This week, for the first time in quite a while, I stood in the rear garden of my home in Canada in anticipation of an approaching solar storm, and it promised to be a good one, however, very often the promised aurora can fall flat or not show at all, but as you can see in the image below, not this evening.   

This evening as waves of electrified gases raced through space on the solar wind, some of that energy was captured by earths magnetic shield and pulled down magnetic field lines at the poles. Once funnelled into the polar regions these charged particles excite oxygen and nitrogen to produce the incredible phenomena that fills our night skies with otherworldly illumination. 

The most familiar green light comes from oxygen between 100 to 300 km above the earth, pink and dark red is produced by nitrogen molecules at around 100 km.  Very bright red auroras come from oxygen at altitudes above 300 km and the blue and purple come from hydrogen and helium though these are much easier for the camera to catch than for the eye to see. 

Monday evening was a stunning aurora, bringing to life the usually invisible magnetic field lines with vivid greens, reds and purples that encircled the city of Cochrane below. As always when watching the aurora I thought of those times years ago, when I dreamed of seeing it without ever daring to hope I actually would.  I crawled into bed in the early hours, freezing cold and wonderfully happy to have been able to stand beneath such an awe inspiring sight once more.

While shooting the stunning larch trees at Highwood Pass earlier this week, I found myself repeatedly having to wait prolonged periods for the light to break through the snow squalls overhead. So for some time I just huddled into the boulders keeping  out of the cold wind.

Maybe it was easier to sit and wait after the hike in and that appealed to my lazy nature, I don't know, but I suddenly realised there was more to see all around me beside the wonderful larch valley. I watched the light as it crossed the mountains filling the shadows and darting in and out of the deepest crevices, cloud shadows have always been a favourite of mine as they chase across undulating ground, it turns out that light splashes are just as interesting and equally rewarding.

I picked up the telephoto lens and began an often frustrating game of 'Predict the path of the light', what might seem a straightforward task turned out to be both difficult and entertaining. I confess I made a number of entirely useless images, but one shot capturing the corner of Highwood Ridge made the game worthwhile. The dramatically sheared rock face has captured various peaks of falling rock over time that now appears as a small "range" clinging to the fractured grey wall and, after only four attempts, I managed to capture the light splash in just the right place. 

I still need to remind myself that a long telephoto lens is incredibly valuable when chasing mountain landscapes, even if I really don't fancy hiking miles with it.  

It has been 7 months since I posted from Canada, simply because I haven't been here at all. You can see my last post below was made from my home in the UK where I have been for almost 9 months. The unexpected hiatus was brought about by the continuing Covid 19 saga allowing a prolonged stay in the UK using the 'work from home' mandate. 

I returned to Canada just a couple of weeks ago showing unintentionally perfect timing for the autumn displays in Kananaskis. I climbed a few hills and made a few hikes in an effort to regain some mountain fitness and to remind myself of the effects of altitude, something we sea level dwellers don't normally have to deal with. 

Once I knew the larch were changing I made my way to the car park at Highwood Pass and hiked up to the boulder field trapped between Mt Pocaterra and Mt Tyrwhitt. I love this location for an autumn hike because of the stark contrast between the bare rock and the autumnal foliage always makes for beautiful images. There are many shots to be made in this relatively small area on and around the boulder field, from individual larch trees right through to a full panoramic landscape that you can see below. 

So, if you're chasing autumn colours in Kananaskis, make your way to Highwood Pass, but don't follow the masses up Pocaterra Ridge, instead head up the boulder field and get a new perspective. 

At home in England, on the north side of the small village of Hibaldstow, North Lincolnshire, stands St Hybald's Church. Within the sanctity of the structure, opposite the buttress in the south wall lies a stone coffin, the final resting place of of the 7th century saint from which this church (and two others in the area) take their names.  The original tower of the church collapsed in 1875 and as the chancel was being rebuilt in 1876 the coffin containing the remains was found, and later reburied with full ceremony.     

As the more observant readers will see, the clock shows 11:45pm, almost the 'witching hour', fortunately for me I don't believe such nonsense and I was still roaming the grounds when the bells struck midnight. For the record I saw no witches, demons or ghosts as I circled the church attempting to find a location from which to shoot, one that avoided the plethora of street lights and security lights now illuminating the surrounding pathways.  

I finally settled on a number of shots, this one being a firm favourite. The street lighting behind me illuminates the old headstones with their varying shades of lichen, and the lights beyond the church fill what would otherwise be solid black with some detail, so in this instance I made use of the lighting. Balancing the bright spots on either side of the structure prevents them from being over distracting, but I couldn't help but imagine the scene without them. If I find myself in this area during a power failure, I'll hurry back and try again. 

My wife and I were reminiscing today about our life in Oklahoma in the early 2000's. That conversation got me trawling the archives again, pouring over tens of thousands of images until I found one from the place that, for me, epitomizes the Oklahoma prairies which I loved so much.  

The Tallgrass Prairie Preserve is an exceptional area, largely untouched by the endless advance of humanity, it remains a beautiful oasis of the wilderness experienced by the very first humans in this area. There is only a long dirt road leading to the visitor centre, other than that it is pristine, and was a real favourite of mine throughout our time in the state.

The buffalo herds that roam the grassland and the howling coyotes that follow along aimlessly just add to the feeling that you are experiencing the land as its first human population did, so many years  ago. The Preserve might initially seem large at 45,000 acres, indeed it is the largest section of protected Tallgrass Prairie remaining; but when you put it into perspective, it is merely a remnant from the 142 million acres that previously stretched from Manitoba Canada to Texas USA.  

In such a chaotic and crowded world, the silence and emptiness of this place is a tonic for the soul. I visited frequently and stayed beyond sunset many times. The elusive buffalo were difficult to catch on camera at sunset, and though I did manage it once or twice, I still come back to this shot. The colours, the clouds (which are a rarity in Oklahoma) the bison and the rolling hills, perfectly capture my experience of this magical place. I hope to return again when travel is back on the menu, until then I'm happy with this wonderful scene.   

As soon as I stepped out of the truck at the car park for Upper Kananaskis Lake this week, I knew it was going to be a tough day. Storm clouds often make for the most beautiful images, so I had made the decision to head out to Kananaskis in the hope of finding some methane bubbles in the ice.  The car park is sheltered by tall fir trees, but even from my sheltered position, I could hear the wind howling across the top of the dam, and see the clouds of spindrift being transported east to the lower lake.  

Once booted up I scurried down to the lakeshore where my micro spikes bit into the frozen surface. I opted to hike the southwest shore where I have previously found plenty of methane bubbles. Unfortunately the ice was not clear enough for any significant finds, so I continued on into the teeth of the wind that swept the surface of the lake. 

I did find numerous subjects and made a number of images along the way, all of which might be mistaken for black and white shots straight out of the camera. The storms overhead and resulting low cloud robbed the landscape of almost all colour. I did find a couple of shots where the light refracted enough to give some of the broken ice on the shore its usual turquoise blue, but overall every shot appeared in black and white straight through the viewfinder.  

As a result of this effect I needed to find some strong image anchors to hold the eye and contrasting light to lead us though the shot, I think this one meets both criteria. The island in the midground almost merges with the mountains in the background, leaving quite a distance between the foreground anchors and the island. By lowering the camera position I was able to close the gap and magnify the dark ice 'anchors' in the foreground.  While the image is not going to make the portfolio, I'm am happy with it given the circumstances on the day. 

Yesterday I set out to find, as promised, something different for the blog. The obvious choice was to head east away from the majesty of the rocky mountains. Within no time at all after turning east, the foothills fade to flatlands, and the wide open spaces of the prairies open up in all directions. 

It is a staggering juxtaposition as I head south on highway 22, to my right the bulwarks of the rocky mountains tear at the low cloud formations creating 'rivers' in the grey blanket overhead. To my left, the skies are so far out of reach that all things below them seem compressed by the weight of that heavy blanket.  

I love driving the empty, arrow straight roads of the prairies, my own soundtrack accompanies the epic, slowly changing scenes beyond the windscreen, and I am cocooned in 21st century comfort as beautiful vistas offer themselves for consideration.  The most obvious choice for anyone seeking images of the prairies are grain silos, and I did shoot some of those, but none that I felt were good enough for varying reasons. The second most obvious choice must be the abandoned homes and barns along the way, abandoned by humans at least, but still providing the most wonderful accommodation for all kinds of prairie wildlife, their value to the whole eco system should not be underestimated. Hence the title of the blog today, these beautiful old structures are indeed sanctuaries for many, long may they continue to be so.