New
In photography, as in other walks of life, a reassuring sense of nostalgia can be conjured up by re-visiting favourite moments from the past. This is, I think, one of the main reasons that we do photography - to create a ‘bookmark in time’ to a cherished place or special occasion, forever rekindling those otherwise fading memories. And so it is when compiling or viewing a portfolio of the type presented here.
Yet to remain truly vibrant, it’s also important that any portfolio or gallery is afforded space to grow. This helps to keep things alive and open the door to fresh experiences… to ensure that I still see myself as a Photographer at Work, in the spirit of Karen’s garden portrait from the 2020 lockdown. After all, the world is crammed full of compositions waiting to be discovered, their potential silently beckoning!
The current sub-section is designed to highlight these fresh experiences. And from a practical point of view, it allows the viewer to check for recently-added content without needing to review all of my other portfolio sections (which, let’s face it, is hardly likely to happen!). So while the images presented here may not be my greatest, they can at least claim to be my latest! ;-)
Note: In terms of photographic content, this page is expected to feature a high ‘rate of churn’ as new pictures come and go.
Please see my New (Cumulative) page for an archive of previously-posted images from late 2022 onwards, as originally presented below.
A more extensive selection of recent pictures, and some of the stories behind them, can be found in my Gallery pages.
Happy viewing! :-)
“Photographer at Work”
by Karen Scott (May 2020)
Red Barn Bluebells
(Dartmoor, May 2026)
For me, one of the main attractions of landscape photography - the thing that really gets me out of bed in the morning - remains the quest for that ‘original composition’. It might be a quirky abstract, an undiscovered vista, or a familiar subject viewed in a new, unusual way. Whatever the muse, the aim is to create an image - a mini view of the world - that few people will have seen before.
That being said… there are times when it’s best not to be too precious about such things. After all, classic scenes and honeypot locations are generally iconic for a reason. So if my composition below seems strangely familiar - or if you’ve simply had your fill of bluebell seas and red-roofed barns - please don’t judge me too harshly! ;-0
Actually, I did spend some time searching for a more original angle - as my long-suffering Dartmoor companions will testify - but on this occasion, the stars (or rather, the sun) simply didn’t align. Still, when a place displays such vivid beauty, it’s always good to find an excuse to return (of which more later!).
Talking of long-suffering companions, I must thank my father Nigel and canine compatriot Moogie for indulging my request for models in my second (repeated) shot. Both versions are presented here, to cater for viewers who may or may not prefer their idyllic moorland barns to come with rustic residents included… ;-)
Spot the Difference…
Where did those bluebell-loving rustic residents come from?
(Presumably from the Red Barn itself?)
Dartmoor Déjà Vu - Return to the Red Barn Bluebells
Now the spring bluebell season is necessarily brief - and I’ve mentioned above that my initial visit to Red Barn didn’t really yield the type of original composition that I’d hoped for. So perhaps inevitably, I found myself returning to Dartmoor a week later… this time in the evening, when the westerly light would be more conducive to the quirky angle that I’d coveted (but reluctantly rejected) last time. And if I needed to lie in the dirt (or worse) to make this angle happen, then so be it… such is the country photographer’s lot! :-0
Framing the Red Barn…
On this occasion, using a gnarly old oak - less conventional examples pending!
My immediate environs - an area known as Emsworthy Mire - forms a dip in the high moor, a rich wetland habitat which is rightly celebrated for its fauna and flora (not least those vibrant bluebells), its high-pasture farming heritage (witness the Red Barn), and its surrounding granite outcrops (the most prominent of which form spectacular tors). In the spring, photographers naturally focus on bluebells and barn. Yet on my earlier visit, something else had caught my eye: those granite dry-stone walls which delineate the rough-hewn fields, as though salvaging an unlikely rural haven from the mire and moor.
Now these particular walls may be a little higgledy-piggledy in places - that’s all part of the rustic charm - but there’s clearly an art to their creation. In fact, calling dry-stone walling an art underplays the back-breaking labour - the skill and dedication - that evidently underpins it, especially when undertaken in such a hostile environment. Hereabouts, some of the building blocks are huge granite slabs rather than stones… and it’s intriguing to think that those fertile bluebell-laden meadows only exist because the moor’s natural clitter has been gathered up and arranged into intricately-balanced field boundaries.
If these weathered walls do appear slightly tumbledown in places, it’s a wonder that the winter winds don’t blow them down entirely. And one reason this doesn’t happen is that, whether by accident or design, small gaps between the granite blocks allow the worst of the gusts to squeeze through unhindered.
Of course, for the restless landscape photographer, these ‘holes in the wall’ also offer intriguing foreground opportunities. And I do love some decadent framing! Now I’m pretty sure that particular property of the wall is accidental… but we shouldn’t look a gift horse (or even a Dartmoor pony) in the mouth! ;-)
‘Through the Keyhole’ - Glimpsing Bluebells and Barn…
An experimental ‘sneak peek’ through the abstract crevasses of a bounding dry-stone wall
Re-inventing the ‘Hole in the Wall’… Dartmoor-style!
If the modern meaning of ‘hole in the wall’ implies a gateway to riches, then this is even more true of the literal Dartmoor versions presented here! But cheesy metaphors aside, the idea of foreground framing is something that I often return to in my photography, from caves and rock fissures to tunnels and branches. I think this works best when the foreground element - despite being deliberately out of focus, and usually verging on blackness - is not just a random vignette, but actually serves as an integral part of the scene.
In the case of these Dartmoor ‘holes in the wall’, I’ve already outlined the way in which these rough granite boundaries - assuredly man-made, yet being aptly reclaimed by nature - add such rich texture to this historic corner of the moor. Yes, in one sense they offer a simple framing mechanism. But to be more esoteric, you can also think of these vistas as representing the ‘view of the wind’ as it whistles invisibly across the mire.
Talking of invisibility, I must again thank Nigel, my father and local tour guide, for accompanying me on this return visit. We waited out a cloudburst together before approaching the bluebell meadows (marvelling at a rainbow on the way)… and although he doesn’t feature in any photos this time around, his strategically-positioned shadow helped to manage that pesky foreground glare. Moreover, as I struggled to micro-adjust my camera with head stuck in a wall, it was Nigel who spotted that subtle bird-on-a-rock in the shot below…
From Crazy Stars to Dartmoor Letterboxes*…
The Red Barn rolls out its Blue Carpet, as seen through ‘Holes in the Wall’ of various shapes and sizes.
*As some of you will know, ‘Letterboxing’ - the search for makeshift letterboxes concealed amongst the granite of prominent tors - is a ‘thing’ on Dartmoor;
I wonder whether the quest for letterbox-shaped frames could offer an equivalent challenge for meandering landscape photographers? ;-)
Pastures New, Waters of Old
(Isle of Arran, April 2026)
For me, the start of 2026 heralded a time of great personal change. More specifically, early retirement (at the end of March) ushered in the exciting (albeit nerve-wracking) prospect of a family relocation from Devon to the beautiful Isle of Arran! :-0
Yet if (as I hope) retirement allows considerably more time for photographic therapy, then its frantic run-up has sadly offered the reverse. My last few months handing over a seeming epoch’s worth of office work, combined with expanding house-move preparations, conspired to soak up any free time which might otherwise have been spent with camera in hand. So in the end, it was only during our actual house-hunting trip to Arran (during April) that I was able to steal a few precious moments in which to break the five-month photographic detox which I’d endured since Cornwall last November.*
*Yes, I do know how lucky I am to be retiring early and moving to Arran - please take any protestations of hardship with a wry grain of salt! ;-)
Glenashdale Falls
When the time came - with some intriguing Arran house viewings already in the bag - my photographic return would take the form of an old, unfinished quest: to somehow view (and photograph) Whiting Bay’s celebrated Glenashdale Falls from directly below. Ironically, I would end up doing the exact opposite!
I’ve previously written about the challenge of accessing the steeply forested Glenashdale gorge, into which the river plunges 150 feet through a pair of spectacular white-water cascades. I’d already attempted scrambling down both the north bank and the south bank, as well as sploshing upstream in a natty pair of fishing waders. This time, I slid and scraped my way down to the section of river immediately above The Cauldron, a deep bubbling recess which had thwarted my progress last May. But alas, the onward terrain remained ominously hazardous. I retreated: at Glenashdale, discretion is usually the better part of valour!
After scrambling back up to re-join our friend Melissa, I settled for a shot looking down across the upper fall from a precarious perch on its lip (one tripod leg being right on the edge!). Mel managed to video me on her mobile phone as I set things up, lost in a wee world of my own as I faffed with the inevitable filters… :-)
”Naughty Paul” by Mel Grenfell
(Play with sound enabled for a real impression of the place!)
Predictably, the resulting composition - my first in five months - was hardly the original masterpiece that I’d aspired to. Nonetheless, it hopefully provides a counterpoint to the well-worn (admittedly iconic) image of Glenashdale Falls from the ready-made viewing platform opposite.
If my image does work at all (I’m not the best judge of that!), then I think it’s on account of the brittle twigs which seem to sprout from the top of the falls, as though clinging on for dear life. At the very least, this humble sprig ensures that the inspiration for the picture’s title - On the Brink - needn’t be the exclusive preserve of the reckless photographer! :-0
Above all, it was lovely to renew my favourite mini-project of 2025… a pictorial tribute to The Waters of Arran.
On the Brink…
A lone sprig of twigs teeters on the edge of Glenashdale Falls
The Fairy Glen
Glenashdale may be the ‘big hitter’ when it comes to Whiting Bay’s countryside walks (and forested falls)… however, it’s far from being the only attraction in town. Although the Fairy Glen is smaller in scale, in some ways this makes it even more photogenic. And in practical terms, its discrete location - tucked away just up the hill behind our holiday cottage at Smiddy Brae - made it ideal for whiling away a grey, rainy morning.
Ah, a rainy day and a burn in spate… what better excuse could there be for breaking out my ever-fashionable fishing waders (while carefully avoiding being photographed in them)?! :-0
Now at this point, let me dispel a myth about weather and landscape photography. Blue skies and bright sunshine may be great for tourist brochures… but for anything more artistic, harsh light is rarely the photographer’s friend. Yes, the above Glenashdale shot does benefit from direct sunlight on the waterfall (and twigs), offering contrast with the darkness beyond. But when in the depths of woodland, confronted with churning white water and bright green foliage, a softer, diffuse light will often lead to more satisfying results.
Also, as I’m generally fond of saying (usually to the annoyance of my long-suffering holiday companions)… the rain is great for topping up those thirsty burns and waterfalls! ;-)
On this particular rainy morning, my soggy explorations of the Fairy Glen led to two distinct compositions (notwithstanding a little experimentation between landscape and portrait views).
The first of these compositions involved scrambling down a side-burn into a rocky gorge, from where I shakily anchored my tripod in the torrent. Just upstream were two tiered waterfalls, which comprised my main subject… while immediately below, the roar of two further falls ensured ongoing vigilance against slips, or ‘falls’ of the more unfortunate kind! :-0
My final composition - the one that I’m presenting below in both vertical and horizontal form - was a little safer of access, although it did still entail some delicate wading up the slippery Smiddy Brae Burn (a.k.a. Allt Ceirde). Mossy tree branches made a nice natural frame for the falls, offset by the fine fragrance of wild garlic… though I couldn’t help thinking that I should return later in the spring, when the latter is in bloom!
On a quick technical note, a further advantage of the overcast conditions was that I could shoot exposure times of around 1 second (to smooth the water) without needing to apply any filters. This meant that I could leave my lens hood attached, which helped keep raindrops off the glass. If only I’d applied such care to keeping everything else dry (myself included)!
Anyway, when shooting such special scenes, technical camera settings are hardly the point. The Fairy Glen is surely more about magic than mechanics… the real trick is just to get out there, soak it all in and enjoy it (come rain or shine)! ;-)
The Fairy Glade (in Portrait and Landscape)…
An energised Smiddy Brae Burn wends its way through the Fairy Glen
Highlights of 2025
(A Photographic Review of the Year)
My photographic destinations of 2025 ranged from my local neighbourhood in Devon, up to sunny Scotland (including Arran twice!), then back down to Cornwall. The montage below gives a brief flavour of the scenes encountered along the way. For a more complete selection of imagery, with associated ramblings, please check out my 2025 Gallery. Happy travels! :-)
Note: In terms of photographic content, this page is expected to feature a high ‘rate of churn’ as new pictures come and go.
Please see my New (Cumulative) page for an archive of previously-posted images from late 2022 onwards, as originally presented above.
A more extensive selection of recent pictures, and some of the stories behind them, can be found in my 2025 Gallery. Happy viewing! :-)
Return to Portfolio Main Page