Stanwell Tops

I’m breaching a hard and fast rule of this blog by putting up this photo. It was taken by my good friend Vic, not long after I landed from my first experience hang gliding. You can tell, by my face, how disappointed I was with my experience.

By many, hang gliding is considered an extreme sport. But while you’re in the air, soaring majestically above the cliffs that separate national park from ocean, it seems anything but. It is calm. The winds buffet and dictate where you may travel but the feeling is serene. Even as you glide through falling rain, it peters against your face in gentle droplets.

I was lucky. It was well into twilight before I took flight. When I landed, for those on the ground, it was already dark. We owned those skies and did not need to heed the course of others on the wing. I am truly inspired and want to find ways I can take photos from the air to help those with deep roots, find a way to explore their world from an alternate perspective. I am both a simple man, and a fortunate bloke.

Black cockatoo

The tentacles of winter do not extend this far north. There is always a certain balminess to Slade Point that staves off the cold. It makes it far easier to lie in wait for the fauna that greets the dawn.

A cockfest of them arrive, screeching loudly in the twilight air. Black and bold, they come to feast on the seeds from this grove of umbrella trees. As they hop from one spot to another, the horizontal band of red and orange that adorn their tails, flashes in the brightening day.

For the locals, it is an everyday occurrence. But not for me. I am used to the brilliant white and sulphur cresting of their cousins.

I always find the black cockatoo inspiring. It reminds me of places less domesticated than the capital cities to the south. A smile is splashed generously across my face as I lie on my stomach taking photos. It is obvious that this is where I prefer to be.

Sentry

He stands as tall as I do, but until he is pointed out, I do not see him. In fact, when I finally accept his presence, I am amazed that I could have missed him at all. With an outstretched arm, I could have gently stroked his unkempt coat.

He doesn’t so much stare, as consider me. Bravely and diligently, this diminutive hero acts as sentry for his community and their month-old pups. His posture, as he watches, has the characteristic uprightness of the meerkat.

How could I have missed so rare an opportunity to encounter this personality so close?

I had been watching an animal of completely different stature. My lens had been firmly fixed on the heads of giraffes, picking selectively off high branches with their purple tongues. The photo I sought was for my future sister-in-law and my attention was solely focused on its composition.

 But my furry friend was undeterred and willingly held his pose so that I could take this shot before I returned to the less accommodating giraffes. I am grateful for his co-operation.

Audrey Wilkinson

For late on a Saturday morning in Spring, the day is bleak. A grey, featureless sky keeps the temperature low.

Inside the cars, no one seems to notice. There is laughter, idle gossip and the warmth of friendship.

By the time they reach their third winery, there is already a glow in the cheeks of the drinkers. And while they sample the flavours of the Hunter Valley, their laconic, good humour becomes contagious.

A young couple, not attached to the group, is caught in a sentimental kiss. Promptly, they are loudly teased by the cellar door staff. All attention shifts to the pair and their embarrassment. Soft giggling peters out as patrons return to their conversations but the mood remains lighter for the distraction.

Outside, the sky becomes more leaden. Rain looms and the lone tree that supervises the manicured lawns of the vineyard sullenly watches it approach, jealous of the merriment it can hear.

Oblivious to the advancing front, the company delights in its good fortune and forgets the stresses left behind at the end of the working week.

Indefatigably

She is almost impossible to deny. Her golden curls and entrancing smile light up any room she enters. A casual glance is all it takes to make my heart stumble and fall whenever we share a room.

Her selfless heart and passionate soul are tempered with intelligence and wisdom beyond her years. I could never have conceived that my attention could be so easily stolen.

It is not hard to gush about the woman of my dreams. She is more compelling that the polar caps I have explored. She is more alluring than the twilight landscapes I have captured. She completes me.

Platinum and diamonds, green garnet and braille: it is a humble token of my adoration. I am so proud that she is mine.

Little Auks

After what seems like an eternity, I’ve managed to reach the colony of little auks. More than once, my feet had slipped on the treacherous terrain of broken boulders that lead up the steep slope. But at last, I’m here.

They are nervous birds and scare easily. I have to swap to my long lens because I cannot get near enough. It doesn’t take long for me to get frustrated with the speed and agility of these tiny birds against the cumbersome weight of my big telephoto. I swap back to a shorter lens, resigning myself to the fact that I won’t get the close-up I seek.

But my luck changes.

An arctic fox is picking their way through the rubble along the slope. In a flurry of activity, a section of the colony leap into the sky and race down the hill, veering sharply as they reach the water and then back up. Once, twice and then a third circuit before they resettle in their rookery.

It is enough to dissuade the fox here and as it moves to another part of the colony, the same occurs with another group of dovekies. I quietly sit, watching how narrowly they skim the broken surface of the jagged outcrops, wondering if they’ll strike them if they’re careless. Their nimble forms negotiate the obstacles with consummate ease. I feel very fortunate to witness their everyday.

Mt Ngauruhoe

In the early evening light at the base of Mt Ruapehu, it looks far more sinister than I was expecting. Tendrils of cloud cling desperately to its surface, giving the impression that the mountain is ready to speak. Despite its dormancy, Ngauruhoe inspires trepidation.

As part of a large expanse of volcanic terrain, it is unusual for the symmetry of its cone. The surrounding mountains have been torn asunder by the ferocity of blasts in histories past. However, for this infant structure, its time to tyrannically dominate the landscape is yet to come. While it waits, it is content to silently hide in the pink hues that dusk paints across its ashen peak.

 In this still and gorgeous light, its hostile charisma is unnerving. I am hypnotised and not surprised that it was used to portray the much-feared Mount Doom in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Perhaps, even now, it is watching me.