Taita Taveta

A handful of shots from a village in south-eastern Kenya. May 2012.

NGO-funded water kiosk. Villagers travel by foot and bicycle for many miles to purchase water from the tapstand managed by this kiosk. The system was installed via a combination of NGO, government and community-raised funding. Several years ago, the management of the project was handed entirely over to the community, and it continues to operate as planned, with revenue from the sale of water going back into maintaining and even expanding the existing water distribution network. It was an encouraging success to see at work, and a moment of sustainable development to be proud of.

A bicycle leans against a mud-brick building in the village centre.

A fruit and vegetable stall in the village centre.

Close Enclownter

After an eighteen-month hiatus, I finally got back into the water in Fiji.  Or not so much into it, but under it.  And I got to take my camera (the Powershot G9, not, sadly, the 5D) swimming too.

The snorkelling along the beach was fantastic- probably the most beautiful beachside reef I’ve ever had the opportunity to explore (more on that presently).  However I did also get the chance to do a little diving as well.  A refresher dip, just so I could recall how to submerge myself without panicking/drowning/getting decompression illness.  Then a shark dive (way to ease yourself back into the hobby), replete with Grey, White-Tip and Black-Tip Reefers, Grey Nurses, and a couple of pretty bulky Lemon Sharks as well.  Awesome fun- but sadly, in my haste (and a tickle of nervousness as well) I accidentally left the camera on the boat.

I also did a dive with my fiancee.  It was her first, an explorer dive, which she very bravely accomplished with the instructor with just 15 minutes’ worth of briefing- something I never would have done.  But I managed to remember my camera this time, and took it along to document the fun, and explore the reef at the same time.

As I’ve mentioned before, anemonefish are great subjects, because unlike most fish, which scurry away the moment you home in on them like a cycloptic predator, anemonefish tend to stay put.  You know where to find them (check out your nearest anemone), and not only do they not swim away, they often charge at you, all teeth and tiny bouts of indignance.

This little reel is a set of six colourful shots I managed to snatch of one pair of such little critters.  The combination of bright colours, the exotic location, and the semi-translucent tentacles of the anemone itself, all make for fun viewing.  I hope you enjoy.

For the record, I suspect that the little fishies showcased here are all Cinnamon or Fire Anemonefish (Amphiprion Melanopus)- a little different from the Anemone Clownfish of Nemo fame which most people are familiar with.  I have no idea what the anemones are (there are at least two species shown here).

More Fiji shots- above and below water- to come.

Note: Photo at top taken snorkelling in Blue Lagoon; photos at bottom taken diving at depth ~10m on Blue Lagoon Reef.

Dragon’s Lair

I snapped this shot of a DSE controlled back-burn in the Otway Ranges south and west of Melbourne, from a vantage point just off the Great Ocean Road. To the naked eye, the fire was visible as the faintest of glows behind the crest of the hills and as a slight reddish tinge on the underside of the clouds. A long-exposure photograph reveals not just the column of dark smoke and the way in which the mid-level winds are blowing it across the sky, but also soak up the ambient light the fire casts onto the clouds of smoke above. Those directly over the fire obviously catch the most intense light, which then fades outwards as though the clouds themselves are burning. We don’t normally think of the sky as a reflector of light in quite such a visible way, but here it’s almost like the smoke was a mirror capturing the ferocity and location of the fire beneath it.

The red-orange hues, the darkness, the columns of smoke and the coiled shape the clouds have taken on all reminded me of some sinister dragon’s lair- an apt metaphor in drought-stricken Victoria where bushfires lurk with destructive malice, waiting for the slightest excuse to cause devastation. This back-burn, I’m happy to say, was in control and over within 48 hours, but it was interesting to watch its effect on the clouds and the sky as I was out and about with my camera.  The second shot also captures some of the starry night sky above the smoke- a nice comparison.

Sunset Drifting

A fisherman poles his canoe, or pinasse, down the Niger River at sunset.  Not even ten minutes from the heart of Niger’s capital, Niamey, the feeling along the riverbanks is of a time far older and simpler than the quaint, bustling Sahelian town.  During the painfully brief rainy season, the Niger- West Africa’s longest river- floods to over a kilometre wide here in the city, with a steady, weighty flow behind it.  During the crippling dry season, which lasts from October until June, the river all but dries up, and herders drive their cattle across the bed, and it’s narrow enough that you can cross all but a channel a dozen metres wide without getting your feet wet.

This author has, in fact, been silly enough to swim across the Niger while its waters are not in flood.  And, hippos notwithstanding, quite enjoyed the experience.

This shot was one of my favourite to come out of my time in Niger, and captured the serene beauty of the river which, in turn, turns Niamey from a dry and dusty outpost on the edge of the desert, into a restful and characterful watering hole in the midst of a land wracked with poverty and desolation.  Watching the sun set over the Niger River, cold beading beer in hand, was one of a handful of simple pleasures in that country where simple pleasures were few and far between- making them all the more precious when they came.

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The Tasmania Tour, Gate 1: Mount Wellington

I’ve earlier commented on some of Australia’s hidden gems. As a big country, I reckon there are a lot of places to hide things in Oz where people don’t hear about them. The Opera House, Kakadu National Park, Surfer’s Paradise- these are the names that bring tourists. A little local exploration uncovers the really fun stuff. Wilson’s Prom was a great example. Travelling the Oodnadatta Track in South Australia was another.

Tasmania is rife with such underrated pockets. The Belgium to Australia’s France, it’s considered an addendum to the mainland, windswept and cold compared to the tropical beaches of Queensland and Bondi, and without the classic desert stonescapes of the Red Centre. Inbred jokes about Tasmanians rival sheep jokes that plague Kiwis. It’s not really big on the backpacker circuit.

Which, in my opinion, is great. Though the backpackers certainly miss out.

We start with Hobart. A sleepy seaside city, its population of a quarter of a million people are dotted about on a series of wooded hills around a series of bays and harbours. A compact Central Business District which takes twenty minutes to cross by foot is clustered around the old fishing port- once the commercial heart of the city, and still the focus for attention. The artsy Salamanca area hosts a vibrant Saturday market loaded with local produce and crafts- an absolute must-see if you have even the slightest inkling of interest in either markets or food. After-hours, a string of pubs and bars provide a good array of vibes, cuisines, and a pretty good selection of beers as well (I feel posts on beers coming up in the near future…).

Half an hour’s drive from the CBD is the parking lot at Mt. Wellington. With its peak at 1,271m, it provides an eagle’s-nest view of the city and its environs, and juts defiantly out into the freezing gales of the Roaring Forties. This reality can’t be underestimated. The winds here are ferocious, and even in the height of summer, bitterly cold. Getting out of the car involves careful manouvering to ensure that the door is not ripped from its hinges and next seen fluttering like tin-foil past the mast of some circumpolar racing yacht somewhere off the Ross Ice Shelf. Taking a photo involves finding shelter and bracing yourself. I lost my sunglasses here after they were plucked from my head.

There’s not a lot to do at Mt. Wellington, to be honest, unless you like geology, or landscape photography. A fifteen minute visit gives you the views of the city and the rock formations by the visitor centre (a merciful haven from the howling winds). However if you can handle the weather, there’s a short (1+ hours return) walk from the parking lot out to a series of vertically-aligned weather-rounded rocks which I assume are igneous in origin, and painted a pleasing array of orange hues. There is network of little pathways across the flat top of the mountain which are not arduous, and the views of both the clusters of rocks and the valley below make for good scenery and interesting photo opportunities. Below the summit is a distinctive fluted cliff-face known as the Organ Pipes, but we managed to miss this.

Although it was overcast when we arrived at Mt. Wellington, during our stay there the clouds broke up and became dominated by blue. Fluffy puffs of condensed moisture scudded past in the sky, making the skyscape changeable and dramatic, and a perfect counterpoint for the rounded bulges of warm reddish rock. Personally I think landscape photography works far better when there is some cloud to add contrast and depth to an image, than a flat blue sky, and I really liked how some of the cloud-forms seemed to add this third dimension to the photos I took. All up it was a fun detour and a bracing burst of fresh air. Dress warm!

Next up: The Church and the Field

Moments in Space and Time #5: Niger River

Sunsets in Niamey were predictably beautiful, particularly in the months following the rainy season before so much dust obscured the atmosphere that the sun could lose itself in the haze. The near-desert air, tinged with sand particles, and cloud-free in the absence of reliable moisture, gave warm orange dusks while the sun itself showed its true colours as an orb of burning gas melting into the horizon.

The Niger River runs north-south through the city, with the bulk of Niamey on the east bank, from where several vantage points gave stunning aspects of the sun going down behind the river itself. From atop the hill on which was perched the Grande Hotel, we would sit with dew-drops wrapped around our cold beers and nibble on barbecued meat on an open poolside deck watching the sun slip behind a low rise of plateau-like hills a few miles away. Better still, from our favourite little hideaway the Diamangou, an old riverboat-turned-restaurant moored on the eastern bank away from the city centre, we would feel the slow gait of the moored craft beneath us as we enjoyed leisurely drinks beneath strings of fairy lights, watching fishermen pole past in their little pirogues and batting at persistent mosquitoes.

This photo was taken in September 2005, during an evening where most of our team had gathered in Niamey. Myself and several colleagues had spent most of our time in the border town of Maradi, close to Nigeria, which was where a large portion of our famine-relief activities were happening. Maradi was a hot, dusty and frenetic town, with little by way of entertainment and less by way of charm. By contrast, Niamey had excitements such as shops, restaurants and freshly-baked french bread that didn’t have the taste and texture of gritty dough.

The fisherman in this picture presumably came from the nearby village, and spent a few minutes moving up and down the bank close to the riverboat, pushing the canoe along with his pole. I took a few shots of him, but this was by far my favourite, shot just as he framed himself in pose, balanced with the backlight of the sun setting. The quiet lap of slow-moving water against the boat, the plop of the pole in the water, the sound of voices drifting through the bushes from the nearby village, soft conversation and buzzing insects all leant the place an exotic peace. The air was warm, the beer was chilled, and the company was good. While there were a lot of times from Niger I would choose never to revisit, this particular riverside moment is one I continue to cherish.

Ballina Sunrise

Sunrise viewed from the house I was staying at in Ballina last weekend.  Perched atop a hill overlooking the ocean, it had one of the most beautiful aspects of any property I’ve stayed in.  The sunrise didn’t have much cloud to catch the colour, but the view itself was perfect and the orange light speaks for itself.

I’ve framed the sun against strands from some grassy bush to add a little interest.  The reflection is in the river running through the narrow strip of land between the hills and the seashore, and I like how the underexposure has given it a texture of its own.  Shallow depth of field (wide aperture) has thrown the background out of focus and kept the nearest strands nice and sharp.

Hope you all have a lovely weekend.