Last spring I dropped my wife off at a friend’s and headed off to some local hills to try and take some glorious photos of the setting sun. I decided that a high vantage point was the order of the day, and decided to “trespass” into a disused quarry and climb up the side of a hill which looked somewhat overgrown.
I pressed through the four feet high brambles, using my Manfrotto tripod as a weapon to clear a way, scraped my way through thick hedges, scrambled up the side of muddy traverses and after a long hike with socks filled with prickly thorns made it to the top.
I spent fifteen or so minutes cursing the telegraph wires which were between myself and the fantastic sunset.
Then it dawned on me, getting down was going to be somewhat harder! Still, with my trusty tripod I thought all would be well. Half way down I spotted a short cut which would save me clawing my way through unforgiving blackberry bushes. I gingerly made my way towards the twenty foot drop down to a ditch, the other side of which was my destination.
I’d made sure my Nikon D80 camera was tightly packed away, tripod extended and planned my final descent.
Three seconds later I was upside down in the ditch, wondering whether I’d broken my arm or leg. I checked I could still move and dread was replaced with relief. Despite the fall and pain nothing was broken – as far as I could tell. I picked myself up, picked up my pride and hobbled the rest of the way to the car.
I never did tell my wife – she would only have berated me. It did occur to me however that I was no longer fifteen and would need to take more care when out on my own in the future!
The limits we photographers will go to in order to get the “perfect” shot.