Buller
120 creative works found
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A summer sunset at the top of Mt Buller looking west.
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This is one of the smaller “mollymawk” species of albatross, photographed on the open Southern Ocean. ID: F1_252A
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Sun right behind the Hut on Mt Buller, a perfect summer evening on the mountain. A few clouds, daises and only a little bit of climbing down in the dark.
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The first light streaks down the snow covered summit ridge line of Mt Buller, a worthy reward for the hour walking in the snow to get there !
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This is Moonlight Ridge at Mt Buller, some of our best out-of-bounds skiing and a magnificent view over the Howqua Valley. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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Pendergast Hut at Mount Buller, after one of the first snowfalls of the season. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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More steep skiing at Mount Buller. Other Action ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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A panorama across the Buller Resort from the summit, looking east toward Mt Stirling. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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Summer in the Victorian Alps, the sun sets into the bushfire smoke haze. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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A maze of snowgums in the Buller backcountry, stripped of their foliage by the bushfires last summer. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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The graphic Skyline run, Mt Buller. Some IR-type treatment in PS. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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Early on a winter morning, from Mount Buller. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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Chairs are buffeted by the snow guns before winter at Buller. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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Sunset over the mount, viewed from chamois. / Digital pic with some PS magic. Other Landscapes ... More mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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I just like this image.. a bit of fun. Taken up at Mt Buller
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Pendergast Hut, Mt Buller. Other Landscapes ... More Mountains ... More Mt Buller ...
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A field of lovely wildflowers on Mt Buller. / (This painting won a Highly Commended award) Pastel on Colourfix Paper / 35 cmx X 48 cms / Original SOLD
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MUCH BETTER VIEWED LARGER Mt Buller is a true wonderland where you can enjoy a new range of magical experiences. Feel the adrenalin as you mountain bike down a rocky trail or unwind in a luxurious day spa. Enjoy a tranquil meal overlooking amazing green slopes or go on a hunt for gnomes. At Mt Buller, there’s so much to discover. / / Mt Buller is the most accessible major alpine resort in Australia, located an easy three-hour from Melbourne. With stunning views and amazing runs, it is the ideal escape for an exhilarating day trip or extended weekend break This shot taken in summer 2009 shows the alps straddling the borders of the states of New South Wales and Victoria, this is the land of the Man From Snowy River. Equipment: Nikon D300 and Sigma 10-20mm lens
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Thanks to models Tori and Alex (links to profiles coming shortly) but special thanks to Greg Desiatov whom I shall credit with Art Director for this shot :P Greg actually deserves most of the credit for this shot, but I’ll let Greg explain that one hehe There is a story to this shot though, but its not what you think. This is not a story about fear or danger. This is the story of a princess, the princess has a plaything that she loves as her true friend. The princess loves to be pursued, so her plaything pursues her so she knows she is adored. The moral of the story is, that not all that seems to follow is as it seems to the outsider and some like to be pursued as the thrill of the chase is excitement as long as they want to be caught.
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Mount Buller / Canon 50D + Sigma 10-20mm / 4 second exposure @ f16 Hope everyone is enjoying their weekend.
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Rainbow at sunset in Buller Bay, Westport, South Island, New Zealand Fuji S3 pro / 24-70mm nikkor lens / polarizer / grad grey / tripod
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"He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side - Victorian Alps Summer -The HDR Experience
by Philip JohnsonFOR BETTER VIEWING GO LARGER There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around / That the colt from old Regret had got away, / And had joined the wild bush horses – he was worth a thousand pound, / So all the cracks had gathered to the fray. / All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far / Had mustered at the homestead overnight, / For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are, / And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight. There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup, / The old man with his hair as white as snow; / But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up - / He would go wherever horse and man could go. / And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand, / No better horseman ever held the reins; / For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand, / He learnt to ride while droving on the plains. And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast, / He was something like a racehorse undersized, / With a touch of Timor pony – three parts thoroughbred at least - / And such as are by mountain horsemen prized. / He was hard and tough and wiry – just the sort that won’t say die - / There was courage in his quick impatient tread; / And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye, / And the proud and lofty carriage of his head. But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay, / And the old man said, “That horse will never do / For a long a tiring gallop – lad, you’d better stop away, / Those hills are far too rough for such as you.” / So he waited sad and wistful – only Clancy stood his friend - / “I think we ought to let him come,” he said; / “I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end, / For both his horse and he are mountain bred. “He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side, / Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough, / Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride, / The man that holds his own is good enough. / And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home, / Where the river runs those giant hills between; / I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam, / But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.” So he went – they found the horses by the big mimosa clump - / They raced away towards the mountain’s brow, / And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at them from the jump, / No use to try for fancy riding now. / And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right. / Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills, / For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight, / If once they gain the shelter of those hills.” So Clancy rode to wheel them – he was racing on the wing / Where the best and boldest riders take their place, / And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring / With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face. / Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash, / But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view, / And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash, / And off into the mountain scrub they flew. Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black / Resounded to the thunder of their tread, / And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back / From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead. / And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way, / Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide; / And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day, / No man can hold them down the other side.” When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull, / It well might make the boldest hold their breath, / The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full / Of wombat holes, and any slip was death. / But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head, / And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer, / And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed, / While the others stood and watched in very fear. He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet, / He cleared the fallen timber in his stride, / And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat – / It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride. / Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground, / Down the hillside at a racing pace he went; / And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound, / At the bottom of that terrible descent. He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill, / And the watchers on the mountain standing mute, / Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still, / As he raced across the clearing in pursuit. / Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met / In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals / On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, / With the man from Snowy River at their heels. And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam. / He followed like a bloodhound on their track, / Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home, / And alone and unassisted brought them back. / But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot, / He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur; / But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot, / For never yet was mountain horse a cur. And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise / Their torn and rugged battlements on high, / Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze / At midnight in the cold and frosty sky, / And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway / To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide, / The man from Snowy River is a household word today, / And the stockmen tell the story of his ride. The Bulletin, 26 April 1890. / THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER by A.B. “Banjo” Paterson Equipment: Nikon D300, Sigma 10-20mm lens , Manfrotto Tripod / Technique : HDR 5 Exposures, Photomatix 3.2, Capture NX
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