Wanderings of a Photographic Duo

The overwhelming sensation as my exploration of Scotland’s rapidly changing landscape continues is that the more I see, the less I know. I am becoming an ignorant observer. But as I slowly meander through our incredible and varied countryside, it is gradually dawning on me that a lack of knowledge is not always the weakness one might imagine, but perhaps something to embrace! I recognise this is at odds with a societal norm that revers expertise and science, but allow me a moment to indulge my thesis before concluding I’ve spent too long in the saddle! My reasoning goes something like this.

On this trip, I often find myself cycling through unknown environments for the first time, seeing through fresh eyes and witnessing as an observer rather than a participant. It’s the same sensation I get when arriving on a plane or stepping off a train in a new country, where for those special first few hours, everywhere I look and everything I witness is somehow exaggerated and enhanced, as if seeing with heightened awareness. Those same enchanters are subsumed into the background a few days later, however hard I look. They become the familiar, the normal, the ‘just how it is’.

When travelling by car, train or bus, you pass through the landscape, cosseted in a blurred cocoon with most of your senses lying dormant or, at best, repressed.  A bike, however, demands that you constantly employ a range of senses, smelling the land (not always pleasant), tasting the air, and feeling the wind on your cheeks.  As such, you are constantly connected to your surroundings, with each new bend re-stimulating and reinvigorating, inviting investigation.  Together with time, which a bike also requires, this connection has allowed me to slowly and more fully explore without the burden of familiarity, to question rather than accept.

By way of example, whilst cycling through a horrendously hagged upland peat bog recently, horribly eroded by decades of overgrazing, I asked a local expert why it was like that. Her reply was that folk simply state, ‘it’s always been thus’, as though what we see today reflects not only how things have always been but also why nothing needs to be done about it. I sense I am witnessing countless examples of the depletion of our lands, some of which are openly visible while others lie hidden behind various shades of green. This seems to be backed up by Nature Scot, who say rather depressingly, ‘Scotland is famous for its spectacular wildlife and wild places, but historic nature loss means it is one of the most nature-depleted countries in the world’. I confess my growing ignorance is not bliss!

I have yet to fully rationalise where this slow contemplation of place leaves me. As I transition between different land uses and management approaches, I am left with an overwhelming sense that our land and seas are becoming increasingly commoditised and commercialised. Siloed and simplified. Managed from behind a desk by an accountant’s spreadsheet. Neat and tidy. Each individual modification may be incrementally minor, but together, they result in generational changes that quickly become the accepted norm. Experts will tell you this is called shifting baseline syndrome, but to me, this translates simply to ‘just how it is’.

I cannot simply undo the feelings this leaves me with. They don’t just resolve themselves. And yet I do not have the power to deliver solutions. But when I see the inspirational exemplars of positive future thinking that are all around us when you start to look, living quietly in the shadows and yet gradually building in momentum and confidence, it gives me hope, allowing me to join the conversation and start asking questions. For it is these quiet determined voices, as much as any top-down directives, that will bring about the positive tipping point of real change.

As the big wheels keep on turning (I wonder what the cities will reveal as I steer in their direction in the coming months), and I continue my descent into ignorance, I will be exploring these and other themes in a visual discussion around my cycles to date, together with a creative workshop, at The Catstrand on 9th November. I don’t offer answers, for they lie within the destiny of others, but together, we might provoke a conversation or two.

Ted’s workshop s from 2-5pm on Saturday 9^th November, with his talk/discussion starting at 7:30pm on the same evening

The following is a slightly amended version of an article I wrote for the Glenkens Gazette on the proposed Galloway National Park. The amendments reflect updates based on additional information and include images to make the article pretty :o)

With some pretty strong opinions quickly forming on the proposed Galloway National Park, I thought I might carry out a little research to help me make up my own mind, noting that as I write this I am yet to complete this research and have yet to decide my position.

Whilst still in the early days of information gathering, my initial findings suggest that, above all else, not all National Parks (NPs) are the same. The way they are structured and run varies significantly and is unique to the attributes of each and the communities that lie therein. Here’s a few initial discoveries as I continue my search. 

On tourism, Loch Lomond & the Trossachs NP has some 4.1 million visitors a year (with 30 rangers) whilst the Cairngorms NP has 2.1 million (with 50 equivalent full time rangers) [Ref: LINK]. Tourism across the two Parks regularly generates some £700 million into the local economies [ref:LINK]. This same LINK report concludes that on planning, consenting is no less onerous within the National Parks than without (unless you are a wind farm or an agricultural building greater than 465m2 in size), though the two Scottish National Parks deliver development control in different ways.

On housing, it seems that the existing National Park Authorities develop local housing strategies and collaborate with the Regional Councils on their implementation.  At 45%, Cairngorm NP delivers significant greater levels of affordable housing than the national average of 25%, and has a policy to deliver 75% by 2030.  Loch Lomond achieved 62% between 2018-22.  Separately to this, a recent BBC article shows that by raising rates on second homes in Wales has made them less attractive (I note, however, that to make this happen does not require National Park status, any local authority can deliver this if minded).

On how a National Park is run, the Act of Parliament states a minimum 20% of Board members must be locally elected, with 40% allocated by the local authorities and the remainder centrally appointed.  Once elected, one of the first duties of the Board (over 18-24 months) would be to consult locally to understand what locals want from their park from which a National Park Plan is written. This is then authorised by the Minister, after which all Governments advisors and bodies are required to help deliver that plan. The extent to which local opinion influences the Plan I am yet to determine but continue to dig.

Earlier today, as I looked at the paint peeling off our local school in Dalry that was on the brink of being mothballed earlier this year, I cannot ignore a potential £16 million+ a year, the 2024 base budget i.e. not including external funding, for the Cairngorm National Park (of which 41% goes on some 125 staff) [Ref: CNP] could benefit the long term sustainability of our communities. To give this local context, over five years the Galloway Glens Landscape Partnership delivered some 40 community led projects on £1 million a year. I hear some voices saying that the money should be given to existing entities, to which I ask if this is possible, please let me know how and who is looking into this, as I want to hear all the alternatives before making my decision. 

I know that there will be costs, compromises and consequences whether we get a Park or not.

Before I decide which is better (not just for my own interests but for those of the wider community), it would be useful to know whether a Galloway National Park would be…

• A park run by and with local people, supported by experts in their various fields?

• A park that improves the potential of real job opportunities and training, allowing our young to remain in, and return to, our amazing local area?

• A park that can protect against house inflation, help deliver for known housing shortages and protect against ‘second home syndrome’.

• A park that delivers a year- round sustainable tourism strategy, with infrastructure, services and management in place from day one to protect and enhance our unique local environments?

• A park without ‘ivory towers’, where the staff are embedded in, and part of, the community

• A park with a truly sustainable transport policy, focussed towards public and low carbon transport?

• A park that recognises local uniqueness, both on land and sea?

• A park that incentivises new thinking & innovation, without being afraid to fail

• A park with soft borders and sensible buffer zones

• A park that recognises all elements of our landscape, developing voluntary partnership approaches for the greater benefit of all

• A park that thinks towards the future and not just today or yesterday.

The formal consultation on the National Park starts in November and continues until January 2025. I look forward to finding answers in the coming months that will allow me to decide on way or the other. As such, right now I am neither yes or no, but asking “what” and “how”?

Ted Leeming, Dalry resident

To help answer these and other questions, Ted is in discussions with the Chief Executive of the Cairngorms National Park to come to Galloway to present his experiences and answer questions. We will look to keep you informed via various channels as the date and venue as and when these are confirmed.

He’s an article from our local paper, the amazing Glenkens Gazette, that outlines the current project I will be working on throughout the year and am very excited having just got home from my first trip to the Highlands, Orkney and Shetland. What an experience slowly passing through landscapes and learning more of the cultures.

More to follow very soon so stay posted. I hope you enjoy the blogs and I’d be delighted to hear any thoughts you may have.

Who would have thought that sitting in a peat bog at 3am with several million midges could be fun!

One of the things that has most inspired me in recent times has been seeing the incredible work done by dedicated volunteers across the land. The values surrounding such acts is something we should all aspire to as one of the foundations of a just society.

Last year, as part of our “Artful Migration” residency, I had the privilege of spending time with volunteers from the BTO (British Trust for Ornithology) who shared wisdoms, laughs, responsibilities and a sense of community with us as we progressed our residency. It is through their dedication, year on year, that we better understand the lives, behaviours and threats to the various species of birds they monitor.

When it comes to ringing, geotagging and collecting species data for nightjars, the ‘day’ begins at around 8pm, as nightjars are crepuscular i.e. they fly from dusk till dawn. Everyone has finished work and already had their dinner when they start mingling at the designated meeting point before sharing cars along rutted forestry tracks to the evenings venue. Incredibly fine nets are set up to catch the birds (it takes two years of training to be allowed to actually remove and tag the delicate birds to ensure no harm comes of them), which are located along rides within the forest they are known to fly along.

Once set you simply wait. And sometimes you then wait a while longer. And then a bit more. Patience is a definite attribute in this game. But you are also in the middle of know where listening to nature on a gently cooling summer evening. I felt a true sense of peace as we watched and waited. Sitting with the midges was indeed an exhilarating experience (midge hats do offset what could otherwise be torture!)

As the night draws we gather once more to tag and record data on the birds that feeds into the ongoing archives. That information informs how well the species is doing, not only in that year but over longer periods time. It is an essential record that feeds what actions we take moving forward for their protection. Despite being 3am and everyone has to be back in work by 9am, no one seems in a hurry to leave. No one is getting paid. There is no medal. And yet here is peace, harmony & and true sense of satisfaction.

At a macro perspective we now know from this sort of work that the number of birds migrating from Europe to Africa annually has halved in the last 50 or so years. This allows for future planning on what needs to be done to protect habitats for a whole range of species. It is a call to arms. And only known because of the work of thousands of unsung heroes.

The amazing thing is that anyone can get involved. Nightjars may not be your thing but simply volunteering and getting involved on a subject or issue that genuinely interests you can be a hugely rewarding experience, both at a personal level as well as benefiting the wider community. You grow as an individual, meet like minded people, and are contributing to a wider set of important values that are becoming ever less understood.

My heartfelt thanks to all those that showed me what is possible when we share and work together. It was an honour to spend time with you.

The final article in the series for Outdoor Photography explores the re-evaluation of our photography business in 2016 and deciding to stop running our lucrative workshops due to the carbon footprint associated with them. We realised that, despite seeing ourselves as environmentalists and offsetting the workshops, what we were in fact doing was posting ‘exotic’ location images online and actively encouraging people to fly all over the planet. The photography workshop industry has exploded in the last 15 years and whilst no individual flight is in itself the cause, each plays its role towards the industry becoming a significant carbon emitter. With almost no policies to control this, we decided to make our own decisions and take action.

In making the change we rediscovered the extraordinary beauty of local and, be it urban or rural, just how easy it is to find amazing subjects & locations without travelling far from home…

…and without the jet lag!

I can truly say that whilst I love travelling and the sense of community I experienced working with lovely people on the workshops, I feel that I have gained far more from making this decision than I lost. We now spend far more time taking images rather than travelling, and in doing so find ourselves increasingly immersed within the landscape and building a deeper understanding of what it is to be part of something, rather than merely travelling through.

The images used in the article were from a series I once used to sell photographic workshops to Iceland, a land I dearly love and miss. Each one was re-imagined and given a new title, forming a personal response to COP27, reflecting my emotions at the time. In doing so what shocked me most was the realisation of just how powerful an image can be, how it can be used in different ways, and the influence it can have. And that with power comes responsibility.

3am. 3am. 1am. Early to Bed! 2am. 2am. It turns out out the ‘dullest place in the UK’ (see previous blog) might not be quite so boring after all. I never imagined this residency was going to be my new rock and roll, but this curious enigma of a bird seems to have the ability to enchant and intoxicate. They beguile with the briefest of glimpses as they silently dance the gloaming skies, and as often as not you see nothing at all, or at best a shadowy wisp fleeting the corner of your eye. Gone as soon as you turn to look. Or perhaps it’s their hypnotic churr (song) that casts the spell?

The privilege of time, space and focus through this Artful Migration residency has opportuned us entry into this extraordinary world to glimpse previously unseen imaginations. The lost art of simply sitting in unfamiliar environments as the sun drops beneath distant horizons and the wind runs out of puff, embracing the tingle of of a Scottish dusk, in itself becomes harmonic. And then, just as you think they might never arrive, they begin their chorus. And once they start their voices fill the skies in luring chants that mesmerise, reminding me of ‘Kaa’, the snake with the rolling eyes in The Jungle Book. I confess that before we started I didn’t really get why there seemed to be such a ‘thing’ about this quirky looking bird. What was all the fuss about Chris Packham, that makes you exude so lyrically? But as I sit in silence and simply marvel, I realise that this is one big, endless and easy to tumble into rabbit hole.

As I begin to relax, my mind follows the sun as it drops and I imagine being in their world for a few moments. Flying twice a year to and from, from and to, the Democratic Republic of Congo and Angola, nightjars, along with some 2.1 billion other birds a year that make the annual pilgrimage to their various homes, don’t recognise or have boundaries. Often as we retire, at certainty time of the year, the world above our heads becomes a motorway of freedom to their unrestricted lives. The thought is enticing, though my reverie is short lived as I discover that this number is just half what it was just a few short decades ago, as the pressures of our anthropogenic world tightens its grip. My romantic bubble pops.

Following ospreys on their annual migration from the UK to Africa along a similar corridor to that used by our nightjar, Sasha Dench and her team from Conservation Without Borders identified 38 human created threats along their migratory route. In just a single example, at one of Europe’s most important nature reserves for migratory birds, they discovered that planes fly overhead spraying insecticide to kill mosquitoes, one of the birds main food sources, because the tourists don’t like them. You have to ponder this concept for the enormity of its message to truly sink in, and what it says of our priorities whilst in the midst of a biodiversity emergency. Elsewhere across both continents land is, small piece by small piece, being continuously ‘improved’ from salt marsh to agricultural land, a new container port, housing development, or some other form of human ‘need’. Closer to home, all around The (once) Great Moss, fields are cut for silage 3 or 4 times a year as young birds crack through the thin shells of their eggs to raise their beaks and take their first breath.

Such improvements become so familiar to us in the rapidly changing landscapes of the modern age that we barely question, assess or consider their true and incremental impacts, let alone the fragmentation each act has at a wider, non human scale. We live for the minute and aside from nature, rather than part of it. We are outraged at the actions of remote and developing nations, be it aerial insecticide spraying, salt flat drainage or felling tropical rainforests, but who polices the protection and enhancement of our own shores? The result of current policies and subsidies is that for our nightjar, there has been a decline in insect numbers (their food source) of some 60% across the UK in recent years. This decline might seem unthinkable but because it has happened, like habitat fragmentation and so many things, on a generational basis it goes unnoticed. Had we known the consequences would we have started on that journey? Who knows but we need to act urgently to reverse the trend.

And as we do, amongst much gloom there are also real signs of proactive change all around us. Individuals and projects of all sizes from back gardens to progressive farming and landscape scale initiatives paving the way towards new thinking. And a true exemplar is occurring on The Lochar Moss itself, for the story of our nightjar is, at least in Scotland and the UK, a positive one with Numbers increasing. Forest and Land Scotland, who own a huge conifer plantation on the bog, recognised its unique qualities and sought to designate it a Site of Special Scientific Interest and Special Area of Conservation in recognition of its ecological importance. Following its designation they have implemented a 25 year plan to restore the entire plantation under their control to blanket bog. Well done FLS.

Such local initiatives start conversations and leave others wanting to know more. Perhaps even look at their own land holdings to see what they can do? This is being implemented by many enlightened ‘Land Custodians’, but ultimately the direction of travel will have to be furthered through policies that both encourage and require all landowners to adopt nature based farming and other land use methods, to deliver generational guardianship rather than short term returns.