Sand
There are few more elemental environments on this planet than deserts, and photographers find them irresistible. The classic sweeping sand dune landscape is the definitive desert view that takes some beating. The clean lines and shadowed curves of a sea of dunes in the first or last light of day are quite simply photographic nirvana. But there’s far more to deserts than sand dunes; the textures and patterns of the desert environment in microcosm are fascinating. Tiny sand signatures of all sorts of creatures let you know you are not alone. If you look hard enough, the plants and wildlife are exquisite, and leave you in awe of their powers of survival. Each time you go back, you see more; it is a bewitchingly pure environment, daily refreshed by the blowing sands erasing all traces of passing. And deserts are not all sand, but often twisted rocky landscapes shaped by wind and, yes, water.
A fisheye view of the Namib Desert, Namibia
I have to be so careful not to get my tripod legs in the shot here. The 180-degree field of view emphasizes the ripples in the dunes in the foreground. Combined with the extreme barrel distortion of the fisheye lens it creates a graphic image. It’s not an effect that often works, and can be easily overdone, but it’s a delightfully tiny lens I’d not be without.
• Nikon F5, 16mm fisheye lens
Monument Valley, Utah, USA
I’ve only just arrived but this view looks so familiar from so many westerns. I’m half expecting John Wayne or Clint Eastwood to ride through. The landscapes of the American southwest are impressively dramatic, but have been photographed extensively by legions of Ansel Adams disciples. It makes it a challenge to come up with something unique, but I should never underestimate the variety of Mother Nature’s fare. So often I have to wait days or weeks for the right light, but on this occasion I’m in luck. A local rainstorm sweeps across the desert, dropping a brief shower on the buttes of Monument Valley and presenting me with the most dramatic sky I could have wished for. So often an interesting sky can make a landscape.
• Fuji GX617, 105mm lens
I was no youngster when I saw my first desert, and now I have to say I’m hooked. Of course they are not easy places to hang out in for long. Proximity to water dominates everything and everyone, and nobody in their right mind chooses to be out long in the midday sun. At all times, whether on foot, in a car or on a camel, carry plenty of water. People die as a result of something as trivial as a puncture. Hiking up dunes laden with gear is seriously hard work in the heat, and keeping sand out of the equipment is a major bugbear. Hard as you try, particles start accumulating in the depths of the camera bag.
After weeks of desert life, the car and all inside it are coated in layers of dust. Eventually the lenses start making gruesome grinding noises when focused, a sound as welcome to photographers as fingernails on a chalkboard. But I never lose sight of the fact that this is what they are for. Attached as you may be to your gleaming optics they are ultimately just tools. Use them, don’t get too precious about them, and just resign yourself to having to send them for servicing on your return.
The Olgas, Kata Tjuta, Northern Territory, Australia
Australia’s Red Centre: endless dry bush, eucalyptus trees, bouncing Joeys, huge lumps of red rock, Thorny Devils and flies. Oh, the flies. It is inconceivable to me how the natives of the Outback live with them. They try to get in your eyes, nose, ears and mouth; I hate them with every fibre of my being. And I think this is maybe the hottest place I’ve ever been. We’re camping nearby, not by choice this time. Much as we love the outdoor life, a bolthole away from the flies and heat would be welcome, but all the local hotels are full, so it’s tough. But you have to suffer for your art, and despite all of that I wouldn’t trade this experience for the world.
• Fuji GX617, 90mm lens
The desert is one of nature’s most elemental environments. Photographically deserts are irresistible, largely because of the fantastic, beautiful shapes that wind and water have shaped the landscape into, be they the sweeping dunes of the Namib or the rock formations of Utah. Sometimes the sheer emptiness and absence of anything can be compelling. In these flat, seemingly featureless expanses no obstructions mask the sun’s rays in the last minutes before it drops beneath the horizon.
In such landscapes one lone feature, such as a rock, a tree or even a road, can become a dramatic icon, emphasizing the emptiness beneath limitless skies. In such situations lenses of extreme focal length can be powerful tools, both wide angle and super-telephotos, but for me the desert just cries out for the panoramic format.
Oryx vertebra, Namib Desert, Namibia
The absence of trees and other features to give scale to the desert means the use of human figures, or in this case animal bones, is a handy way of giving depth to an image. I just have to be vigilant not to walk into my own shot, besmirching the pristine scene with my footprints.
• Nikon F5, 20–35mm lens
“One lone feature can become a dramatic icon, emphasizing the emptiness beneath limitless skies”
NAMIB DESERT, NAMIBIA
3.30am:
We crawl out of the tent in the pitch black, blearily registering the carpet of stars hanging overhead. The fact that there’s a completely clear sky is taken for granted, there are seemingly never any clouds here.
4am:
We’re trundling along the rutted dirt road in our 4x4 heading into the Namib Desert National Park, eyes out on stalks for any wildlife straying into our path. The odd wrecked vehicle abandoned along the way testifies to the risks. It’s a 90-minute drive to the Big Dunes, and we’ll do this route four times today.
5.20am:
The last section is strictly 4WD only, and in the half light before dawn the Toyota is squirming in the soft sand, the engine working hard as we plough on. This is real Boy’s Own stuff, I love it.
5.40am:
We’re on foot now, toiling up a massive dune, tripod on my shoulder. Two steps up, one step back. I seem to be making little headway as the sky to the east is getting rapidly lighter.
6am:
Lungs pumping, I crest the dune. In front of me lies a sea of dunes as far as I can see. We were here yesterday, location finding, but in the fresh light of dawn it’s an altogether more dramatic sight. In my haste I grapple with the tripod legs like a drunken bagpiper, eventually subduing them. Camera on tripod, frame shot, place filter, attach cable release, set aperture, check focus, wind on film, check the camera is level, check all is tight on the tripod, take a preliminary spot meter reading off the sand, set shutter speed, glance at the eastern sky. The sun is not up yet but will be imminently. Check everything again.
6.20am:
From our elevated position we can see the sunlight creeping across the desert, painting the landscape. This is it; this is the moment we work for. Take another light reading and adjust the shutter speed, shoot. Wind on, expose -1/3 stop. Wind on, expose +1/3. Do it all again. Take another light reading; the levels are increasing all the time. Do it all again, reload. Pause. Consider. How can I improve this? A sense of scale is missing.
6.30am
Wendy slowly walks into the frame, taking one step at a time, careful not to tarnish her solitary footprints. With her sack on her back she’s looking suitably intrepid. I beckon for her to stop in the prime spot, giving a human perspective to the sweeping scene. Take another exposure reading, expose. Bracket exposures. Do it all again. Reload. Double-check everything. Expose again.
6.40am:
The power of the sun is now burning through. I do some alternatives on 35mm, going in tight on my supermodel with a long lens. It looks great.
9am:
The long drive back to the campsite seems a chore in the morning heat. We’ve got no option, staying out in the open desert would be madness.
11am:
I’m sitting in the pool at the campsite, not swimming, just wallowing like a hippo, trying to keep cool.
2pm:
I’d really like to sleep, but there’s nowhere to shelter. The tent is a furnace, so I’m still in the pool, reading.
4pm:
At last, we’re checking our stuff, saddling up for the evening shoot.
4.30pm:
Driving again, the novelty of this route is starting to wear off.
6pm:
I’m shooting a solitary stunted tree, dwarfed by the sand dune behind. Working with a 300mm lens the true perspective is emphasized. It’s a graphic composition. An oryx wanders past in the distance. What do they find to live off?
7.30pm:
Back on the road again. In the dusk light an ostrich races alongside our vehicle, leaving us standing. Show off.
9pm:
Wendy is cooking pasta by the tent, I’m clutching a cool beer, gazing up at the stars, feeling totally and utterly content. It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be too.