SHOOTING WILDFLOWERS
Seasoned photographer Steve Nicholls reveals how you too can take stunning pictures of local flora.
The sight of emerging wildflowers makes our hearts beat faster every spring. Photographer Steve Nicholls tells us how these fragile beauties first seduced him, and offers tips to help you capture your own stunning images in your garden or local park
Britain is often described as an overcrowded island, yet it still hosts some real world-beaters when it comes to wildflower spectacles. As a wildlife filmmaker, I’ve been lucky enough to track down wildflowers all over the planet, from the ephemeral blooms that colour the deserts of South Africa and Mexico to the world’s largest flower – Rafflesia – in the rainforests of Borneo. But I’d easily rank Britain’s spring-flower displays as equal to any of these.
Take bluebells, for example. These are called ‘Atlantic’ plants, since they need the moist, warm conditions created by the Atlantic Ocean, so only grow in spectacular numbers in north-west Europe, with the very best displays found in Britain. About half the world’s population of bluebells grow in this country. While some spring woodlands look like a lake of blue water, others look as though they have been carpeted by a late snowfall. Wild-garlic woods are common across the whole country and while some people turn their noses up at the garlic stench, these plants create such a conspicuous spectacle that they’ve given their name to countless towns and villages across the land.
It’s not just the intriguing natural history of British wildflowers that fascinates me, but the way that so many are woven into the fabric of our cultural history. The old Norse name for these wild-garlic woods was
hrams-á, from which, of course, we get this plant’s alternative name of ‘ramsons’, as well as place names, from Ramsey on the Isle of Man to Ramshope in Northumberland.
Early in my career I worked as an entomologist, and I’ve been intrigued by bugs for as long as I can remember. In this period of my life, plants were just the things that some bugs ate. That changed one day when I climbed Ben Lawers in Perthshire in search of rare beetles and came across the extraordinary wild alpine gardens growing on outcrops of mica schist rocks just below the summit. Scattered over these were the impossibly blue stars of alpine gentians, a plant that I later discovered was found on just a couple of Scottish mountains. I was captivated both by its beauty and its rarity. I went up the mountain an entomologist and came down a botanist, determined to seek out as many of Britain’s exciting wild plants as I could.
I’ve always used my camera to record what I find in the field, but once I started photographing wildflowers, I realised that far more was possible. I set myself the
“I’d rank Britain’s spring flower displays as equal to any of the world’s wildflower spectacles”
never-ending challenge of capturing them in more artistic ways, to illustrate both their individual beauty and the way they fit into the places in which they grow. It might seem that plant photography should be easier than filming animals – after all, you don’t have to sneak up on plants. But finding the perfect plant in the perfect place when the light is also perfect is a rare occurrence. My challenge has kept me going for nearly three decades now, and there’s plenty left for me to do without ever leaving these shores.
In addition to bluebells and ramsons, spring brings golden drifts of wild daffodils, carpets of wood anemones and rarer sights, such as hay meadows decked with hundreds of thousands of snake’s-head fritillaries, so it’s easy to see why I look forward to grabbing my camera at the start of every spring and heading out into field and wood. Lengthening days and this succession of flower display triggers some deep, primeval centre in my brain that lets me cast off the heavy, dark cloak of winter to revel in the bright colours of spring.