On the face of it, going out with the camera on a foggy day might seem like a bit of an odd thing to do. How can we possibly photograph landscapes when we can barely see 50 feet in front of us?
However, fog has properties that allow us to capture objects and effects not usually possible under any other lighting conditions.
Take, for example, the sun. We’re always told it’s as dangerous and foolhardy to point our cameras at it, as it is for magnifying glasses, telescopes and people with ginger hair.
But as the sun struggles to cut through the fog, we can catch a rare glimpse without risking permanent damage to our eyes
Part of the mystery of fog is it seems to muddle the distinction between light and dark. It’s not night, and yet we still struggle to see clearly. Suddenly the ordinary takes on an extraordinary, ethereal quality.
A tree in a field is now silhouetted and soft, while the farmhouse behind it is barely visible at all
But where it comes into its own, to create effects like nothing else on earth, is when fog meets still water.
Out at Loch Ken – the same place Rogan, Meg and I were standing on 8 inches of ice only a couple of weeks ago - see Winter Snow and Ice - I felt I was on a border between worlds. All the old tales, myths and legends crowded in with the fog, and if I’d seen faerie folk coming out of the mist, somehow it wouldn’t have felt out of place.
The absolute stillness of the loch, creating mirror like reflections, when combined with the fog meant it was impossible to tell where the water finished and the mist began
Dead reeds and grasses appeared to float in mid air, strange shapes defying definition as the mind kept doing mental flips trying to make sense of what it was seeing
And isolated from their surrounds, the most beautiful shapes and patterns were formed. No longer recognisable objects, their forms had become abstracted.
Click on any of the images for larger versions
With apologies to Australian Katie who is still on dial-up. I hope it was worth the wait