tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14098327659160886932024-03-14T01:59:30.488-07:00The Occasional Photojournalist...Photojournalist Steven Gordon's blogSteven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-81573998684326688412012-02-19T23:49:00.000-08:002012-02-19T23:49:54.463-08:00Abandoning the SLR sometimes...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNgQbGHpMQ7LQHJqYpT8M4wD6DN9Ab9RKk_iutWUHg9hfm1KsOE0GQLsw-wqLRJrNMqGpVAGb4vSCdcpKaFdyrIKo9sT8U1xTSGvC_ppgi5fenYL3-s3WZPLEjMaTFVAx8ufIHkFnImI/s1600/P1000021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNgQbGHpMQ7LQHJqYpT8M4wD6DN9Ab9RKk_iutWUHg9hfm1KsOE0GQLsw-wqLRJrNMqGpVAGb4vSCdcpKaFdyrIKo9sT8U1xTSGvC_ppgi5fenYL3-s3WZPLEjMaTFVAx8ufIHkFnImI/s320/P1000021.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first ever pic on my GF1...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>As ever, I haven't posted anything in a while, but I've put a gallery of pics from my travels up on the Facebook page at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.302696016451288.78307.106166566104235&type=1">https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.302696016451288.78307.106166566104235&type=1</a><br />
I've gone backwards and have mostly abandoned the SLR using a Lumix GF1 how I used rangefinders before. Must say I've found a passion again for photography again. But as you can see above, when trying to organise my files, I found the first pic I took on the GF1...Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-49292409469376959112011-07-20T17:20:00.000-07:002011-07-20T17:20:40.700-07:00Random randomness as the mid-life crisis gathers momentum...If my tortured memory serves me correctly, scrawled on one side of The Smiths album The Queen is Dead was the line "there is always the past". I'd go into the attic and look it up, but alas all my beloved Smiths albums were borrowed by a mate who left them in his psycho girlfriend's house when he escaped so my kids won't be inheriting these cherished vinyl memories. We all have a past, but one of my greatest crimes has been to sometimes live in it perhaps too much. Life may not be so pleasant at times, but the past can provide a bolt hole, somewhere to open the filing cabinet of time gone past and remember happier times, but the problem is how you choose what drawer to open. Sometimes the present chooses what drawer to open, no matter how ugly and tainted the memory may be. Sometimes they are incredible though, like this clip of Stevie Nicks: <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">She has always been one of my greatest guilty pleasures, and may now look somewhat ‘weathered’ in a manner of a well skelped arse attacked by a bunch of pissed off teenage wasps, but this is good. Her voice fills the room, and she positively oozes natural talent in a manner that every idiotic fame seeker on a Britain Lacks Talent on Ice type show couldn’t even contemplate. I have always been obsessed with music, and tend to listen to something that fits how I feel at the time. At this moment in time so much music I passionately love feels tainted by sad memories, so hence Stevie Nicks. She provokes memories from periods before any hard times, and feels strangely alien to anything that has gone on of late. A safety net, in the form of a woman who makes me look stable. Bless. </div><div class="MsoNormal">So when not listening to Fleetwood Mac and Balkan Gypsy music I have found myself in the position of full-time Dad for a change. Hedonism has disappeared, as well as thinking that I do my best work at four in the morning, unthinkable for a man who wakes at seven AM and passes out with a million undone tasks some time after ten PM.Transferring the past to your children also takes on additional significance, particularly when your kids have grown up apart from you, in a different culture, with different reference points. This came rather stunningly to light sitting watching Still Game with Klara, my daughter. The Glaswegian patter and humour, coupled with a liberal use of 'technical' terminology such as 'boaby' was flying straight over her head. Here I was, with my own flesh and blood, myself, dipped in the Clyde at birth sitting having to explain language that gave me so much comfort and happy childhood memories. My past was an alien complex to her, while her world was one learned by me in the process of escaping my own. The search for stability, roots and a sense of belonging is one that can be forced as much as chosen, something you can run to avoid, something William McIlvanney summed up wonderfully when he stated, "You cannot forget your past, as it marks where you are going."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collette Webster, in our room in Hotel Citluk, sometime in 1993. Sean Vatcher.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>The past has a cunning way of creeping up on you, when you least expect it. I was standing in a tense demonstration, the heat was oppressive, and the demonstrators were screaming with real passion, a distinct change in the fabric of Kosova's politics a palpable sensation vibrating electrically in the charged air. I'll be honest; I wanted it to kick off. I really did. It wasn't just financial, as if it went tits up I sold a story and pics, I also would get that gorgeous jolt of adrenalin, that multiplication of the senses as instinct kicks in and excitement replaces relationship woes, financial fears, all the day to day bullshit that haunts everyone in differing quantities. Basically in this game somebody has to get unlucky for you to get lucky. 18 years down the line, and only now can I admit it. The week before, sitting in a bar in Tirana waiting on a court result, somebody got unlucky next door. Seven 9mm rounds flashed, the reports slow to the flash, in quick succession spreading instant panic. A blur, out into the street, an instantly empty street, one figure crawling his leg seemingly alien to his body, the black red pulse spreading over his thigh. A girl in a black mini dress screams by his side, while he continues to crawl in our direction.<br />
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A few more yards, pushing on and sitting prone, a figure gasps for breath, while the black red spread on his ridiculously white shirt creeps further and further. A waiter lamely presses a cushion against his chest, while his eyelids flicker. The exit wound on the back of the ridiculously white shirt states the game is up. A camera between your vision and reality, the press of a button your excuse for being there, and at the back of my mind the thought that I was glad his eyes where shut. I hate to see the black. That stays, better shut. Basically you distance your self by dehumanising, you don't put a name to the guy you just watched take his last breath, he is just some poor bastard. The poor fucker bought it, got slotted, even wasted. But the adrenalin courses through your veins, someone bought it, you got the story, the picture, and the economic exchange of life goes into your bank account. The level of adrenalin, the mixture of manic laughter and wanting to turn yourself inside out is sickening, physically and mentally, but still feels good. The sympathy of harsh language creates distance, you file, go for a kebab and a beer with a fag in your hand, tasting glorious on a technicolour evening. Luck. Not me, someone else, and onwards I march. Then a week later a phone rings in the middle of a demo; the name is 18 years in the past, you cannot hear, but still the sickness kicks in. A previous phone call, from someone unwanted comes to mind. A friend has been "wasted", and he thought I should know. I carry on, use the same language, and push on the same path. Eighteen years later, after the demo, with no glorious violence, an email detailing the purpose of the call arrives. The noise in my ears rises to a steady alarm, I light a fag, stagger outside with the ringing and slump against a pillar under the hideous sun. Eighteen years I ignored the death of a friend. It was a tag of honour, the profits of a life in pursuit of war, something to tell and gain sympathy with. She got wasted. The voice from the past showed me I'd never dealt with it. She didn't get wasted, she died, and several of us never grieved. I thought I'd moved on, but the ringing in my ears eighteen years down the line told another story. The filing cabinet of the past had opened, but it was the bottom drawer, the one you thought you'd lost the key for. Sean, her boyfriend, had chosen to get back in touch, and the drawer popped open. I'm glad he did. The past was also beautiful. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peter, Collette, and Paul. How I even held the camera on this evening is a mystery.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>If you read my blog or have the misfortune to know me you have probably realised that I'm one of the last people on earth that should have children. Fortunately I do, and in confronting the past I took them on a grand tour of Kosova, to try and explain, particularly to Klara, how I came to be there, what I did, and what it did to me. Now your average ten year old would list Disneyland well above the scenes of a few massacres as what to do on holiday. As for my four year old, the product of PC parenting and not allowed toy guns, he thought it was awesome. He was particularly impressed that Adem Jashari lived in his house, with his guns. Now the reality of a tragedy that made the other villages rise up in rebellion is more complex, but to his mind, the man had a gun. To Klara it is more complex also; being at school, the history taught is more angled, she informed me, "yes I know about it. We do history." The reality of propaganda versus reality is one she will have to learn. For two days we drove across Kosova, and I returned to scenes from the past, with my future. I never thought I was a good dad before. Once we were home, and for the first time spending time solely on our own, all the time, going through the ugly and the good, it felt good. I feel like a good dad. Standing where you once saw people you met dead, with your children somewhere down the line, is strange. Driving through the tunnels in the Rugova Gorge with the windows down screaming Robyn songs of dumping and being dumped at the top of your voices is even better. I'm having the time of my life with my kids.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I never thought I'd ever show this image, but now here it is. Klara and Leon at Adem Jashari's grave.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A trip to The Hague over Racak, then time passes and taking Klara there. strange days.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-208458632117162732011-05-10T11:26:00.000-07:002011-07-24T06:01:35.124-07:00Learning the Ropes Again...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHog0QSvQHsn9sByk22Z5LtXyIxTzc6eqtOTdvT2GpgikusOKj8THRrXflZ3P9P4d1rwOtsHLxiiprJ5zdxhEI4ycLadheQYKJEafEnId6qtgELTrdhyxorIivYIQitmPdj1xw7d7dxo/s1600/Steven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUHog0QSvQHsn9sByk22Z5LtXyIxTzc6eqtOTdvT2GpgikusOKj8THRrXflZ3P9P4d1rwOtsHLxiiprJ5zdxhEI4ycLadheQYKJEafEnId6qtgELTrdhyxorIivYIQitmPdj1xw7d7dxo/s320/Steven.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artificial looking legs on Tunnel Wall, pic by Dave MacLeod</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"> Like most bloggers, the novelty of writing of how interesting your own life is soon wears off, and you tend to update very, very rarely. It seemed a good idea at the time to gibber on about how fascinating yesterday was and to share it with everybody. I think I last updated this blog in September last year, and have planned and started several entries, but never got round to it, or my ego hasn’t been big enough to force my irrelevant thoughts on you. I look at friends with more successful blogs, and they tend to write more positively, and everything looks rosy at the time. The blog of a manic depressive, would after all, only be good for cheering up people with a black sense of humour. We think nothing significant has happened in our lives, but in reality there are a thousand little wars going on behind every closed door, a battle in most people’s heads, as great as any tragedy or story, but never to be publically exposed. Which brings me back to the original point of why I am even bothering to update my blog, since I have just stated in a roundabout way that my life isn’t significantly interesting enough to bother you with, but what the hell, here goes. When I first started this site, the idea was to keep my children updated on what I am up to when I am not with them. Distance is hard to explain to them, and I have been carried many thousands of miles from them of late, and sometimes struggle to explain to them why. So here goes, after all that self-obsessed ranting it turns out that I am going to bother you with my recent travels and plans, as I obviously feel I need to highlight to my kids that I do actually work…</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moonlight on Loch Achray, as I remind myself to take more landscapes</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Leaving Pakistan gave many mixed emotions; on one level I miss the place hugely, I miss its ability to make you feel secure while possibly being at the centre of the centrifugal force that is ‘The War on Terror’. At this precise moment in town the cold embrace of the cynical world of journalism is exactly what I require. My luggage also felt the emotional pull of Pakistan and decided to move to Karachi, so if your passing through Karachi and notice anyone dressed like a mountaineer or, well some would say a camp mountaineer, you can guess the origins of their good taste.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leon and Klara, Prishtine, March 2011</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">After Pakistan it was back to Kosova and the kids. I finally after 18 years travelling the world experienced the pleasures of business class. When the pre-operational trolley dolly tucked the blanket in as I slept on a bed on a plane, I suppose I over reacted by shooting straight up in the air, and I had to finish the bottle of champagne to get back to sleep. But I did, purely because I could, after all if I didn’t drink it, it would have gone flat, and gone to waste, and having come from an NGO flood relief programme, waste is one thing we do not need, is it? So back to Klara and Leon, and the familiar feeling of Kosova, overeating, and varying my nightly bottle of wine between a Vranac and Te Za Jug. The highlight was watching a Macedonian Gypsy band in Dardan’s nightclub, watching what was unthinkable a few years before, as the Kosovars got teary eyed to the beautiful, tragic, horns on a distinctly Yugoslav nostalgia trip. He may have screwed up, but the ones old enough to know raised a glass to Tito that evening, whereas a few years ago a Macedonian gypsy band would have invited a hand grenade into the club. Perhaps time can heal, or at least temporarily blank the painful memories. My son Leon never left me for one second while back, while Klara makes every time I leave harder and harder. I suppose I know I feel more at home in the Balkans than anywhere else, and my kids being settled there makes me know I will always return. The other morning I saw a thumbnail picture while buying books of an image from the Bosnian War. I never even looked at it properly, and the next thing I was thrown into the past, and the heat, sensations and smells of the time are illuminated in my mind, and I am back there, every emotion multiplied, like an acid trip, but one that happened in the past. The Balkans has that affect on you; she is like a lover you always think you are over, but if you glimpse into her eyes, the old feelings are there, raw, unchanged and unexplained. Maybe that is why I’ll always return; the research for my thesis involves going back to Bosnia, Kosova, and Macedonia. I’d love to take Klara with me, and try and explain what happened, how it took over my life; on the other hand why should I trouble the mind of a ten year old with tales of an ugly past on poisoned soil? I’m desperate for a sentimental journey, but I’m even more desperate to complete my thesis and perhaps move on.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Caldbeck Common, a sentimental favourite for my Mum's family</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then back to what some would term reality, or I’d say Glasgow. A split reality, and time to start working again. However I have hardly had a night in one spot for the past two months, and have spent time working in Swansea, London, Manchester, the Lake District, Glencoe with social visits scattered randomly in there too, as well as a period in Cambridge staring unproductively at books. After injuring my knee last summer, I also made myself go back on the hills, a passion that strangely deserted me through the winter. All my life climbing and mountains have been one of the key factors, something that was such an inherent part of my being, that I could not function without. For no apparent reason this love left my soul, and left me feeling indifferent about what I had pretty much spent four years of my life solely focused upon. Instead of the beauty and being humbled in the face of mother-nature I seemed to just respond to being cold and scared. So slowly, on a rather creaky knee, I have been venturing out, with a camera to discover just how unfit I have become. Mountain Equipment, as ever have been good to me, replacing what furnishes a Pakistani cab, and having me work for them again. Es Tressider was running a fell race in the lakes, and I caught up with him on Sharp Edge on Blencathra with a 5:00am start to do the shots. I should be nationalistic and more patriotic but I have to confess to a greater love for the Lakes due to childhood memories than the north of Scotland, which I do adore, but sentimentality coupled with sunshine does tend to tip the scales in the favour of the Lakes. We had a good day out, and Es showed his insane level of fitness to keep the conversation going on the topic of his PHD while ascending, meantime I used the last of my oxygen supply to give one word answers. I’ll get fit again, I just need to keep clear of the Guinness and general good times behaviour I have been indulging in.When in the Lakes, I took the chance to take my Mum, Dad, and Aunty Barbara back to one of the houses that my Gran and Grandad lived in at Caldbeck. Of all the places they lived, and of the stories they told, this one seemed to be everyones favourite. Caldbeck, as ever was beautiful, but sadly the old house was neglected, and lacking in the light of those precious memories. It had obviously become a holiday let with the once stunning garden of my Gran's hands covered with gravel, a lump of emotions lost on brick and mortar. My Mum was happy to have returned, but keen not to go back. Sometimes memories are better than the modern reality.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgexCaf8HubwH7L6RoP1Sqaj_QfDHnjsB1KDQfSafu94hj61UuMQWrQ9vxSSZTzptLyVwN0eEVsBpx-zPrOCkt08dGwWRwrgpfjrKH2m_Wy7_gNKAOeJqXrMqTFfvdkTB3C9-j1i_WlfRQ/s1600/_MG_4327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgexCaf8HubwH7L6RoP1Sqaj_QfDHnjsB1KDQfSafu94hj61UuMQWrQ9vxSSZTzptLyVwN0eEVsBpx-zPrOCkt08dGwWRwrgpfjrKH2m_Wy7_gNKAOeJqXrMqTFfvdkTB3C9-j1i_WlfRQ/s320/_MG_4327.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunty Barbara, my Mum and Dad show their uncontrolled excitement at getting back to Caldbeck</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_DCGk0EJN-7FAxveakT0_8iZTvihE8oj14PtMM1ozNMgBrg7PVdApLPMOsALqLaL9lrzyX7xoUbLnyj2jVMjugpPQwGvfXO6UlgC1IezeBlnSBuf4ip-HWOLVV3S4inHMQs02mHlbes/s1600/_MG_4156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_DCGk0EJN-7FAxveakT0_8iZTvihE8oj14PtMM1ozNMgBrg7PVdApLPMOsALqLaL9lrzyX7xoUbLnyj2jVMjugpPQwGvfXO6UlgC1IezeBlnSBuf4ip-HWOLVV3S4inHMQs02mHlbes/s320/_MG_4156.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Es Tressider on Sharp Edge for Mountain Equipment</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Jump forward a few more days and I was this time back on the ropes with Dave MacLeod on the iconic Tunnel Wall at the head of Glencoe. Tunnel Wall is one of these amazing crags that you see from the roadside and is bathed in a history as spectacular as the late night light it finds. Dave was hoping to work a new line, however was concentrating on regaining the stamina he lost while training to complete his V14 Boulder problem. The drill battery wasn’t playing the game however, so we settled on the existing lines, and I got back on the ropes and the never ending joys of jumaring routes. Glencoe always, no matter where I go in the world inspires. Fortunately as we got to work in the fading light it didn’t fail to relight a flame. I’ll be back later in the week to try and make Tunnel Wall look how it should. So, as ever, my life is all over the place, in the midst of some major changes, waiting on the next trips abroad to be confirmed. On one level it is as insecure and haphazard as before, on another it has that delicious uncertainty that sometimes I try to escape, but always in the end crave. I really should find a balance. One day. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0JPLe-kRuaE4aY40_mDR2ZW942VKr7oR5U3VrF1HCwCX8jKVPIvAsXnWAI87Y1k6k5U_GXz7w7TN0fzalgoHnz0N2eDK5UaxIPrY_GGeEDaHXEoxO-yIQ38vxi0-gEz2yy6rCPyS-aQ/s1600/_MG_4860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0JPLe-kRuaE4aY40_mDR2ZW942VKr7oR5U3VrF1HCwCX8jKVPIvAsXnWAI87Y1k6k5U_GXz7w7TN0fzalgoHnz0N2eDK5UaxIPrY_GGeEDaHXEoxO-yIQ38vxi0-gEz2yy6rCPyS-aQ/s320/_MG_4860.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave MacLeod on Tunnel Wall, Glencoe</td></tr>
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</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-45990997041580316572010-10-10T07:57:00.000-07:002010-10-10T07:57:59.405-07:00A Brutal Learning Curve in Pakistan...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4liCjnFszRM50v0giYnvScwPekMCpS6Z1yNxHhUuSbhMoXEtFLF4x-Q-CfW611yUbjaCQSeh79jGPY9J3n430f-hJAIlArcNE14ynKaiYuCknuunrwM3kB0iWq5MmtW0GkUUFa1VhcM/s1600/_MG_3036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4liCjnFszRM50v0giYnvScwPekMCpS6Z1yNxHhUuSbhMoXEtFLF4x-Q-CfW611yUbjaCQSeh79jGPY9J3n430f-hJAIlArcNE14ynKaiYuCknuunrwM3kB0iWq5MmtW0GkUUFa1VhcM/s320/_MG_3036.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Severly Malnourished Child, Larkana, Sindh<br />
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I haven't posted for a while, as I decided I'd make a move to learn a new part of the world. Life has been going well, I passed the academic year at Cambridge, and decided it was time to get on the road again. I'm personally burnt out on the Middle East, and everybody is now an 'expert'. I enjoyed my time there, but like everybody who has covered conflict, I suppose I spent too long going round in circles looking to recreate the effect Bosnia and Kosovo had on me. Never a day goes bye, and I don't think of the war years. I must confess I've never really got over them, and every mess I've made since then has been linked to this inability to move on and stop mourning the past, "my war gone bye, how I miss it so..."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1J2Uh07ZcDTroLeLHz8KyCcHpDtMl7MqqDeQ3GaIkY5XvcTwwvVH52kflZ9qLvYkSpcFj4mZBBRb6oBP9s9k9wBsMvyBCxcZZzdK8kpTCVEr37W1LMwwk0eoensPA1C3ITK1suncyxg/s1600/_MG_2985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1J2Uh07ZcDTroLeLHz8KyCcHpDtMl7MqqDeQ3GaIkY5XvcTwwvVH52kflZ9qLvYkSpcFj4mZBBRb6oBP9s9k9wBsMvyBCxcZZzdK8kpTCVEr37W1LMwwk0eoensPA1C3ITK1suncyxg/s320/_MG_2985.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Children living in a school building after loosing their home to the waters</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>So, a bit of soul searching and conversation with friends from the old days, I decided to learn South Asia, well to be more precise, Pakistan. I have a painful desire to go to Afghanistan, but have held off because of the level of control imposed on your movements, reporting, and what you can actually get. I will go, but Pakistan has always fascinated me, and here I am. Every province is like a conflict within a conflict, everything is different, but interlinked. What some guy threatens to do in the US decides if you can venture out from behind the wall. It is complex, fascinating, incredibley beautiful, there are mountains, and god, do I need mountains! The people are incredibly friendly, and at the same time the challenge can be how inaccessible the culture can be; it can be in front of you, but you may as well be a 1000 miles away at times. So the first chance that came, I took it and here I am, currently in Sukkur, trying to get my head round the tribal system and security risks in the areas towards Baluchistan.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwNqVuHqoBFFSNBvnDMFUgk5gio0wZj-rWupPfglpxmgaWNLevz3iuZNB_tuDh1PlZFl1ixpYyoDcm_kb-ziCLGWc6p1PxshnYYncqw69zFCzOinqAH6wQUF5-SWYjjDFMq4qloDsfVM/s1600/GF2Z5339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwNqVuHqoBFFSNBvnDMFUgk5gio0wZj-rWupPfglpxmgaWNLevz3iuZNB_tuDh1PlZFl1ixpYyoDcm_kb-ziCLGWc6p1PxshnYYncqw69zFCzOinqAH6wQUF5-SWYjjDFMq4qloDsfVM/s320/GF2Z5339.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Villages under water still, at least 10 miles from the banks of the Indus. <br />
The floods, which are on a scale that cannot even be comprehended, even don't sink in when you see them. You can think that as the human race is capable of mind numbing destruction, but in the end natural forces can obliterate all. It is deeply humbling to realise this. 21 million people have been affected, but you cannot see it all at once, so it doesn't really sink in. For now, people have survived, but they are reliant on assistance, and if that doesn't materialise, it will become unstable; this is the risk, the clock is ticking, but still malnutrition runs at 20% in the children in Upper Sindh. This can only get worse. So, as I stated, I planned to come here, to get to know and hopefully, dream of understanding Pakistan. Self desire faced with real tragedy makes for a brutal learning curve...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2GIbS0IKlzEBYo-BV7KrDILFHyAmBbSm6PeT44ZBPM63HCJNugK4vn1yLVdqUTRpGa94uviQOvoaurBYIUICk8n95F8qcuU1Jj_Njy_GIYqf1DpT8dHUCexMFUSpAcu_ALvuMrKmG98/s1600/GF2Z5359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2GIbS0IKlzEBYo-BV7KrDILFHyAmBbSm6PeT44ZBPM63HCJNugK4vn1yLVdqUTRpGa94uviQOvoaurBYIUICk8n95F8qcuU1Jj_Njy_GIYqf1DpT8dHUCexMFUSpAcu_ALvuMrKmG98/s320/GF2Z5359.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Moving back...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjebpYod4v9orKUdtit8GFfCpdGFnxxPjZ5IVEXKUQglueb5UMBWHT4Q2-7wAfdPLN5m8CO44uhPIp3LZz0n26rq-t7j6gZveUQa8nwqIzVE47Qs7CGQlW40VJHax0woZnAg2A_FlAuDo/s1600/GF2Z5405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjebpYod4v9orKUdtit8GFfCpdGFnxxPjZ5IVEXKUQglueb5UMBWHT4Q2-7wAfdPLN5m8CO44uhPIp3LZz0n26rq-t7j6gZveUQa8nwqIzVE47Qs7CGQlW40VJHax0woZnAg2A_FlAuDo/s320/GF2Z5405.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Flood damaged house. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-78183124639211490352010-09-21T02:51:00.000-07:002010-09-21T02:51:38.358-07:00When the Sun Does Shine...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyybceCfYTlhEPOdpYGdkSR2RCKwZnMCtf5F2FXdTvrNaA-D1cgZ1dYnmiaRGzhiTvM9jZwIIsQxIL1Zhm8vq4pvpkWo8UfWvzR02WUAYJIfcEKyGQKs7x-jPMCA3EJGWCi-sRNMK59co/s1600/_MG_2639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyybceCfYTlhEPOdpYGdkSR2RCKwZnMCtf5F2FXdTvrNaA-D1cgZ1dYnmiaRGzhiTvM9jZwIIsQxIL1Zhm8vq4pvpkWo8UfWvzR02WUAYJIfcEKyGQKs7x-jPMCA3EJGWCi-sRNMK59co/s320/_MG_2639.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave MacLeod swings like a true Celt only can in the Cairngorm National Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Memories of what I'll guess was the last day of summer back in Scotland. Such a nice day erased the pain of a knee injury that has left me with a comedy shaped kneecap and an evening diet of pain killers. This is the shot that Visit Scotland have chosen to promote the adventure travel trade summit in Aviemore (<a href="http://www.adventuretravel.biz/">http://www.adventuretravel.biz/</a>) next month. <br />
I'm sitting updating this in Sukkur, Pakistan. The temperature outside is now 42, and the air con in my room has decided to abandon ship, so the fan cuts the pre-cooked air and recreates the inside of an oven. The moral of the story is if you are Scottish and complaining about the weather today, look on the bright side...<br />
I'll be out here probably until December, before heading back home to Kosova. I'll soon update on what work I'm up to, but pictures of those affected by the floods will appear soon.<br />
Until then, chicken tikka for breakfast....<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfEelHzlzY0xmnLEOitMRxXtr-gqT7bzNeYejMVL6p_twc7RRWkcr6CSwPyEzK-7ghzM6nQqE0Oc6U1VDVEvNhWuH0llKYYlotlCeXnmUSuJIXaz7vmUWoUfW7xijlg_Md3AxueACCjk/s1600/GF2Z5253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfEelHzlzY0xmnLEOitMRxXtr-gqT7bzNeYejMVL6p_twc7RRWkcr6CSwPyEzK-7ghzM6nQqE0Oc6U1VDVEvNhWuH0llKYYlotlCeXnmUSuJIXaz7vmUWoUfW7xijlg_Md3AxueACCjk/s320/GF2Z5253.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chalk Sporran...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-45422767361126082182010-09-05T14:37:00.000-07:002010-09-05T14:37:05.823-07:00Painkiller Photos<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWlFi4ll9wrTC7_Zb2cXt0TJ8PhLaOmHBXcrbd9z1v7u_9raEyHfPppcxIcWLn7HPXnL_GWjqpN6AL7XTCg5x-q5qfWxSprGuWhMyE6PF9cCbULxKg7kWNegIJ7W0DzgpzPJVBKzm3Bo/s1600/GF2Z5218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWlFi4ll9wrTC7_Zb2cXt0TJ8PhLaOmHBXcrbd9z1v7u_9raEyHfPppcxIcWLn7HPXnL_GWjqpN6AL7XTCg5x-q5qfWxSprGuWhMyE6PF9cCbULxKg7kWNegIJ7W0DzgpzPJVBKzm3Bo/s320/GF2Z5218.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave about to get into position in his traditional climbing garb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A very quick line with a couple of sample images from last Thursday's shoot with well known media type and live broadcast superstar Dave MacLeod. I can't say too much about the shoot but the brief was mission impossible, and on one of the most beautiful days in god's country we went out to do the impossible. An incredible day was had, apart from a dislocated knee cap, but that is something else indeed. The shoot went well and I'll provide a link when they are used by the client. We seemed to race into the mountain, but struggled out, myself on a dodgy knee, Dave on a well publicised dodgy ankle, with stitches to match. I wish I could claim the romance of a rockfall on an overhanging face as the culprit for my undoing, instead a pile of heather, a hole and a rock claim the credit for my mishap...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rgA6a6Cm_dgY8cpr5KuBLdK6z4w0kJUxNw8lBpDL8bOGP4M3TgwdSNx5IRxKR8pNkhJD7EDuzaGEPd1iuVkjcY6chIXX0uxztSJ9-uTvK-ONCnv9M-h4axYBEFRGqoobgy5hJ-jwnjQ/s1600/GF2Z5144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0rgA6a6Cm_dgY8cpr5KuBLdK6z4w0kJUxNw8lBpDL8bOGP4M3TgwdSNx5IRxKR8pNkhJD7EDuzaGEPd1iuVkjcY6chIXX0uxztSJ9-uTvK-ONCnv9M-h4axYBEFRGqoobgy5hJ-jwnjQ/s320/GF2Z5144.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting out on a big swing...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So, with the help of some painkillers I'm sitting writing with my leg in a brace, crutches to assist, and the realisation that I need to be on my feet by tomorrow. The joys of self-employment never stop! Seemed a good idea at the start. Anyway tomorrow is another day, and hopefully, leg permitting, next week is another start, as I'm due to head out to Pakistan to start a new position. If I can walk that is...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0NkJdI0pV_lTtxNxaCtKgg93_6eEHqebWteZ2AI8A2rzp4eEIeWXF8rcjKRUAaW0RZbsxg0_9Qm8kHJIzi04Gcj46nVKYeljONCw0ITEsEYY5U7CargSC_xc_ylalIVDmEoyzChhgf4/s1600/_MG_2675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0NkJdI0pV_lTtxNxaCtKgg93_6eEHqebWteZ2AI8A2rzp4eEIeWXF8rcjKRUAaW0RZbsxg0_9Qm8kHJIzi04Gcj46nVKYeljONCw0ITEsEYY5U7CargSC_xc_ylalIVDmEoyzChhgf4/s320/_MG_2675.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reverse sporran...<br />
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</tbody></table>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-20279068679290216892010-08-27T06:41:00.000-07:002010-08-27T06:41:06.727-07:00Fighting with Landscapes...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWha9OrsC3AZ3uSM391hSyARa4qYkhJV-JaVCCrXZtIB8fcJp_lGzyDUAWAJo92v5HVBgRuQiYjECm1EFRNTI2EbiUFNHGjscKAYCMP_j_1kuAuBq-wJvZRSgbNOK7HQm7QsNmUzTVL0k/s1600/_MG_2425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWha9OrsC3AZ3uSM391hSyARa4qYkhJV-JaVCCrXZtIB8fcJp_lGzyDUAWAJo92v5HVBgRuQiYjECm1EFRNTI2EbiUFNHGjscKAYCMP_j_1kuAuBq-wJvZRSgbNOK7HQm7QsNmUzTVL0k/s320/_MG_2425.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A rainbow forms in a storm crossing Rannoch Moor</div><br />
I've quickly added four images from a series of landscapes that I have been working on. I'll put the whole gallery on my website <a href="http://www.stevengordon.eu/">http://www.stevengordon.eu/</a> once I've finished them, but until then here is a preview. I'm working in colour, trying to haul myself away from my black and white obsession, but as ever, they tend to to be dark and stormy. This is one of several projects I'm currently working on, the other main one being a long term examination of Glasgow, and does she deserve her violent reputation that the statistics make out. I'll preview it as I go along, but in meantime here is the view after a late afternoon run up Curved Ridge on Buachaille Etive Mor. Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgehLz7bJJXAJ8IgUzER3xF_Bw03rMcSmnLF3YqHyPNZjKZbuNFkME7AGlUtzAdm0dGVRaVyWgaVkqRMY7QfRJtp4kn7rtI5elyymbxQDf98oCM8StGyijMR2vJ2bUZ-_Pto9-fMJ66DAY/s1600/_MG_2451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgehLz7bJJXAJ8IgUzER3xF_Bw03rMcSmnLF3YqHyPNZjKZbuNFkME7AGlUtzAdm0dGVRaVyWgaVkqRMY7QfRJtp4kn7rtI5elyymbxQDf98oCM8StGyijMR2vJ2bUZ-_Pto9-fMJ66DAY/s320/_MG_2451.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking to the head of Glen Coe.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5h1qrn7BMgxHiFQ49clAGZfooe-scBpeBfgHAcSijooBit6X0oloh7ZdPBdxW6N680QFZ_X8G95OfWLJG_u3-IbdpE8JdxXBBzIGjjjRk3DmJO-ck-OOVE4iQYnzYHkocwAt7vG8m9wA/s1600/_MG_2457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5h1qrn7BMgxHiFQ49clAGZfooe-scBpeBfgHAcSijooBit6X0oloh7ZdPBdxW6N680QFZ_X8G95OfWLJG_u3-IbdpE8JdxXBBzIGjjjRk3DmJO-ck-OOVE4iQYnzYHkocwAt7vG8m9wA/s320/_MG_2457.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slightly cliche in the popular view of the Buachaille, but what the hell, the light was good!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikiOYH1dess9zG7GmUarfSjiL1uwSn8EfD8K00qlQDIsxpdLaHd1B-XO2KA4Dqyy4Y98TlZnUbAo7bniBsqf2ZjbJuQrwIxod6zk5PP6QmCNbGPvGeDYKSVGQrWIMQ0rxjvjOrurVNEv0/s1600/_MG_2409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikiOYH1dess9zG7GmUarfSjiL1uwSn8EfD8K00qlQDIsxpdLaHd1B-XO2KA4Dqyy4Y98TlZnUbAo7bniBsqf2ZjbJuQrwIxod6zk5PP6QmCNbGPvGeDYKSVGQrWIMQ0rxjvjOrurVNEv0/s320/_MG_2409.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rannoch Moor.<br />
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</tbody></table>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-22966132451993676082010-07-28T14:47:00.000-07:002010-08-01T03:37:22.281-07:00A River Runs Through It...<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjG9lJ3fkoCvXDT5eFJM7MQX3wrSsTTwkPk7BfusFu_INjcjV0rSXyM6HqlycyTBmKhSmGBCTXJ3eljzIpS1urFfRpyf5yLs2dsyqRXYS9XEhsrNsrUUIlg7EVGFSSVd_baT9AYLfUf4/s1600/_MG_2359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwjG9lJ3fkoCvXDT5eFJM7MQX3wrSsTTwkPk7BfusFu_INjcjV0rSXyM6HqlycyTBmKhSmGBCTXJ3eljzIpS1urFfRpyf5yLs2dsyqRXYS9XEhsrNsrUUIlg7EVGFSSVd_baT9AYLfUf4/s320/_MG_2359.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. </span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am haunted by waters.”</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: small;">Norman MacLean</span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have tried to live my life successfully or perhaps it could be argued more convincingly unsuccessfully, but I have always, always tried to ignore the word regret. If I could erase one word from the English language it would be regret. But lately, like many times before, regret has forced its way into my mouth, bitter, unpalatable, but somehow on the end of my tongue. I really should have gone and visited a friend, an awkward one, but I didn’t find the time. I never replied to that message on my answering machine, thinking I’d do it next week, the week after, life was applying the usual pressures, but somehow, I had no time. The only way I have time now, I have convinced myself, is by purchasing it. I couldn’t afford to make the transaction of putting aside some of my precious minutes in return for a few hours lost, god forbid, even regret, the transaction of seeing an old friend. So I convinced myself. Peter went out on his bike and never came back. Now the bike could go 180mph but, in the twisted logic of reality, it wasn’t even at full tilt. But all you need to know is he didn’t come back. We went fishing together, many an hour wasted in the vastness of Loch Lomond, many an epic gale faced in the Clyde estuary, in a small 13ft boot. Stupid really, out in 20 foot swells in such a small boat, no power in the engine, but for the sake of fishing, and that unspeakable powerful bond created in awe of nature, be her happy, mellow, angry or fierce, our silence was comfortable, a rare commodity in a world where we run a couple of hundred friends on our social networking sites, but can only be truly comfortable in silence with those that can be counted on one hand. My childhood fishing partner Neil, died tragically early. Hence the solace of Norman MacLean. I truly am haunted by waters. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-size: small;">In Scotland, to fish a Salmon river, for me it always has certain characteristics. Where you can see into the water, you never catch a Salmon. You always catch the fish on the edge, in the black water, a comfortable black, dark enough to maintain mystery, intrigue, but also dark enough to make one almost fear. I may sound morbid, but trust me, the only thing the black water of a river is comparable to, is the black of the dead’s eyes. When confronted with the dead, you have this fear of looking straight at them, as the hollowness of the black seems to suggest a hideous emptiness, and an understanding of questions, stretching way beyond what we want to think about. To stare at the black is to stare at our own mortality, perhaps the pointlessness of waste. Who knows, but I have no problem admitting they scare me, my own mortality, and the foolishness of craving risk, something that has dominated my life. Perhaps that is why I gain such solace from rivers. The black is black enough to offer the mystery of our reality, but when an ocean grown creature returning to its point of birth pulls from the black I gain incredible hope. Life is an incredible journey, and one can only hope. Once the current workload is passed, I’ll go up to the River Orchy. It will be nice to stare into the black in the company of old friends once again.</span></div></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9l9ILrH-pn7BphoDZtm-TJEqqKTRm3Yqh4YZmGbgqxcNiI48b3-8pTHioEgeE4CuZSY5NZOc_xwpANQGrdkgpSEgDyYCvtK3KSfwtE9eF-ToPFVUz-fzBMfMHxtekA3lgE2_TkPo1VM/s1600/_MG_2313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9l9ILrH-pn7BphoDZtm-TJEqqKTRm3Yqh4YZmGbgqxcNiI48b3-8pTHioEgeE4CuZSY5NZOc_xwpANQGrdkgpSEgDyYCvtK3KSfwtE9eF-ToPFVUz-fzBMfMHxtekA3lgE2_TkPo1VM/s320/_MG_2313.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">An Atlantic Salmon, released back into the Lochy, a truly remarkable visitor</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I have finally got round to dealing with the website, </span><a href="http://www.stevengordon.eu/"><span style="font-size: small;">http://www.stevengordon.eu/</span></a><span style="font-size: small;"> and will continue to put new galleries online. At present however, I'm once again lost to an attempt to generate my final essay for Cambridge, which will see me complete the first academic year in my Masters. It has a been a strange journey, with very mixed emotions from start to finish. On one front I still have the working class chip on my shoulder, very alienated by the experience. On the other side, it has allowed me to have a priveleged view of another world, a very long way away from Clydebank High School. I have met some wonderful friends, probably had more fun in my 3 months there than in my other 7 plus years of other further education. But still it is another world, in a still divided Britain, hence my heart when not in the mountains and rivers of Scotland is settled in Kosovo. It has taken a long time, but I finally know wher home is. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">For now though, on with the struggle of representation, which is oddly what I'm writing about. I'll post regularly now and update the galleries on my website every two weeks. If you can point anyone else interested in my ramblings, please point them to the above link. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Thanks</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">x</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-56034147144932412102010-03-12T06:49:00.000-08:002010-03-12T19:15:47.625-08:00Is it Really Worth It?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsX1WoN7ks9wZnbf2vNuPD9VVLgBY2A_ovk4Mxkvlsy8LTlDuun0jBEJubWgRTo-l-ZZ-wUiTNOGItz8UDPaulpyTq6EqF0OS5WBYnixRsRwqpYKwtvf6i_UmdzOkZHZ9v9yR6gIGwfrg/s1600-h/_MG_8717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsX1WoN7ks9wZnbf2vNuPD9VVLgBY2A_ovk4Mxkvlsy8LTlDuun0jBEJubWgRTo-l-ZZ-wUiTNOGItz8UDPaulpyTq6EqF0OS5WBYnixRsRwqpYKwtvf6i_UmdzOkZHZ9v9yR6gIGwfrg/s320/_MG_8717.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photographer Lucasz Warzecha appears at the top of The Hurting after a fruitless day...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> I have spent long enough involved in the British climbing scene to know not to get involved in the ethics debate. Having witnessed first hand many of the hardest routes put up in the UK, a few the hardest of their specific kind in the world, it is really amazing to then see a link to a forum and see them berated, usually by some lonely individual logging into a forum in the middle of the night. Now I’m on dangerous ground here, and will probably encounter the personal bile of many a poor tortured lonely moon-tanned forum lover, capable of a basic climb, but no world-beater. I’ll indulge in this subject, once and once only, as my main point of having a blog was so my kids could see what I was up to, and to let my clients know what jobs<em> </em>I'm working on and where I am. As a poor climber, I really shouldn’t have too much of an opinion, but having been involved in many of the hard routes, both winter and summer, I actually do. I tend to respect the effort made by the individual, having seen their incredible amount of dedication, physical and mental, and view the line established, in the context that it was done. As a photographer, some routes don’t float my boat, so to speak, but some just grab at the heartstrings, and blow you away. If it is obvious how hard the line is by looking at it, great, but some are subtler, they look innocuous, but could literally kill you. Others defy the obvious, and appear harder. This is something I have learned while out on these lines. Anyway this is how I form my opinion, but, the classic quote, comes in here: "Opinions are like arseholes – everybody has got one." Particularly so when it comes to Scottish winter climbing. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKttO5bLqnWRqnx9oDlZzlgtTc0yKeeksfqlHb6g6nwEzUqZh1234SMzh8eAUxQFzSnL-h6Vi7-Y6zYmiJ9QuzVDqYaxhKmXUES7r2N00rDBIDMbkLZHe_AzB_xTA9slM0Uu1okV0718U/s1600-h/_MG_8708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKttO5bLqnWRqnx9oDlZzlgtTc0yKeeksfqlHb6g6nwEzUqZh1234SMzh8eAUxQFzSnL-h6Vi7-Y6zYmiJ9QuzVDqYaxhKmXUES7r2N00rDBIDMbkLZHe_AzB_xTA9slM0Uu1okV0718U/s320/_MG_8708.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Climbers on the ridgeline, Coire an t Sneachda</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCU8XzDaI_ZwgISoIztCe_1pOYgJ4zt7FsPkU4GSDCAOYxR00eHoEMgzNeD2_Zm_6cBXIxcwhqaTjbIBjAXu725XZsEs2SiQcPXQV4J5MGPx-AKZWo0RhBg10fqMbDeG3wQXbYlpX2RI/s1600-h/_MG_8714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCU8XzDaI_ZwgISoIztCe_1pOYgJ4zt7FsPkU4GSDCAOYxR00eHoEMgzNeD2_Zm_6cBXIxcwhqaTjbIBjAXu725XZsEs2SiQcPXQV4J5MGPx-AKZWo0RhBg10fqMbDeG3wQXbYlpX2RI/s320/_MG_8714.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lucasz jugs up the fixed rope above The Hurting</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Yesterday, I went out will Andy Turner, so he could have a look at Dave MacLeod’s line, The Hurting, one of his hardest, in the Cairngorms. Now Andy has had a fantastic season, particularly with his first ascent of the Tempest, something I feel he deserves more credit for. The talk on the wonderful forums that I should ignore, but what the hell, it was late, I couldn’t sleep, felt lonely, thought I’d only peek at the comments. The obsession seemed to be with Dave’s onsight, but I think 90% of the people, both positive and negative, missed the point; if Andy hadn’t done the line, Dave wouldn’t have been able to onsight it. Someone had to remove Neil Gresham’s gear from the line, so it could be done in ‘pure’ style, taking away the onsight from Andy. Dave will be the first to point this out. So credit due, the route really belongs to Andy, someone whose name seems to have disappeared in the comments on the route. As for rime versus ice, dry tooling, bolts, I’m not even going there, but remember if someone has the focus to push something forward they should be admired, not berated. <br />
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Anyway, back to what I’ve been up too children! We went up to the gorms to look at the Hurting, Andy got on it, but it was incredibly plastered with ice, to the point the protection, which is few and far between on the line on a good day, didn’t even exist. I don’t know if I should even mention it, but Andy got about 20 feet up, before down climbing to keep the onsight alive. There, enough technical climbing crap, we had a good day out in the Cairngorms, battled 70mph winds, you can watch Andy and myself doing so here: <a href="http://www.vimeo.com/10124160">http://www.vimeo.com/10124160</a> drank coffee and are still waiting for some of the snow to melt before we have another push. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And so finally to the point of blogging today; yesterday reminded me of the realities of trying to photograph Scottish Winter Climbing, a 300 mile round trip, crawling up the hill to the ski car-park at 10 mph behind people with second names for first ones, a few thousand feet of ascent, battling with the elements in sub-zero temperatures, all while carrying a hideous amount of kit not to be used, all to be criticised by arm-chair experts when something incredible does happen. Perhaps pointless, but somehow I’ll be out again next week. <br />
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The day before, I visited my great friend Stephanie Wolfe Murray at Glen House, in the Scottish borders. Being with old friends and in the Scottish Borders when the sun makes an appearance does make life better. We walked the dogs on the estate in stunning light, and it made me feel so happy and optimistic for this year. Strange what the sun does for you when you live in a place that tends to starve you of it’s healing hand…<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRRtieOmcA8DrzLGS9UnUVeIe3EID2VwlwcGR7nhTja5q2-H9OCdDur9FIrxQWq9Lu9fC-vOupRiEtiWZsQimhAz30GinKPk8IGiuA2OkvzImQ6xAnNlhGlIiyIy9I0qlHoMEfqKj2pY/s1600-h/_MG_8680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRRtieOmcA8DrzLGS9UnUVeIe3EID2VwlwcGR7nhTja5q2-H9OCdDur9FIrxQWq9Lu9fC-vOupRiEtiWZsQimhAz30GinKPk8IGiuA2OkvzImQ6xAnNlhGlIiyIy9I0qlHoMEfqKj2pY/s320/_MG_8680.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stephanie, Gus, and Holly</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjZempE_u3Z5ADNqV-Q_KLT0l47FNZR27qmkmfw2cDmIx4Oy5UX7K4Z7elE6m137S9nEfikyjhFVDt8u0czJciE58kDbaL7aRL6zVeEGeHe-0sLO5sAWPj2trkGVQ__C0BwaLVf-SfqE/s1600-h/_MG_8678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjZempE_u3Z5ADNqV-Q_KLT0l47FNZR27qmkmfw2cDmIx4Oy5UX7K4Z7elE6m137S9nEfikyjhFVDt8u0czJciE58kDbaL7aRL6zVeEGeHe-0sLO5sAWPj2trkGVQ__C0BwaLVf-SfqE/s320/_MG_8678.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Stephanie and Holly</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4P-Tu-Xlf_4W0uiJlKJ5AN8dOYk8SC3P5wdjBBPA9-fDOeIlFeyz3a9Rg9jD73BFHcxN-1UnRLoNtEKyg9162WA8p74O49gcFL87-DHaNStue_1yU8-4xwiVrSdcbo3Fw_6fybMAw6fU/s1600-h/_MG_8688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4P-Tu-Xlf_4W0uiJlKJ5AN8dOYk8SC3P5wdjBBPA9-fDOeIlFeyz3a9Rg9jD73BFHcxN-1UnRLoNtEKyg9162WA8p74O49gcFL87-DHaNStue_1yU8-4xwiVrSdcbo3Fw_6fybMAw6fU/s320/_MG_8688.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Glen House</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbuGb12EKJGpQ7AZ1ma7EZLmZgxoCkx82qSq12QIujC2CY4QbAPCyyVHgLla2B1pTkAhYowNte1rNPgM6sFMXYnBEOUClSqON-06eCvSyflgO05F2h4ZufN2iRbv0eCBGHKIuLCwcWGo/s1600-h/_MG_8692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZbuGb12EKJGpQ7AZ1ma7EZLmZgxoCkx82qSq12QIujC2CY4QbAPCyyVHgLla2B1pTkAhYowNte1rNPgM6sFMXYnBEOUClSqON-06eCvSyflgO05F2h4ZufN2iRbv0eCBGHKIuLCwcWGo/s320/_MG_8692.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Angel looking, well, angelic...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisboTfpSDqY1m-F_mL6HW5l5MqRQY5hZdoajla55ORN1w-F5Wyip1HAJ0ELF4oB7Fmg1q6Z_ngJwevfA1MwqOvKEJTE-siyclKjAQXtSQl2VCQtddeT0UxbE3ky6NuEMNPu9pu9V48hoU/s1600-h/_MG_8659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisboTfpSDqY1m-F_mL6HW5l5MqRQY5hZdoajla55ORN1w-F5Wyip1HAJ0ELF4oB7Fmg1q6Z_ngJwevfA1MwqOvKEJTE-siyclKjAQXtSQl2VCQtddeT0UxbE3ky6NuEMNPu9pu9V48hoU/s320/_MG_8659.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Gus and Holly</div><div align="center"></div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-69293261896925690532010-03-06T06:03:00.000-08:002010-03-06T06:10:48.205-08:00The Tempest: Act 4, Scene1, Glencoe.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdYLZQV-T1JTMLeRnlyNBJP1sBcpSVm8CcFS3zck05n7AJZyCOFfa11MZr6gI2rf497HCsSTcM9UnlKNog5VScxbvp9FvGKyRodqPLS-JMy0My1Ix-IoepD3izKxe_WVxbr9EBrWGyFI/s1600-h/_MG_8539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdYLZQV-T1JTMLeRnlyNBJP1sBcpSVm8CcFS3zck05n7AJZyCOFfa11MZr6gI2rf497HCsSTcM9UnlKNog5VScxbvp9FvGKyRodqPLS-JMy0My1Ix-IoepD3izKxe_WVxbr9EBrWGyFI/s320/_MG_8539.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dave MacLeod scratches his way up Neil Gresham's M9 in Glen Coe, The Tempest.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All photographs copyright Steven Gordon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On Thursday, Dave MacLeod and myself made the slog up to Stob Coire Nan Lochan, to take a look at Gresham's route The Tempest. Gresham first climbed the route with all the gear pre-placed, hence its continental style grade. Our friend Andy Turner had managed to climb the line ground up, the week before grading the route IX, 9. Andy had looked at the line a couple of times before his brilliant ascent, so we went to have a look. Dave got on the line and managed to get two-thirds of the way up before coming down shattered after spending two and a half hours on tiny hooks, digging out the protection and managing not to fall off, just... He down-climbed, so he could clain the onsight, but it was a hard push. The face was really plastered with snow, so most of the effort went into clearing the line, rather than pushing skywards. I was staring up from the belay on one occasion, well more craning up due to the steepness of the line, when his whole body appeared silhouetted against the blue sky heading for the ground. Some how, he held on to one rather dodgy axe placement, and hauled himself back onto the line. I was sure he was off, and had jumped off the belay to brace for his weight being transformed onto a somewhat iffy peg placement, when the expected weight never arrived on the rope...don't know how he did it, but he did. Nice one Dave! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCc7nMg9yoV0w3SCh3qPFUpiHUq1EeNu4xvaOaZVXYQVkPW6khW7Q5MvjppeSR3vMhW-Uf_CmW2bEyN94TIAADjr4WBa80aXkV0F15y6_vrl6B1wKadDw1UsnNtrzTK31cthEEpmaI2n8/s1600-h/_MG_8638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCc7nMg9yoV0w3SCh3qPFUpiHUq1EeNu4xvaOaZVXYQVkPW6khW7Q5MvjppeSR3vMhW-Uf_CmW2bEyN94TIAADjr4WBa80aXkV0F15y6_vrl6B1wKadDw1UsnNtrzTK31cthEEpmaI2n8/s320/_MG_8638.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dave MacLeod on the upper third of The Tempest</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNMPeToWIsh-FCvmlc07MMa4piT-HhYHJCpxErmrtaDkG2g5IQ364RoZ75_DXcVsE4J9yROv2wxges6i2VS3c5gGmkP-XJrf1O2UsmFIzBJLce2vkbwlqi01HD-kCZGbW_oXWqrp6N0I/s1600-h/_MG_8617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeNMPeToWIsh-FCvmlc07MMa4piT-HhYHJCpxErmrtaDkG2g5IQ364RoZ75_DXcVsE4J9yROv2wxges6i2VS3c5gGmkP-XJrf1O2UsmFIzBJLce2vkbwlqi01HD-kCZGbW_oXWqrp6N0I/s320/_MG_8617.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Tempest, Stob Coire Nan Lochan, Glen Coe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtTrLBB29W_aLJh65YWylRriiVcpbevKBmdh4YQJlasbHyQXtex_jCBIE6e2eAOhIt-78y_abQT4Gs91VZGpwzRLBf3ovVPq8QUWZ2h3FfHwS6IvWreIzM6CzBJeNI7aBBSRToIC0gYE/s1600-h/_MG_8564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtTrLBB29W_aLJh65YWylRriiVcpbevKBmdh4YQJlasbHyQXtex_jCBIE6e2eAOhIt-78y_abQT4Gs91VZGpwzRLBf3ovVPq8QUWZ2h3FfHwS6IvWreIzM6CzBJeNI7aBBSRToIC0gYE/s320/_MG_8564.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dave returned the next day to finish the route, after nearly running out of protection on his first attempt. After a call to Andy, he discovered he used nearly double the amount of runners, so properly equiped, Dave returned to bag the fourth ascent of the line, and the first onsight. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'll be back out in the hills next week, but till then it is the usual mixture of work, work and more work. I was in the garage earlier fueling the car, and looking around you realised that everybody had that look of an easy weekend, and I must confess to feeling jealous. Even writing this blog is rushed, as I need to get back to studying, before putting a shift in tonight and tomorrow. When I'm rich, it will be all worth while but till then, back to the gindstone, as ever.</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-61707949331195963482010-03-06T05:13:00.000-08:002010-03-06T05:13:39.739-08:00Cold, Cold and more Cold...<div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboaB-EHIy4BEW3tj6yib2KUaXt50nehV5z4gTCLaEPTV4P4LQPTX9N7LIrIsH1hGDjJJlCPBndOd_TTA4wsu8-S88VkjjlVULKh1VzpEEhQN6ysKz23mvVrQKjSBPkLO9wKa6S-7CVfQ/s1600-h/up+the+long+creek+(8).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhboaB-EHIy4BEW3tj6yib2KUaXt50nehV5z4gTCLaEPTV4P4LQPTX9N7LIrIsH1hGDjJJlCPBndOd_TTA4wsu8-S88VkjjlVULKh1VzpEEhQN6ysKz23mvVrQKjSBPkLO9wKa6S-7CVfQ/s320/up+the+long+creek+(8).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center">Dougie Vipond, Fred MacAulay, and Neil Baxter kayaking on Loch Lochy with the north face of Ben Nevis behind.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">As ever, it has been a busy few weeks, hence the enforced radio silence on my blog. I spent a couple of days away working for the BBC on the comic relief project were Dougie Vipond and Fred MacAulay had to kayak the Caledonian Canal. They rather admirably managed this, considering what the Scottish weather threw at them. They had to walk many of the canal stages due to the ice, while coping with temperatures down to -15C. The views in this amazing winter were, as ever in the Highlands, spectacular. I was there for the two 'cold' days, and managed to escape down the A82 in a blizzard that night before the snow gates on the road were closed. The last day was a nightmare for them, kayaking head on into an evil North Easterly, with massive swell on Loch Ness, as well as blizzard conditions. Here is a link to the BBC website for a gallery of pictures: <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/radioscotland/gallery/upthecreek/">http://www.bbc.co.uk/radioscotland/gallery/upthecreek/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAiVqP1SZIeJ8b1nqiEQA9jC4SH5-58bjdHStlyBC9Xv5u6M39EHBoYNTV_Kad3BNv8Q6tq3lqb82YxaM9afGVpiJwj7e1_ZHa9OmwD70UVYhtcLet7jYEe1IOfH5O6bzdL7L90s5hf0/s1600-h/_MG_8451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAiVqP1SZIeJ8b1nqiEQA9jC4SH5-58bjdHStlyBC9Xv5u6M39EHBoYNTV_Kad3BNv8Q6tq3lqb82YxaM9afGVpiJwj7e1_ZHa9OmwD70UVYhtcLet7jYEe1IOfH5O6bzdL7L90s5hf0/s320/_MG_8451.jpg" /></a></div><div align="center">They had to camp out, so here is a picture you won't see on the BBC website. Have a look at the picture of Fred before his first night under canvas on the above link, and here is one of said Fred the morning after...</div><div align="center"><br />
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</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-47167799062255518812010-02-03T14:49:00.000-08:002010-02-03T14:49:31.196-08:00Celebrity Munro Bagging and Library Avoidance...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhje5g-iZ__pSHh6DzaSIVfBKKi1EjTabFF-daT2h9R32N5PUfBt9yjWM6vdaFSMorbzpG3-166OgOPI0JnpJuV_oLrYFWubYOVoC82v5yjSly6oBUODl6SwoVKY-m6xOjGfowFEGJV6EA/s1600-h/_MG_7828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhje5g-iZ__pSHh6DzaSIVfBKKi1EjTabFF-daT2h9R32N5PUfBt9yjWM6vdaFSMorbzpG3-166OgOPI0JnpJuV_oLrYFWubYOVoC82v5yjSly6oBUODl6SwoVKY-m6xOjGfowFEGJV6EA/s320/_MG_7828.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Trying to hide from a blizzard while not in a university library...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sorry for the lack of posts as I have been otherwise engaged in the pursuit of my academic career, namely I have had a load of essays to do and haven't been climbing. As I write, the snow is falling outside, in fact it started today when I was appropriately positioned on top of a mountain. Rather wonderfully it covered the hideously icy path I came up turning the decent into an absolute nightmare, meaning it took me two and half hours to the top, but three and a half down. Not nice, and I've the bruises to prove it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've been working on an essay on the Middle East that has managed to remove all my memories of a vibrant emotive place with one of complexities, but most likely not in the right order. The mantra of always answer the question was lost in a rambling, mixed up prose lacking the detail and thought I'd like to think I put into my articles on the said Middle East. Basically I'm making the excuse for it before I get it back, and am looking for another part of the world to cover, unfortunately the topic of the essay I'm, or should be working on now. Above this text should be a picture of me in the uni library, rambling happily on the keyboard. But due to the stress of 3 days waiting in for three mornings, for deliveries that have not arrived, well one did and I got it from the neighbours when I got home, but that is beside the point I had to get out. So I did in a blizzard. And my books that I need to finish this essay have still to arrive, one month after ordering them. Arghhhh! Anyway enough ranting, and after only going up stupid climbs for several years, so far this year I've inadvertently climbed through no plan, three munros. Two of these with celebrity climbers as well, who are probably as shocked that they have become munroists. Evidence below...Anyway back to Kashmir...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd47RogfZEWui-VmZ30YEfnc_mwUl14EYZglW0LcTewBR9wyoIBYpMlSwCd8fGU5_dkpitWSvS0ZZ0QYra_QmiMF4OAewb4s2xVeoeS9vVGmv7eAv_m0AK7deyM5W0ZGN9ZC1MKhp9M7o/s1600-h/_MG_7110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd47RogfZEWui-VmZ30YEfnc_mwUl14EYZglW0LcTewBR9wyoIBYpMlSwCd8fGU5_dkpitWSvS0ZZ0QYra_QmiMF4OAewb4s2xVeoeS9vVGmv7eAv_m0AK7deyM5W0ZGN9ZC1MKhp9M7o/s320/_MG_7110.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Celebrity Munroist no.1 Dave MacLeod on Buchaille Etive Mhor</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0375kxkqngb6qmqOUOibBV3_VyugCsAz2_vp2NgpBtswE9h_qd_xu__N_Fe57A-jIqkuG_YqfH-kkSJy7m7c2X5jq5HQSnqOaDB2FIxC3-T2oJ0GFSlyWlX8vAZ0I-N9zwBXolRc_4A/s1600-h/_MG_7816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb0375kxkqngb6qmqOUOibBV3_VyugCsAz2_vp2NgpBtswE9h_qd_xu__N_Fe57A-jIqkuG_YqfH-kkSJy7m7c2X5jq5HQSnqOaDB2FIxC3-T2oJ0GFSlyWlX8vAZ0I-N9zwBXolRc_4A/s320/_MG_7816.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Celebrity Munroist no.2 Andy Turner on Beinn Dorain</div><div align="center"></div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-60195396880092026742010-01-22T18:48:00.000-08:002010-01-22T18:48:13.515-08:00A Varied Life...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8s8PhTQ6dcWnqnK5KjMofAANoOJ4tH1_V2Rhng-AaJ3C3OE5bKaBJyssbZPDeyZUIfBCw7AJFgpBwpk2OhChwQzctc6btEO7sTO291u56gnOmm_0MUayD4DFk421nzTJSyumnRTyfzY/s1600-h/_MG_7489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8s8PhTQ6dcWnqnK5KjMofAANoOJ4tH1_V2Rhng-AaJ3C3OE5bKaBJyssbZPDeyZUIfBCw7AJFgpBwpk2OhChwQzctc6btEO7sTO291u56gnOmm_0MUayD4DFk421nzTJSyumnRTyfzY/s320/_MG_7489.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Katie Laffoley by Steven Gordon<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Its been a busy week. It started with the usual nightmare journey up the A82 in a mixture of rain and sleet on a slidely road avoiding the crack suicide deer squad of the West Highlands. Then up Buchaille Etive Mhor, in the most painful rain, then sleet, then snow, then ice powered on a hideous wind for Mountain Equipment. Dave MacLeod came along, as we rediscovered the joys of walking up a Munro in proper style. They were taking the staff of Cotswolds on the annual winter skills course, and boy, did they get winter! I realised how spoiled you become by only photographing the routes at the high end of climbing; if the route isn't right, you go home; if it snows, to hell with it, time to go home. Once upon a time you went out whatever the weather, and Sunday was one of those days! Harsh but a pleasure, followed by tea in the Clachaig Inn, somewhere that brings the happiest youthful memories flooding back. But miserable weather... More at <a href="http://www.mtnequipment.blogspot.com/">http://www.mtnequipment.blogspot.com/</a> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not too bad to start...<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Proper kit needed up top...<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Is it rain? Is it snow? Character building, whatever it is...<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dave goes for it on a soggy waterfall<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Later in the week I was working for Enable Scotland, and got to photograph the delightful Katie Laffoley, with her inspirational mother Mhairi. Katie was born with part of her brain missing, and has the cognitive ability of a 5 month old baby, but has the most absorbing, wonderful character. Her family spend every bit of energy on her, and worship every move she makes. Her life is very emotionally intensive, but with the care her family give, it is an absolute inspiration. Enable Scotland allow her parents respite and support, and it was a privilege to photograph Katie and Mhairi. More can be read on Enable Scotland at <a href="http://www.enable.org.uk/">http://www.enable.org.uk/</a>. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Today I photographed the actor Alfie Willcot, ending a busy week. I love the variety and privilege of dealing with people in different circumstances. Don't think I'm ready for an office job just yet....<br />
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</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-4689857755731819392010-01-13T15:22:00.000-08:002010-01-13T15:36:09.059-08:00Finally Some Pictures and Less Text<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7t-rwEPY3w-eonxR7HqwXq-UUbN2iymHG07kicdvy5SeYmQzQ5kGDHozSAnCVRrv_y3vzkemmMKaaffRXlV3q5ddjR4BaDOryia7AQXXLetcQMbTwUiOgnplNtQxqu7FqQdGEpo9opQ/s1600-h/_MG_6882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7t-rwEPY3w-eonxR7HqwXq-UUbN2iymHG07kicdvy5SeYmQzQ5kGDHozSAnCVRrv_y3vzkemmMKaaffRXlV3q5ddjR4BaDOryia7AQXXLetcQMbTwUiOgnplNtQxqu7FqQdGEpo9opQ/s400/_MG_6882.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dave MacLeod on his new line Jane's Weep, VIII 8(I'd say!) on Aonach Dubh, Glen Coe. Photograph by Steven Gordon<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The A82 tried it's best to stop me getting out and shooting some pics but a few rants and some nifty sliding in the snow got me to Glen Coe two hours late. I'd arranged to meet up with Dave MacLeod and Blair Fyffe, who had spotted some new ice lines on the east side of Aonach Dubh. I'd set off at a leisurely 8:00am thinking to myself that one of the greatest pleasures in life is heading the opposite way than the rush hour traffic. When one is headed into the mountains for a day's work as opposed to an office, the perils of the work seem to disappear. Just as my smugness was reaching an irritating level, I ran into one of the worst traffic jams in history. The A82 was closed again, this time by an over-turned lorry, cargo spilled over the road as well as a genourous quantity of diesel. Strathclyde's finest were busy trying to make it worse by sending lorries down side streets and diverting cars going in the opposite direction back into the jam. An hour and a half later I finally abandoned, heading back into Glasgow watching the last cold forecast of the week slip by, thinking that the Mr.MacLeod would be laughing on fat ice while I couldn't make it more than 5 miles out of town. A ridiculous diversion, a dodgy snowy road and 2 hrs late, I was heading up the path for Stob Coire Nan Lochan in Glen Coe. An hour uphill, bit of a sweat and I found Blair disappearing up the last stretch of a beautiful line of thin ice with a mixed start. By the time I was set up Dave was onto the middle line, the one photographed above. A sketchy mixed start, onto an ice dribble, then a push for better ice but slightly overhanging. I'll update the grades and names of the routes, but for now enough of my rambling and here are the pics.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All Photographs, Copyright Steven Gordon<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dave MacLeod<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Blair Fyffe<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Team Pic, hmm won't be using this for my profile pic...<br />
</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-87573232289682535262010-01-09T06:51:00.000-08:002010-01-09T06:54:22.674-08:00The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nksatmBhzsKNKl-6goQTy0uCxDw3cczp_xGYDoZOiuxq_lHSmGc0IEzNvxcfe9OvHhahCoeJd8dKIlM53nFAuQ-QyaipPJB0F76kl7rLQnfMTlDumKgohs8TohWIBz8TWXCyDMNHA2c/s1600-h/_MG_6667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nksatmBhzsKNKl-6goQTy0uCxDw3cczp_xGYDoZOiuxq_lHSmGc0IEzNvxcfe9OvHhahCoeJd8dKIlM53nFAuQ-QyaipPJB0F76kl7rLQnfMTlDumKgohs8TohWIBz8TWXCyDMNHA2c/s320/_MG_6667.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Buchaille Etive Mor on a perfect day<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As a winter climber all you dream off is a cold winter; a properly cold one. Unfortunately with this one I'm going to sound like a British tourist abroad moaning that it is too hot, but this winter is too cold... It is pretty hard to explain to the layman that the ice is only forming low down, and that the extreme cold is stopping the buttresses being plastered with snow, effectively stopping all the high end climbing. Or that the acres of powder snow are making many routes virtually impossible to access, unless you have the desire to swim waist-deep for several hours uphill. And finally to the roads, Britain's Achilles Heel in anything below freezing, making the continent seem like some efficient seldom troubled land....<br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJvPTiOx7xzm-BTLKg1L5DkVqZdDQRQOXiuNnmjlBHYl9EPEO6Sy7Yx0DuZOlYs9xScw2M2_yTeCAduofIvOr5V0WNT-tis-FQNvRZUszUC115xOPAXry1ZahJMIMHAFBMsvZqm_C7Ao/s1600-h/_MG_6654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJvPTiOx7xzm-BTLKg1L5DkVqZdDQRQOXiuNnmjlBHYl9EPEO6Sy7Yx0DuZOlYs9xScw2M2_yTeCAduofIvOr5V0WNT-tis-FQNvRZUszUC115xOPAXry1ZahJMIMHAFBMsvZqm_C7Ao/s320/_MG_6654.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The road to Glen Nevis<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Tuesday I hatched a master plan, I was to drive to Fort William, arrive by 12, meet with Di Gilbert and Kev Shields and head up Glen Nevis to climb the rarely formed Steall Falls, newly frozen in the recent cold snap. Seemingly they haven't formed as well since the 70's, so the attraction to go was strong. We would have a short day out, then the next day head down to Ben Udlaidh for some more ice. The temperature was low, the sun was to be out, what more could ice climbers wish for? <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Firstly the A82 bit back; A truck and a bus decided to play chicken on a narrow bridge, resulting in both getting stuck. 6 miles from my target, and all I could do was get my head down for the next 2hrs waiting on the two lovers forced together to be pulled apart, while the snow continued to fall from the sunshine forecast sky. Kev and Di headed on up the Glen ahead of me, in Kev's swanky 4x4, probably watching some DVD's on the in car screens in the back while ploughing through the snow in absolute luxury, while I'd make my own way up in my humble Skoda, cap in hand to catch up. Just as I thought, "hmmm this road is a bit silly, perhaps I should park up and walk," I came across Kev, Di, Matt and Adam (Matt and Adam had similar fun in their van, read about it on <a href="http://hughesmountaineering.blogspot.com/">http://hughesmountaineering.blogspot.com/</a> ) trying to persuade Kev's car to go in a straight line. The afore mentioned 4x4 was abandoned, we all retreated from the Glen to try and summon help to get the car. Alan Kimber came to our rescue, bringing his proper 4x4 to try and haul Kev back down. ,(thank you Allan, but please please rectify the accusation of us being east coasters on your blog. Kev and I have pretty thick skins, but even though Kev is partial to the term "Ye Ken" we are from the West! <a href="http://www.westcoast-mountainguides.co.uk/blog/blog.htm">http://www.westcoast-mountainguides.co.uk/blog/blog.htm</a> ) With the aid of another Land Rover, we managed to shift the car 10 metres. Imagine driving a car with no control down a single track road, with a ravine on one side and more ice than a devout Scottish Presbyterian father-in-law, and the decision to abandon was made easily. Back to the Fort for tea and medals early, until another rescue bid for the car that didn't deserve this much attention was made by the mountain rescue team of all people...<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dragged kicking and screaming from a warm pub to venture out into a blizzard to try and place snow chains too small for posing tyres in the dark tries one's patients. Try to drive the said car while it tries to drag the Land Rover down the ravine after it while you hang out the door ready to jump also does. Lets say another noble rescue attempt ended in failure and a return to the pub fro my dinner ordered 3 hrs beforehand. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCNEIvcJzWagaRMOGffLyX-05q-gMVUYcjRXp7kbpfAsw8lhzNRzyuMXP9vhTwzi6ZJEEd7o_rCA_AHdot6A_BR6RvH0w_4DF0Fra02MS_ce-yZW4Hivv01XRwEcDbq9WuD4Xpm3UztE/s1600-h/_MG_6656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCNEIvcJzWagaRMOGffLyX-05q-gMVUYcjRXp7kbpfAsw8lhzNRzyuMXP9vhTwzi6ZJEEd7o_rCA_AHdot6A_BR6RvH0w_4DF0Fra02MS_ce-yZW4Hivv01XRwEcDbq9WuD4Xpm3UztE/s200/_MG_6656.jpg" /></a><a href="http://hughesmountaineering.blogspot.com/"></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTwJUqzqfR5uyGSLrYqgddE1SP3UdI6ox_F7eTq9kH7HRCuPb8ks67LsuISeg54B5-Bf3Vsn3w-BMv0P4bM3XXzm1EzJFtFh5-1nP_AGEHvhAaxftvYl8f39N1upMtCFJ0tirh8HKwdE/s1600-h/_MG_6659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTwJUqzqfR5uyGSLrYqgddE1SP3UdI6ox_F7eTq9kH7HRCuPb8ks67LsuISeg54B5-Bf3Vsn3w-BMv0P4bM3XXzm1EzJFtFh5-1nP_AGEHvhAaxftvYl8f39N1upMtCFJ0tirh8HKwdE/s200/_MG_6659.jpg" /></a><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYQSR05Dc93pI08uz8SNdD8VS3NKGxig8QZURSkoqdrdsm6VfNiSPVRG0hshD-vdP6H7H02Ulx_tWteaV8Pl5-J2VCscwmqbv4Fchl8fUm7BbzNLqKK-MO8VgwbS7AF_IGqHrOFiziPA/s1600-h/_MG_6661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAYQSR05Dc93pI08uz8SNdD8VS3NKGxig8QZURSkoqdrdsm6VfNiSPVRG0hshD-vdP6H7H02Ulx_tWteaV8Pl5-J2VCscwmqbv4Fchl8fUm7BbzNLqKK-MO8VgwbS7AF_IGqHrOFiziPA/s200/_MG_6661.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Di searches for a weather forecast that promises whatever she plans. Joys of the net...<br />
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</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Our plans for Wednesday had now gone the same way as those of Tuesday... Di was of to lead an expedition in South America on Friday as well as battle the snow of the East, and Kev had to get the car down, or it might have lain for a month before the road suitably defrosted. After a night of Arctic training in Kev and Blair's 70's retro pad, I decided to at least get out for a walk, and scope out some routes that I wanted to photograph on. I raced down across a sublime Rannoch Moor to Bridge of Orchy, to try and catch up with Matt and Adam on Messiah, and to see Defenders of the Faith. Once again I may have not climbed or got any pics for work, but it was one of the most perfect days to be in the mountains. I descended in the sunset, with a herd of deer on the horizon as the sun fell casting an orange alpenglow over the whole landscape. It was worth it for that hour alone. Oh, and an RAC guy drove Kev's car down the track...<br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49jM73aQ2zaw2TfeoBLKavuayLxc0MPYo6lcPsP-qsxA9VidlvpipiCuQqDgFF78yzi70ZYWs9W_4pL2fCcAg87q-KlXQ2QRuOM0WTb7cCil0zsKtOBrO2nNcTgJP4x1Dr_CRL3ZXumc/s1600-h/_MG_6707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49jM73aQ2zaw2TfeoBLKavuayLxc0MPYo6lcPsP-qsxA9VidlvpipiCuQqDgFF78yzi70ZYWs9W_4pL2fCcAg87q-KlXQ2QRuOM0WTb7cCil0zsKtOBrO2nNcTgJP4x1Dr_CRL3ZXumc/s320/_MG_6707.jpg" /></a> Creag an Socach near Bridge of Orchy<br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFhLxT2lMA17WI1dJFP9lhV7mY_jKkc-ChyphenhyphenuL7FOK8f9aLAisz6OE50nG-9vN-3u0U6TzPNa6KxQHYgRHcJ7nV1hEVUBYukbGZ4VFVVMLbZF0lkkP1MK3UTVE9eW2hcGcuuuNahXWe5k/s1600-h/_MG_6701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFhLxT2lMA17WI1dJFP9lhV7mY_jKkc-ChyphenhyphenuL7FOK8f9aLAisz6OE50nG-9vN-3u0U6TzPNa6KxQHYgRHcJ7nV1hEVUBYukbGZ4VFVVMLbZF0lkkP1MK3UTVE9eW2hcGcuuuNahXWe5k/s320/_MG_6701.jpg" /></a> Matt and Adam on the last pitch of Second Coming<br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxn6pPl56iKix2JdutyyfGex5Wuk2TJUpmKf7q0N0Fw8DV0Gj-AuDPsiODZhjJcgU0-_GfenjPtvrZh8tcEKVo6rMdqyrOqRG8EpA-wZMpehdHOM6FlgLXMpz2LZNaoY0mc57EPQ6NHtU/s1600-h/_MG_6719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxn6pPl56iKix2JdutyyfGex5Wuk2TJUpmKf7q0N0Fw8DV0Gj-AuDPsiODZhjJcgU0-_GfenjPtvrZh8tcEKVo6rMdqyrOqRG8EpA-wZMpehdHOM6FlgLXMpz2LZNaoY0mc57EPQ6NHtU/s320/_MG_6719.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> View North at sunset...<br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3miiVbjM3EKjkok8wZ2dYQ-ZIJ2-vvj-ekOwkiIgzvc4AntaHk8jZ2m93D9ZQfnETIAlqu9eNOsLz1EMSfOgQtXgMra8Ipv1-YEjsVa9j3OXGibRGWC3cQ_9XpdG-J6UOUoW5w4jkmUc/s1600-h/_MG_6725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3miiVbjM3EKjkok8wZ2dYQ-ZIJ2-vvj-ekOwkiIgzvc4AntaHk8jZ2m93D9ZQfnETIAlqu9eNOsLz1EMSfOgQtXgMra8Ipv1-YEjsVa9j3OXGibRGWC3cQ_9XpdG-J6UOUoW5w4jkmUc/s200/_MG_6725.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmHgDgdRWJ-I8z1o8QE7hAAQDyaMCRq86xZ5FWq_7HDBUnULNAU9jIrCsTA5MYOUpxV4zeftBuebZLQKI_3p7WItFcDYb-7XIWmr25kVXXTkeFcU3-YahXp3WjaX9ZtUzd1x1tf1fCe0/s1600-h/_MG_6735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmHgDgdRWJ-I8z1o8QE7hAAQDyaMCRq86xZ5FWq_7HDBUnULNAU9jIrCsTA5MYOUpxV4zeftBuebZLQKI_3p7WItFcDYb-7XIWmr25kVXXTkeFcU3-YahXp3WjaX9ZtUzd1x1tf1fCe0/s400/_MG_6735.jpg" /></a> Deer on the near horizon above Glen Orchy at sunset<br />
</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-12293524556701433972009-12-31T05:19:00.000-08:002009-12-31T05:26:15.063-08:00Banishing the Birthday Blues...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Nn87BkyBHYdomBtD5Zs27sT_-gQ4bCpEae2uv8bkwiOXtX1zi_FX8IjsPa8YMoYS_k50BR-LdfOhVLA7rxuUqffKhKjJk7HloybaX5ge1aR335vOGEtdnFJmH-RcdU2njn0oHYxFGVE/s1600-h/_MG_6268.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Nn87BkyBHYdomBtD5Zs27sT_-gQ4bCpEae2uv8bkwiOXtX1zi_FX8IjsPa8YMoYS_k50BR-LdfOhVLA7rxuUqffKhKjJk7HloybaX5ge1aR335vOGEtdnFJmH-RcdU2njn0oHYxFGVE/s320/_MG_6268.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The joys of freelancing over the Christmas period. Everybody else seems to be lulled into the wonderful sense of security by knowing when your wages will actually arrive. Anybody in a functioning office is counting the seconds till they escape again for New Year, after grudgingly dragging their hull back after Christmas. The simple question of "Why has my money not been paid?" is met with, "Well the accounts department doesn't work until the 4th of January, so call back then, oh, and have a good New Year!" I won't, I'm bloody skint because of your somewhat easy going accounts department, and I have wasted a good part of the day dealing with your non-phone answering skills your so well paid for. Sod it; it's my birthday, my heart is feeling heavy, and my plans to go climbing have gone tits up, due to a 60mph wind and more of the white stuff. At 1.00pm the car is loaded and I head north to the first possible mountain to at least get out. Lower down the wind isn't too bad, the road seems clearish, and I'm going to display all the carisma of a bedroom bound teenager if I don't get out. The road conditions slowly get worse, two lanes in the dirty snow pointing the way forward, while the car slides about. Just as I'm starting to think my day is totally doomed, the sky clears, so does the road, I gently put the car into a bend to test for ice and the wheels grip. I come over the crest of Stockiemuir Road, and laid out before in a panorama that never disappoints, is the bowl with Loch Lomond in the foreground, and the Highlands beginning at the top. The land seems to glow in her new white armour, the Kilpatricks to the left, Campsies to the right, Highlands ahead, I drop a gear and turn up the stereo as the car accelerates forward, my heart rising from the gloom and soaring with the hills. I head for Ben Lomond, thinking if I run up her I can make the summit by 3:30pm, and be back down in time for darkness, tea and medals. <br />
I gun the car to Rowardennan, park up and start to walk up. The path is icey, but not too bad. I feel good after the hedonism of the past month and hammer on up the path, clearing the tree line in 20 minutes, the sky dark but the summits clear. I was making good time until I hit the ridge line, then the realisation of why I hadn't climbed hit me, or should I say the wind hit me. A South African bearing a snow board on his back gingerly steping down the iced path warned me I'd need googles to summit. (The South African accent is rather distinct; being Glasgwegian I am very aware of such details, this particular accent reminds Glaswegians, Scousers, Brummies and Geordies that some are more out there than others. I guessed he was South African but would happily bet all my meagre wages that he was. Clive James wonderfully described two South Africans having an arguement, stating, "I knew they were South African because A. They sat either side of me and argued across and B. They sounded like they were trying to club each other to death with speech.) Gusting at 60-70mph I struggled to breath in the onslaught of spindrift, fighting to stay upright, let alone walk uphill. I soldiered on for another 30 minutes before I had to admit defeat. The summit was in sight, but hardly Everest it was time to head back down. Any other day it would be a failure but today, my birthday, it was a triumph. I missed my kids, missed Meri painfully, but to be out in the twilight buffeted by the freezing wind seemed to help more than any pub, club or restaurant. Being born on the 30th of December is a bit of a pain in the arse on a good day; it is coveniently forgotten, after the Christmas rush, and overlooked for New Year. As a kid it hurt even more, in the 1980's materialistic grab a birthday equated to the same as Christmas: eg, to days to get proper presents, such as bikes, skateboards etc, for me it has always been just another day, no parties, no celebrations as everybody is either more concerned with New Year, or trying to forget Christmas. What I have found is that if I head into the hills in winter everyday feels like a birthday should. Anyway that evening I broke my no alcohol policy to head into the West End with an old friend, and to giggle like school kids over the distant past. Have a happy New Year. This ones going to be big.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BmW9pZicPxv6l8Gp7H_vknk80a16ZH0NGuUehBApUFmT8CvWRcDY7V9LnNWlZiQqdtGRX8eyhoG6ejYvtwOFpoBSIlIpGteNLAICTrzLsn9W0hPGHt5lp77lBY1Bi1gYJS8pmxWm2wc/s1600-h/_MG_6256.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BmW9pZicPxv6l8Gp7H_vknk80a16ZH0NGuUehBApUFmT8CvWRcDY7V9LnNWlZiQqdtGRX8eyhoG6ejYvtwOFpoBSIlIpGteNLAICTrzLsn9W0hPGHt5lp77lBY1Bi1gYJS8pmxWm2wc/s320/_MG_6256.jpg" /></a><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fWyChROrQSswyID5Q8pnRKegCOwAswaX5UnL40NFw1yfoi8VwFafAPRaZ2QdaIhVGJfXJUAQfDuMgd5TT8OTGYszBIcax9lau71aW738TzjS-_ZESV1MqRMOZZwH7SYxkUDZ-J4tIbo/s1600-h/_MG_6282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5fWyChROrQSswyID5Q8pnRKegCOwAswaX5UnL40NFw1yfoi8VwFafAPRaZ2QdaIhVGJfXJUAQfDuMgd5TT8OTGYszBIcax9lau71aW738TzjS-_ZESV1MqRMOZZwH7SYxkUDZ-J4tIbo/s320/_MG_6282.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-6293999953562351702009-12-28T07:06:00.000-08:002009-12-28T07:11:42.190-08:00back to the Cathedral, Boxing day 2009<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3DAP1frW7Fa_ATd3q5xhSxmjqrfehtHMuxnsg7DTx2SEbuv8hc1H1WLp6Z6sjVIniAqCCXX1tPsF_EqVJbQgNbRd0U9XY-Zk4Ap4ZAtowiuZ5MKwCrmrSUo0WSC8qdOoVp3G0T7Mt1Y/s1600-h/_MG_6179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3DAP1frW7Fa_ATd3q5xhSxmjqrfehtHMuxnsg7DTx2SEbuv8hc1H1WLp6Z6sjVIniAqCCXX1tPsF_EqVJbQgNbRd0U9XY-Zk4Ap4ZAtowiuZ5MKwCrmrSUo0WSC8qdOoVp3G0T7Mt1Y/s320/_MG_6179.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: arial;">Dear all I hope this post finds you all well after the Christmas onslaught. I have finally decieded to get my act together and get the Website and the Blog up and running after many moons of doing anything but! The Website which is at <a href="http://www.stevengordon.eu/">http://www.stevengordon.eu/</a> will be up and live mid-January, now there are no copyright issues blocking the way. I'll keep everybody informed as to what is happening through the blog, providing links to where work is published, as well when I post new galleries. In the meantime, you'll have to put up with my rants here, where I plan to keep everybody up to date with what I'm working on, and my travels as they happen. So far I have an ambitious plan for the new year, I'll be mainly working in the highlands of Scotland till the end of January, then Kosovo, then need to start the research for my thesis with a stint in Afghanistan early Febuary, back to the Highlands, March all to plan the Alps, then once again to Cambridge. This is the plan, but as ever, it may change...</span><br />
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<div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Anyway the plan at this stage is to try and get as many people following me on here, with links to my sponsors and clients websites, using facebook (steven gordon glasgow) and twitter (stevengordon72) to publisise the posts, please add me if possible, and all comments on the posts are greatly appreciated! Here is wishing you all a fantastic and productive New Year once it finally arrives. As for me I'm starting it in the hills once again! I'm staring my posts with a description and pictures from yesterday, of Kevin Shields attempting a line on the Cobbler. I really wished to start the blog with striking pictures and a success story, but the reality of photographing Scottish Winter Climbing struck home on the first day of this new season for me...</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7aJX7yQ5ogwXQeeoGrCQng7ZW4Dz1Bx7W4sNsQ0idug3M6TSG3iYjwF6eDs7ls5zu9xnN1yC-Fmdn7dpkvhv9Kn0nQ8vyjQvTvOzImwOr_IDSVNmDyb2-N3BbXpkR3cyPqHX2kySAz4/s1600-h/_MG_6187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7aJX7yQ5ogwXQeeoGrCQng7ZW4Dz1Bx7W4sNsQ0idug3M6TSG3iYjwF6eDs7ls5zu9xnN1yC-Fmdn7dpkvhv9Kn0nQ8vyjQvTvOzImwOr_IDSVNmDyb2-N3BbXpkR3cyPqHX2kySAz4/s320/_MG_6187.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfg6trOBolUX3lgKOGfm5M93hPuGqsZ7yZLdQnpDejMB9T8npxx0WfGbIhbhhyW3j2qxnmE_07A-KBAG6gHibte7jabYMqrWhBRZW2yYo7pTl3iNUB9lNh6EZJDfVWBnaRNGRyw8n14g/s1600-h/_MG_6174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtfg6trOBolUX3lgKOGfm5M93hPuGqsZ7yZLdQnpDejMB9T8npxx0WfGbIhbhhyW3j2qxnmE_07A-KBAG6gHibte7jabYMqrWhBRZW2yYo7pTl3iNUB9lNh6EZJDfVWBnaRNGRyw8n14g/s320/_MG_6174.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">It never gets any easier. that is in particular the amount of kit you have carry to photograph in the hills. Laid out on my bed is the usual deal, about 70lbs to to drag uphill. Plus the camera that took the picture as well. We headed off for the Cobbler, at the beginning of the Southern Highlands, the car slipping on the road as the sleet turned to snow, lying on an already iced A82. Now, like most climbers, I have several walk ins to the crags that I hate. Top of the list must be the hawl up the climbers path to the actual climbs on the Cobbler, 2hrs uphill in deep snow carrying the above load, made worse by the month's hedonism of no exercise and Guiness for lunch and dinner at Cambridge and in Kosovo. Usually the Cobbler comes first in the season, hence the memory of hating the climb so much. As ever it didn't dissapoint as a frighteningly fit Kevin Shields dissapeared into the distance. Kev was joined by his work mate Christina, and Sam, having the pleasure of holding the rope while Kev hopefully hung upside down above. I slaved up behind, regretting my lack of self-control everytime somebody asked if I wanted another pint...</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DWG2-uSTxyrGMCaH8tFLJOC9jCH1-qcXaBSNCk8q1EvkJmU6LMd6LFfw-rg2dIuvOiyZxwWfWiSNm0rbDPJ3bN0lMGbp5g7DPGedDJ6bfVM_Pm8V6zBI4X9D-2464RiuZJvdtVqsXQo/s1600-h/_MG_6229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DWG2-uSTxyrGMCaH8tFLJOC9jCH1-qcXaBSNCk8q1EvkJmU6LMd6LFfw-rg2dIuvOiyZxwWfWiSNm0rbDPJ3bN0lMGbp5g7DPGedDJ6bfVM_Pm8V6zBI4X9D-2464RiuZJvdtVqsXQo/s320/_MG_6229.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">The route Kev was attempting is called Cathedral(graded X11), first climbed by Dave MacLeod in 2004. I've been on the line a few times now, with Kev on previous attempts, as well as with Dave on his first attempt. It is maybe the third hardest line in Scotland, possibly one of the hardest of its kind in the world. Now for any climber this is a challenge, but for Kev slightly more as he only has one fully functioning hand. He uses a prosthetic ice axe, enabling him to climb on ice and rock. When a route is good for his technique, there is no problem, however when the moves require simple tecniques such as swapping axes, he is in trouble. Unfortunately after 3hrs on the line, he had to back off due to one of the moves forcing his body weight away from the rock, making the move too risky to execute</span><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">So after the massive amount of effort to get to the route, I was reminded of the joys of photographing in Scotland. Until you actually see the route you do not know the conditions; add in the factor that the weather can change at any time, plus the unknown quantity of weather the climber will actually be able to do it, and you understand the labour of love it is. Am I dissapointed? Yes, slightly, but when I think back some of my best pictures were over a year in the making. As for me and Kev, we are back out on Wednesday so watch this space...</span><br />
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</div>Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1409832765916088693.post-15767433155484799432009-12-23T04:19:00.000-08:002009-12-23T04:20:55.672-08:00First Climb of the Season...Finally, finally, getting out into the snow after watching it fall for the past few days. Will update on our progress tomorrow night...Steven Gordonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06677150147749662812noreply@blogger.com0