The Breaking Dawn

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Some time back, I took the opportunity to head out to a friends farm for an overnight photography session. The plan was to shoot the night sky and then catch the sun rise. I hit my swag at around 8pm and lay there looking up. I was reminded of a time when I worked in remote Western Australia. There were many times when we would drag our beds out onto the homestead lawn and sleep under the vast expanse of an Australian night sky. Not because it was fun, because the mozzies would try to carry you away in your sleep, but because it was too hot to sleep in the workers quarters. We didn’t have aircon… in fact we didn’t even have fans because the generator that supplied power was turned off at 8pm. On many an occasion, we would be forced to shelter under the verandah due to a passing thunderstorm. Sleeping under lightning is a whole different story.

So there I was, enjoying the stars and the half moon and long distant memories until I drifted into sleep. At 2:30am I was awake. The moon had set and it was a dark sky. The number of stars visible now was amazing. If you live in the city, you really must make the effort to head out to see the stars from time to time. It is a powerful reminder of your place in the universe. If you are a person of faith, it will fill your heart with wonder and praise at the awesomeness of the Creator.

I set up the cameras and began shooting. It takes a bit of time to get the settings and the focus right, but what the camera ‘sees’ it truely amazing. As time passes, the stars move across the sky. In reality, it is us who is moving, but it is easy to understand how our ancestors thought that the universe revolved around them. The idea that planet Earth is the centre of the universe is obviously not true when you look at the facts from a scientific perspective, but from a human perspective, it is totally understandable.

As dawn approaches, there is a noticeable change on the eastern horizon. A gradual hint of colour. A few less stars visible to the eye. There is also a growing sense of expectation and relief that the dark of the night is nearly over. Now I’m not scared of the dark or of things that go bump in the night, but there is a kind of internal sigh of relief when the light of day returns to the landscape. Dark shapes and distant silouettes begin to take form. Then the colour returns, dull hues at first but soon a soft pastel glow.

I love this time of transition. It happens so slowly that you hardly notice it… yet before you know it, it is light. The birds begin their morning routine, singing as they go. A distant bleating sheep reminds you that you are on a farm. The smell of dry grass made damp by the cool night air wafts on the breeze. And an almost overwhelming feeling of peace and tranquility settles over you as you watch the beginning of a new day. A day soon to be filled with the business of modern life. Work to be done. People to catch up with. Agendas to get through. Deadlines to meet. Personally, I could do this every morning, but at this stage in my life, it is not a reality. Not yet anyway.

Lessons From The Garden

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I have fond memories of taking my children for a drive into the countryside to take photos. We never really had a plan. It was always one of those ‘let’s just see what we can discover’ type of adventures. We would just spend time walking through the bush or a garden or along the beach or even at the shops. There was no agenda. No plan. It was just a time to chat, listen and look.

One of my favourite thins to do was to just stop to observe things. Little things. Hidden things. Like spiders weaving their web or interesting patterns on flowers. Insects going about their daily routine or birds feathering a nest. You get the picture. If I could, I would try to take a photo. If not, then we would just watch for a while before moving on. Walking slowly, looking, listening.

On one occasion I was out with one of my daughters when we found a garden in a small town south of Perth. We parked the car and got out to have a wander through. As we walked, we chatted (she chatted, I listened) and we took photos of the things we saw. It is always interesting to me what your kids will talk about if you don’t interrupt their thought process and even more fascinating to observe them making discoveries for themselves, even if you have prompted their focus in a certain direction. As we walked around this particular garden, a few thoughts came to mind.

Lessons from the garden…

From Death to Life – We have all admired beautiful flowers, but you might not have given much attention to dead ones. There is a stark beauty in the final stage of a flowers lifecycle. It reminds me that in death there is life and that new things come from the passing of old things. Seasons change. They must.

Along The Path – Everything is about perspective. Sometimes, you just have pause to sit on the path you are walking, because it gives you a better perspective than just blindly pressing on.

The Training Wire – The sole purpose of a training wire is to provide strength and support to the plant. In this particular case it is a climbing rose. The wire supports the branches as they spread up and out from the body of the plant. They also allow the gardener to train the plant to grow in the way they so desire. As in life, having a little support is a good thing, even necessary.

At its heart, this is what parenting is about. It’s what managing a team is about. It’s what discipleship is about. A rose plant, a grape-vine, a fruit tree; they are all capable of existing and flourishing on their own. It’s what plants do. But if you provide training and guidance, then an already amazing plant has the potential to become magnificent. The plant still does all the work, but you get to help shape it for a life of fruitfulness. There is something about that process, that privilege, that brings me great joy.

Canal Rocks At Dawn

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On the morning of 27 June, 2015, a large swell was predicted to hit the south west coastline of Western Australia, so I packed my camera gear into my car and headed south the night before, arriving just after midnight.

For some reason, I thought getting a few hours sleep in my car in the carpark at Injidup Rocks would be a good idea. I mean, I knew it would be cold, but man, was it cold!

There was a bitterly cold wind blowing off the hills behind me and even in the darkness, I could hear the larger than average swell as it crashed into the rocks below the carpark. I didn’t really sleep very well, so as morning approached, I headed down the narrow path to find a safe spot to set up. There is something about the ocean at night that invokes a deep, primal fear. It is unpredictable at the best of times, but in the dark, there is a whole other level of respect that needs to be given. So I set up and waited for the first glimmer of morning light.

The two images below were taken whilst it was still quite dark, so a long exposure was needed, resulting in some interesting blurring of the waves.

The following image is looking north toward Canal Rocks (from a lower perspective) and gives you some perspective of the size of the swell.

As it got light, I turned the camera south toward Injidup Beach. The surf was really cranking and the amount of salt spray made keeping the lens clean an issue.

After a couple of hours shooting, I packed up my gear and headed further south to one of the popular surfing spots to see what was going on. It was already crowded by 9am so I found a spot and watched the surfers as they did their thing.

Canal Rocks At Dawn

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Golden Dreams

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As a younger man, I spent a fair bit of time working in the sheep industry, both in the Great Southern and Wheatbelt regions of Western Australia and on pastoral leases in outback WA. Taken just north of the Stirling Ranges, this image speaks to me about the hopes and dreams of so many who set out to forge a new life in the vast expanse of inland Western Australia.

Sheep farming in the Great Southern dates back to the early 19th century when European settlers introduced livestock to the area. The mild climate and fertile soils provided ideal conditions for grazing. Initially, sheep were brought for their meat, but it soon became evident that the quality of wool produced here was exceptional.

By the mid-19th century, wool became a primary export from the region. The introduction of breeds like Merino further enhanced the industry, producing fine wool sought after in European markets. This period saw the rise of large sheep properties, many of which remain operational today. The Katanning Sheep Saleyards, located in Katanning, Western Australia, are renowned as the largest undercover sheep saleyards in the Southern Hemisphere.

If you would like to know more about the sheep and wool industry in Western Australia, why not plan a visit to the Wagin Woolarama, an annual agricultural field day and community event held in Wagin, Western Australia. It is one of the largest agricultural shows in the state and is renowned for celebrating rural industries, particularly focusing on wool and livestock. Whilst you are there, you can check out The Giant Ram (a 9m high and 13m long merino ram).

Flying Ants

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I would love to be able to say that this photo was the result of careful planning, research, and patient dedication. But in truth, it was nothing but a combination of being in the right place at the right time and a whole lot of luck.

Just before sunset on the afternoon of the 23rd Jan 2016, after an epic day chasing thunderstorms around the wheat belt region of Western Australia, I pulled over on the side of the road somewhere east of Corrigin to photograph a rainbow that had formed. Even to this day, it remains one of the most magnificent rainbows I have ever seen.

I was so mesmerized by what I was looking at, that I didn’t even think to move my car out of the way as I took photo after photo. At some point, I turned around to see how long I had until the sun would set. That’s when I saw the flying ants-millions of them-streaming out of the ground, out of fallen trees, out of the base of decades-old fence posts. The air was filled with them and they glittered like fireflies in the golden rays of days last light. I quickly turned the tripod around and fired off several shots.

This last image is the original, which I really liked, but in the post-process stage, I fell in love with the black and white version that you see at the top.

It wasn’t until the next day, whilst processing all the images I had taken, that I noticed I had also captured an iconic feature found all over the country in Australia, a school bus shelter. Farm kids would use these shelters on wet days whilst waiting to be picked up by the school bus. I remember going to my friend’s farm for the weekend on several occasions, and after getting off the bus, we would fetch his pushbike out of a shelter just like this one and double-dink up the long driveway to his house.

Right after I took these photos, I moved down the road a couple of kilometers to see if I could catch the last of the rainbow before it vanished. That’s when I took what is one of my all-time favorite photos ever.

You can learn more about this image here.