the valley fog, and the bushline.

For a long time I’ve struggled to combine this passion for mountains with my passion for image-making. I often find them nearly mutually exclusive – when I am engaged in one, I can’t focus on the other. Consequently I have very few images from my climbing. This is something else I have reflected on and determined to change. In fact, it’s a similar privilege to be a photographer. What a luxurious way to make a living – taking photographs. What fortune to have the equipment and to be able to hone one’s craft to the point of mastery. To neglect the responsibility that comes with this fortune is a waste. I am determined to climb more, and to photograph it. That way, those who do not share my fortune may share a little of the experience in seeing my images. And perhaps seeing them will inspire someone who hasn’t ever experienced climbing a mountain, but could, to try.

Chris picks his way through loose rock.

Chris picks his way through loose rock.

So on Tuesday I went out with my friend Chris to climb Mt Rolleston, in Arthu’s Pass National Park, only an hour’s drive from my home on the West Coast. We set out at 4:30am, and stared walking about 6am, in the foggy valley of the pass. As we got above the Beech forest, we looked back south on a stunning view of mountains growing out of cotton wool mist, with the sun just cresting the peaks across the valley. Straight away I knew that this was the right thing to be doing. That I need to make more time for mountains. That I need to make more effort to carry my camera in these special places.

A happy climbing partner!

A happy climbing partner!

Thanks Chris, for coming out for a day in the hills, and helping me see what is important to me. Look for more mountain images on this blog in the near future!

Awards!

Last weekend I attended one of the biggest events on the NZ photography calendar. The New Zealand Institute of Professional Photography Iris Awards and InFocus conference. It’s a huge deal – the print-judging is a showcase for the work of the finest professional photographers in the country, and the conference is packed with high-calibre NZ and international speakers. The part that I love the most, though, is all the stuff that happens around the conference – the social gatherings, meetups, random chats, silliness and fun of getting a pile of super creative and talented artists together once a year. It’s a wild ride and I never miss it. I’m still fizzing on the buzz of the whole thing.

This year was especially exciting for me, though. I achieved a great deal more than I anticipated at the awards – a total of 1 gold, 2 silvers (one with distinction), and 2 bronzes out of 8 prints entered. (For more info about how it all works check out the NZIPP website). Getting my first gold was amazing – to have my work recognised at that level – by my peers and those photographers who I look up to, the living greats of New Zealand (and Australian) professional photography – absolutely blows me away. And to top it all off, I accumulated enough points to advance through the system of honours. I was an Associate of the NZIPP when I went to Auckland, and now I am a Master. Pretty nice ring to Master of Photography!

Here are the images I received awards for…

Driftwood

Forest

Islands

Heron

Flying through the mountains

A wee while ago we needed to get some stock footage of the Southern Alps for a project, and I brought the stills kit along for the ride. Ben from Wilderness Wings (www.wildernesswings.co.nz) is an expert pilot who got us in just the right spots. It was definitely worth the extreme cold of cruising through the mountains with the doors off the Cessna to get these shots!

If you’d like to license any of these images please contact me.