David Noton On Location
Jurassic Coast, Dorset, England. 4:18pm local time. 1 November 2010
Hoping the gloomy weather will clear, our columnist heads to Dorset’s Jurassic Coast
Even in unpromising weather conditions, Dorset’s famous coast can serve up some stunning views, as David Noton well knows
Low cloud sits over Dorset like a blanket: a smothering, uniform grey sky devoid of any tone, texture or interest. Looking out the window, it seems inconceivable it could clear before April, and yet my weather app is telling me the sun is due to make an appearance down around Wareham at 3pm, or thereabouts. With sunset due at 4:25pm, that could present the photo opportunity at Durdle Door I’ve been waiting for, and yet I’m not convinced; my gut feeling tells me any sun that does penetrate the gloom will be pathetically weak. The chances of a productive session look slim, and yet I know if I don’t go and subsequently miss a precious glimmer of light, the selfrecriminations will last for days, weeks even. It’s a classic case of Photographer’s Angst, a malady I know all too well.
I force myself to stop procrastinating, load my bag in the car and head south. As soon as I’m on the road, relief and well-being courses through me; I should know by now that it’s far easier on the mental health to just go, whatever the odds. At least this way I won’t risk the bitter torment of looking out the window to see the sun glowing on the office car park. And besides, it’s never a waste of time even when the camera never comes out the bag, is it?
At Kimmeridge Bay the chances of seeing any light seem even slimmer as the sun drops behind a heavy layer of cloud that marches in relentlessly from the west. Still, I’m here now; I might as well play with some long exposures. I frame up my shot, take an exposure reading in manual mode, then mentally calculate an extra 10 stops of exposure: 6 minutes at f/8. Fit the Big Stopper, position a 0.9ND grad by eye in front of the lens to hold back the sky, set the camera to Bulb setting, lock open the shutter, then pace for what seems an eternity. This is just like the old days, mentally calculating exposures with filter factors and applying running adjustments during the exposure as the light changes. As the interminable exposure drags on I wander about a bit, chat to people on the beach and wait. Against all expectation a tinge of pink is now glowing ethereally on the western horizon – proof positive there’s always hope, and that it’s always worth going for it no matter how uninspiring the weather looks at the moment.
Eventually it’s time; I release the lock, close the shutter and check the image’s histogram. Too dense. Open up a stop, and start pacing again. I’m now seriously considering going for a pint while the shutter’s open, but I chin-wag with another photographer instead, then stroll back to the camera ten long minutes later. Look at that image glowing on the camera’s monitor in the gathering gloom… it’s like magic.
The next afternoon, at the worldfamous Durdle Door, I’m at it again,
pacing by the tripod as another long exposure ticks past. This afternoon the slanting warm light painting the arch is gorgeous. With such really long exposures getting an accurate reading is difficult, as the ‘correct’ value is usually changing as I make the exposure.
It’s not an exact science, it’s all a bit suck-it-and-see, but then that’s all part of the fun.
Long exposures of this length
– measured in minutes – capture cloud streaking through the sky and ethereal seas of mercury. It’s a look that can easily be overdone, and there is a time and a place for seeing all the detail in the surface of the water. Then again, if you haven’t tried this game of glacially long exposures using heavy Neutral Density filters, I’d urge you to give it a go – it’s fun. Just don’t pace too far afield while your shutter’s open.
I’m now seriously considering going for a pint while the shutter’s open for exposure