Dungeness: Black and White

Back in April I met up with a couple of fellow camera nerds, comrades from the 365 Project, for a trip down to the south coast. We were going to Dungeness, somewhere I had long wanted to photograph. I had looked into going there before but without a car it is prohibitively difficult; public transport doesn't best serve such areas. And they can't really be blamed, its own promotional website describes Dungeness as 'bleak and desolate'. This wasn't what was on our mind, however, as we headed progressively south. The weather was wonderful, one of the first truly beautiful days of the year. Sadly, it didn't last. By the time we had arrived the cloud had solidly set in and the exposed nature of the area left us open to a biting wind that soon left my ears stinging. Undeterred we set off to explore.

Anyone vaguely into landscape photography in the UK will be aware of Dungeness as a location unlike any other in the country. Basically it is an enormous bank of shingle, the largest on the continent. At a glance it is as bleak and desolate as advertised but upon closer inspection there is actually a lot going on. It is a part of a vast nature reserve that is particularly important with regard to bird and plant life, in fact it is home to one third of all the plant species to be found in the UK. There are also two nuclear reactors, Dungeness A and Dungeness B, the first of which has been shut down and the second of which is due to be so in 2018.

Although from a comfort perspective this was not going to be the most wonderful afternoon, from a photographic perspective it was pretty much exactly what I'd hoped for. It was Dungeness at its gloomy best. What little colour there already was had been further muted by the grey clouds and so tones and textures became ever more important. There was always going to be a lot of black and white conversions in post processing after this trip. A little tip, even if you fully intend to end up with black and white pictures it is generally a good idea to originally shoot in colour and then convert to black and white. This gives you a lot more options after the event in what type of black and white you want to apply and, of course, in staying in colour if you so choose.

The main photographic focus are the numerous abandoned fishing boats that sit just above the high tide mark in every imaginable stage of decay. There are a few where it's actually difficult to tell whether the boat has been left for dead or whether it's still a living, breathing boat; and then there are others where all that is left are the ribs of the hull and a few warped planks like the skin on the corpse of a rotting whale corpse. There are also tiny little railway tracks and wheelhouses that, once upon a time, were used to haul the fleet up and down the beach. The tracks can provide leading lines to help guide the eye around a carefully composed image.

I'm going to post a second Dungeness article full of colour images, there were a couple of occasions where having a splash of vibrancy was the right path to take. Our final path led Rachel, Christin and I to a local pub where we could warm up and refresh before the long drive home. I'm very happy that I finally made it down to Dungeness, it was a photographic and social success; I highly recommend it to those with a bleak streak running through them.

Quintessentially English

Atop the Captsone

A few weeks ago I had the absolute pleasure of giving a friend away. No, not at some sort of charity car boot sale; it was at her wedding. She had had the good judgement to get married at Tunnels Beaches in Ilfracombe, Devon. Not only is it a fantastic venue in which to get married with views out to the Irish Sea and your very own private beach to explore, but the town of Ilfracombe itself is a very picturesque one. Having spent 6 hours on a coach getting there after work I was keen to get out and about the next morning. As luck would have it my hotel was just opposite the Capstone, as locals call it, or as you and I might, the big cliff thing.

Freshly fueled with eggs and bacon I charged up to the top as fast as my little legs could carry me where, at the summit, I was rewarded by fantastic views in all directions. To east and west were views of the coast and cliffs, and to the south all of Ilfracombe was laid out before me. The terrain is hilly and the bulk of the older part of town nestles in a valley running parallel with the coastline; some newer developments have followed the valley as it kinks south. Very little land is wasted, the hills are steep and so many streets are terraced, clinging to the sides of the slopes as the terrain permits. The result is lots of little blind corners, narrow alleys and sudden inclines that frequently put me in mind of the time I spent in south Wales as a child; which shouldn't be so surprising given the two are only separated by 30km or so of water. Indeed, the hotel played Welsh radio in the dining room, which rather threw me as I hadn't undergone the normal mental preparation I would customarily go through before returning there. Also at the peak was the statue in my photo at the top of this post, although I'm afraid I must confess that I have no memory of why it is there or what it represents. I can say that it does a good job of conveying the energy and movement that is so evident atop the cliffs there.

The Landmark Theatre, at bottom left, tends to polarise locals; they either love it or hate it.

My time in Ilfracombe was short but very pleasant. I have been to that part of Devon before and will happily return again in the fullness of time. I don't get to the coast as half as much as I would like which is a shame because the UK is blessed with hundreds of miles of beautiful coastline. I must make sure I don't neglect it so in the future.

The Thames Barrier

Ahhhh, this feels good. Today I did something I haven't done in a long time: I went out with my camera, in the sun, to take photos just for fun. I wasn't doing it because the stupid 365 Project was making its daily demand; nor because I was at some event where tradition demands that a few badly shot pictures of blurry revellers be taken for posterity; nor because I happened to be visiting somewhere that, theoretically, I should be taking photos of. No, today it was just me, the camera, good weather, London and science podcasts. Bliss.

So it was I decided to head down to the Thames Barrier. It's only a few miles from where I live but I had never gone down there before; I soon realised I had been remiss, there were ample opportunities for some interesting photography. 

The Thames Barrier, then. Why is it there? How long has it been there? How does it work? And why does it look so weird? Some of these questions are easier to answer than others. The reason it is in that specific location is quite straightforward; the Thames, if you look at it on a map, is wrigglier than a three year old with ants in their pants but in this little section, between Silvertown in Newham and New Charlton in the borough of Greenwich, the banks are quite straight and parallel to one another; this makes it much easier to build a massive, water tight, movable barrier - the second largest in the world. Also, the underlying chalk bedrock in the area happens to be a little harder than the chalk and clay on which most of London sits and so could support the structure. As an aside, London is steadily sinking into the ground much as Venice is now, but that's a problem for another century. The other interpretation of the question Why is it there? - as in Why do we need it at all? - is also simple enough, if not a little tragic.

In 1953 a spring tide coincided with a severe storm over the North Sea, this led to a surge in sea level of over 5 metres. The first area to be affected was Scotland where 19 fatalities were reported, but conditions only got worse as the surge travelled south into the progressively more shallow waters of the southern North Sea. Approximately 1000km2 of eastern England were flooded with the sea encroaching as much as 2 miles inland in Lincolnshire and Norfolk. Over 1600km of coastline was flooded along with severe floods in Silvertown and Canning Town in East London; just a mile down the road from me. The result was tens of thousands being made homeless and 307 deaths. At sea, many trawlers and other boats were lost producing another 224 deaths.

Sadly, by comparison, we had it easy. The Netherlands, where a fifth of the country is below mean sea level and half of it is at less than 1m above sea level, over 1800 people were drowned as a quarter of the country was lost to the sea. There were also long term effects as being flooded by sea water is not like being flooded by fresh water. Having that much salt dumped onto the land devastates farm land or, indeed, any land where you might want vegetation to thrive.

As a result of this natural disaster, the second worst in British recorded history, the Government began planning how to protect us from such 1 in 1000 year catastrophes. Sea defences around the country were built/bolstered and a plan for some kind of barrier to protect central London was commissioned.

The design was first drawn up in the 1950s by Charles Draper but construction didn't begin until 1974; it was opened by Her Majesty The Queen on my 1st birthday in 1984 and, in today's money, it cost nearly £2b. There are five large piers and two smaller ones creating four 60m navigable spans and two 30m navigable spans. The 60m spans were specifically that size so as to be the same as Tower Bridge, i.e. anything that could get through Tower Bridge had to be able to get through the barrier too. I think my photos struggle to convey the scale of this area adequately; the river is over half a kilometre wide here, and you could fit Tower Bridge onto it four times just in the central section. It's huge.

Used with permission

So how does the damn thing work? Hopefully the diagram to the right will help explain. Between each pier there is a hollow gate with a circular cross section; when the gates are closed this rests in a depression cut into the riverbed  allowing the free flow of water. To stop the fluvial flow these can be rotated such that nothing pass. To close the barrier isn't a simple task, though, it requires coordination with many other flood defences in the region and costs about £16000 per go.

The Barrier can protect London in two different ways depending on which direction the flooding is expected: from the North Sea or from the river itself. It's easy enough to imagine how it might protect London from the type of disaster experienced in 1953, you simply close the gate and, with any luck, nothing will get passed it and the areas down stream won't be too badly damaged either. But it can also help if there has been a lot of rain and the flooding is coming from upriver in the Thames basin. It does this by closing the gates during a low tide, this means that once the tide starts rising again it can't get back up river and this creates a basin of low level water that the flood water can run into allowing it to drain out of the city more quickly.

As it approaches it's 30th birthday the Thames Barrier continues to provide protection for Londoners; disconcertingly, though, this protection is having to be deployed more and more frequently. In it's first 6 years of use it was only closed 4 times, in the last decade it has averaged 7 times per year. Is this a possible measure of global warming? Are flood events occurring more often? In the fantastically complex science of climate change it isn't possible to draw a conclusion from one measure of anything, but it would seem to support that. The barrier was only designed to protect against a surge in sea level of 4.67 metres. If sea levels raise by a metre this century, as seems likely, then the capacity of the barrier to protect the capital would be greatly reduced. Add to that the slightly odd fact that Britain is tilting (the south and east are sinking and the north and west are rising at about 5cm/century) and the future looks ever more precarious. The original design was supposed to provide solid protection up until the year 2030 followed by a period of ever diminishing returns after that. The Environment Agency, however, who now runs the barrier, has said that it has no intention of replacing it before the year 2070. I do wonder if this is based on good scientific advice or on Governments that are not willing to spend money on insurance policies. Hopefully it won't take another disaster of the kind seen in 1953 to force their hand.

The view to the west, Docklands and the O2 can be seen in the distance

After three hours I had only covered about 200 yards of the riverbank but I had had a great time. The weather and light were fantastic and it was good to be there knowing that I could write it up at my leisure in the style that I used to before the 365 Project consumed my hobby. I knew I would have the time to look into the history of this impressive structure and do it some justice in words as well as in pictures. Basically, I have my blog back and I love it. I hope you enjoy it too.

365 Project: Photo 349

Tonight I set off for Romania. We're going by car. Yup, driving the full width of Europe. It's about 2,700 miles and we're expecting it to take about 36 hours of actual driving time; about 40 hours in total. We don't intend to stop but for comfort breaks. This was my last view of Blighty as we chugged out of Dover headed for Calais. The rough route is France, Belgium, Germany, Austria, Hungary, Romania; the final destination being the town of Mangalia on the Black Sea Coast.

The sea was not exactly smooth as we pulled out and quite a few people were struggling to find their sea legs, Georgiana included. Even though it was raining and very windy I was very excited and insisted on spending as much time as possible up on deck. 

365 Project: Photo 295

A night out with workmates inevitably ends with me going for a walk along the river. Conveniently, the theme was Dark. This was taken on my phone, when drunk, from the Millennium bridge. The bright star above the moon is, in fact, Jupiter.

365 Project: Photo 281

Mirror Image.

365 Project: Photo 275

Hopefully this won't be one of the last clear days of the year. Westminster as seen from Lambeth Bridge.

365 Project: Photo 254

Off topic again today but I couldn't resist this sky above Westminster, a beautiful mish mash of clouds and contrails.

365 Project: Photo 245

Yes, I was playing with my Lego again. Yes, I probably looked crazy clambering about and laying down on the jetty. Do I care? No; I had fun. Explorer dude had fun, too. 

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The theme today was Candid. I was on a photowalk with this bunch of miscreants in the Hyde Park area. We were waiting for a heron to do something other than stand there. After about half an hour of no action we admitted defeat.

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Action! Almost, if I'd been quick enough to get it in frame....

365 Project: Photo 204

I feel a science coming on....

The topic was Something Hot and I couldn't think of anything hotter than the sun, apart from other suns, and I decided I can't mention the sun without using it as an opportunity to talk about how cool it is, so to speak.

The Shell Building from Waterloo Bridge, a view I have used before on the blog

The sun is an unremarkable ball of plasma, neither particularly hot nor cold, not doing anything unusual, not overly large nor especially small, it's just hanging about approximately two thirds of the way along one of the arms of a bog standard, barred, spiral galaxy we call the Milkyway; the sun is also the single most awesome structure we're ever likely to encounter.

The sun, as you may have heard, it quite big. Jupiter is quite big too, as planets go. If you were to take all of the other seven planets (remember, Pluto is no longer a planet) they would all fit inside Jupiter; and if you took all the planets including Jupiter they would all fit, easily, inside the sun. Let's put it another way; if you were to tot up all of the matter in the solar system - the sun, all the planets, all the comets, everything in the asteroid belt and Kuiper belt, all the dwarf planets, everything - then the sun would make up about 99.86% of it, everything else would be less than 0.2%. So, pretty big.

I couldn't not put in this Hubble picture of a bog standard, and breathtakingly beautiful, barred, spiral galaxy (click to galactify)

The sun is also, you may have noticed, rather hot. How hot, though, depends on where you measure it. The sun has at least six distinct layers to it, the inner three of which can be thought of as the core, they are also the hottest; they weigh in at about 15 million degrees Celsius. This core behaves as a solid and rotates within the body of the sun. The layers outside the core; the convection zone, the photosphere and the chromosphere; behave like a viscous liquid something akin to magma on Earth. These layers rotate too but in different way to the core leading to a highly turbulent dividing layer called the tachocline. So, as we move out through the sun the temperature gets steadily lower until, at the surface, the temperature is only 5,500 Celsius. I know, surprisingly cold, right? The next time you hear something described as hotter than the surface of the sun you probably don't need to deploy your impressed face. That's not the end of the story though, something weird happens once you leave the sun. The area outside of the sun is known as the corona, it is this that you can make out during an eclipse when the moon is blocking out the main disc of the sun. The corona, oddly, actually gets much hotter, about 2 million degrees hotter. How it is that there is this vast temperature increase outside of the sun is not fully understood yet but the smart money appears to be on magnetic fields playing a role.

So, before the Government decides that the solar system would be better off privatising the sun because its function could be performed more efficiently and cheaply by private companies, let's establish what it is the sun actually does and why it's so good at it. Put simply, the sun is a fusion reactor, which is sort of the opposite of what happens in a nuclear reactor. It takes 4 protons (hydrogen nuclei) and fuses them together to produce an alpha particle (helium nucleus). This, normally, is an extremely difficult thing to do; protons are positively charged particles and, as every 12 year old knows, oppositely charged particles attract each other and particles with the same charge repel each other. This is one of the principles of electromagnetism which is, itself, one of the four fundamental forces of the universe (the others being gravitation, the strong nuclear force and the weak nuclear force). It is the strong nuclear force that holds the elementary particles within nuclei together and so nuclear fusion is the process by which the strong force manages to overcome electromagnetism. It is only in the insanely hot and dense conditions that exist in the sun's core where protons can be pushed near enough to each other such that the strong nuclear force can win out and, in the process, release a whole bunch of energy, generally in the form of gamma radiation. Each gamma ray is absorbed in just a few millimetres of solar plasma and released in a lower energy state having given off, over the course of its journey, several million photons - the source of all the marvels we are but one small part of here on Earth.

Image used under a CCL. Warning: image contains science

My favourite ever sun fact is one I only encountered a year or two ago but I absolutely love it. I particularly enjoy it when it is contrasted with this preliminary fact: the sun is approximately 8.5 light minutes away. What this means is that it takes a photon of light, once emitted from the sun, only 8.5 minutes to get to the surface of the Earth; the sun may be a very long way away but when you're travelling at just shy of 300 billion metres per second the distance is soon covered. Here is the fact I love: for a newly created photon in the sun's core to reach the surface of the sun takes about 170,000 years. That blows my mind. But why is this the case? From what I can tell it mostly seems to be a function of the sheer density of matter in the core. The heat and pressure is so great that hydrogen atoms are being fused together into helium atoms and the maelstrom is simply to difficult for the photons, massless and speedy as they are, to get through.

Okay, I've just checked and I'm at 1,000 words, which is unfortunate because that's probably somewhat more than you had bargained for when you clicked the link and I haven't even got to the specific topic I wanted to discuss yet. I think I'll quit while I'm ahead, thank all of you that have read this far and leave you with a promise of a follow up sun-based post later in the year where I'll ramble on about....
- How we are trying to solve the world's energy needs by creating the sun on the Earth
- How solar weather can affect us all
- And helioseismology, the study of sunquakes, the whole reason I started writing this post in the first place!!

365 Project: Photo 190

I'm off topic today but on Westminster Bridge; a frequent viewpoint in the 365 Project. 

365 Project: Photo 186

These are the fountains by the Royal Festival Hall down on the South Bank of the Thames. The aspect ratio of the photo is a little odd and that is because I have heavily cropped it to remove a bunch of tourists off to the left. Total time spent planning and executing this photo: approx. 0.4 seconds.

365 Project: Photo 184

I went for a walk along the South Bank tonight, and very pleasant it was too. The theme was Contrast. It doesn't get much more contrasty than a silhouette.

365 Project: Photo 175

Last day of the stag party and there were only four brave souls left to return the boat whence we found it. We were just half hour or so from home when we turned a corner to find a boat that looked like it belonged to a serial killer adrift in the middle of the canal right by a bridge, it was completely blocking the waterway. There was no one else about and so we swung into action. I was driving and pulled over whilst a couple of friends started scrabbling about with ropes and whatnot to secure it again. This wasn't really the sort of place to tie boats up, however, it was very reedy and there were no fastenings on the shore so I think they used a tree.

Once the way was clear we tried to set off only to find that in the process we had got the propeller a little tangled in all the vegetation so we began unbeaching ourselves. I decided to quickly step ashore and give us a nudge with my arse but just as I leapt we shifted and all of a sudden my jump was not sufficient. I sort of landed in the reedy bit and took a few stinging nettles to the face, which was fun, but then was immediately off balance and falling backwards so I quickly threw myself at the side of the boat desperately trying to grab that rail that goes around the tiller. My ribs and wrist took the brunt of it where I now have an array of bruises and scrapes and my face was rather sore for the rest of the day; but we were able to proceed and got the boat back just in time. A mere bagatelle. Conveniently, the theme today was A Dramatic Scene.

365 Project: Photo 173

Not on theme today but had to have a photo looking something like this given what I'm up to this weekend.

365 Project: Photo 172

I'm on a boat this weekend for a stag do, cruising the canals of the Bath area. This is the back of a beer garden that abuts the river, a very pleasant place to quench your thirst. The theme today was Vines and I figure there are some in there somewhere.

365 Project: Photo 156

A lazy one from me to day. No theme.

365 Project: Photo 125

Duckbus tour!!

You may have seen these amphibious bad boys driving/floating around central London; if you wondered: Are they as much fun as they look? The answer is, 'Yes!'.