Old photos

I recently indulged and bought a scanner that will not only scan negatives, but even medium format negatives. (It's the Epson Perfection V500, for you techies out there). So I've been trawling back through my old negatives and testing it out.

A few years ago I had the chance to try out a twin lens reflex camera, and took a reel of 120 film on the beach at North Berwick - all of 12 photos on one reel! Those old time photographers really must have taken their time composing, thinking, re-composing, assessing, before they pressed the shutter to capture that image. I remember that using the camera was tricky - you hold the camera in front of you at chest height and compose the image by looking down from above, and the image view is mirrored, so it was kind of hard to get the horizon straight and move the camera the right way to change the composition.

Scanning the negatives was sort of tricky too - either I hadn't exposed them properly, or the film is thicker than the scanner expects, but they needed a fair amount of jiggling, both pre- and post scanning, to get a nice enough image. But I quite like the results. I think they just feel reassuringly old fashioned. Here's one.

(c) Brighid Ó Dochartaigh

Himalayan update

If you've been following Domhnall's Himalayan adventures, here's the latest since he summited Manaslu a week last Friday. Lucille's just posted some fantastic pictures from Manaslu, of which my favourite is this one - now that is what the summit of a Himalayan peak should look like! Only room for one at a time up here, guys!

So after heading down from the summit and getting a couple of nights sleep at Camp 3 and then base camp, he rushed down the valley, hitched a ride in a helicopter to Kathmandu, spent 3 days eating (aka 'getting your strength up'), flew to Lukla (one of the scariest airports in the world!), went halfers on another helicopter ride up to Everest Base Camp, and got himself set up at Camp 2 for his attempt on a second ascent of Lhotse. He first climbed it in 2009 - his first 8000 m and Himalayan summit - when he was part of a guided group. Now he wants to try it solo and without supplementary oxygen. Yes, he is a little bit crazy.

The detailed stuff: Lhotse is 8516 m high and the 4th highest mountain in the world. To get there, you basically follow the south route up Everest, but when you get to the South Col turn right instead of left. Apparently Lhotse is often considered a more difficult climb than Everest, because of particularly steep ice and rock sections, especially in the Lhotse couloir, which is somewhere around 8000 m, and the summit block just above this.
 
So, last Friday Domhnall set off up to Camp 3, where he was sharing tent space and food with Damian of the Patagonia Brothers, in return for carrying a tripod up the hill for them (what it is to make friends in the mountains!). They rested at Camp 3 for a few hours, then about 2am set off for the summit. Lots of people from different teams can set off at the same time, but each individual or team climbs at their own pace. By about midday on Saturday (I think), Domhnall had made it up to the base of the couloir somewhere above 8000 m, where the serious climbing is meant to start. He was really feeling the effects of the lack of oxygen and possibly the Manaslu climb the week before, and wasn't convinced of his safety in climbing at that point given the conditions. He made the decision to turn round, and descended - first to Camp 2 to sleep last night, and this morning back to Base Camp. When I spoke to him briefly this morning he was preparing to rest and recuperate for a few days, and waiting to decide whether to make another summit attempt when the next weather window comes through later this week.

So, another hair-raising night/day for the home team, and potentially another one to come! I'll let you know...

Late night in museum wonderland

Friday night we were enjoying the latest Late Night at the National Museum - the theme this time, A Night in Wonderland. Cue lots of nostalgic Alice references, some quirky costumes and fascinating people-watching, live music, arts and crafty crown making, playing with the kids' stuff (try out a F1 car, anyone?), beer tasting, wondering vaguely what a Snark is, and generally just having a lot of fun wandering round the galleries after hours, hanging out, drinking wine and chatting in what must surely be one of the largest social gatherings of Edinburgh's curious and (sort of) cultured. We didn't even get round to the comedy club, the dance performance, the short films or the ultra cool Silent Disco. Oh well, maybe next time.

 

Nature watch in the north Pennines

Yesterday I spent a lovely sunny day in the north Pennines, walking on the almost empty (of people) moors, dropping by the tourist traps of High and Low Force waterfalls to watch people do crazy things in kayaks, and having tea and cake in Blanchland. And all in great company, to boot. We had a very productive nature-spotting day, not only finding spring gentians in all their rare glory (spring gentians, I learned, are only found in one place in Britain, in Teesdale, growing in eye-catching blue splendour on the cutely named sugar limestone), but also bird's eye primroses, mountain pansies, mountain violets, early purple orchids, wood anenomes, cowslips and globe flowers. Rarish bird life was also satisfyingly represented, with the best view of an osprey I've ever had, on a fishing trip up the River Tees - we thought probably visiting for the day from the Lakes - and being mobbed by a trio of curlews. And many more curlews, and lapwings galore, and kestrels hunting around their cliff-side nest, and black grouse, and a ring ouzel darting by. A day to make me wish I had that kind of day more often.

Spring gentians in Teesdale

     

Mountain thrills and towering achievements

On Friday 11 May my brother Domhnall did it again - he made it to the summit of the 8th highest mountain in the world! Yesterday lunchtime he was standing on top of Manaslu in the Himalayas - without oxygen, and self guided, and carrying all his own gear. I am, as so often before, in awe of his achievements, and very proud to have him as my brother!

It sounds as if this achievement is even more impressive than usual (if you can call ticking off 8000m peaks and 7 Summits usual...). We've heard very little of the summit story yet, just snatches of poor quality sat phone updates, but apparently Domhnall said yesterday was the hardest day he's ever had in the mountains. Lucille didn't make it quite to the summit, but had to turn back at about 7500m - that's 7500m high on a Himalayan mountain, folks, and one that's had what sounds like the heaviest snowfall season for years. She is an inspiration.

What I know so far is that he and Lucille attempted the summit with an Italian team who they've made friends with on the mountain, starting up from Camp 3 at 11pm Nepalese time on Thursday and climbing through the night. Lucille was carrying her GPS Spot, which sends her location to a webpage, and the first we knew they were trying for the summit was when her husband Ted, back in Edmonton, saw that the Spot had been activated and they were moving. So back at home we watched the Spot slowly move up the mountain and thought about them climbing through the cold, dark, mountain night. Domhnall called from Camp 4 just after dawn on their Friday morning, saying it had been a windy and cold night, but they were both doing well, and hoped to be able to make it to the summit in another 6 hours or so. Then two or three hours later the Spot started moving back downhill again. What was happening? Domhnall called Ted briefly, and before the sat phone cut out said that Lucille was descending but he was still climbing.

By this time it was first thing in the morning in the UK. Not sure how much I slept during the night, but for a couple of hours I sat at home obsessively following the Spot until we could see that Lucille had made it back to Camp 3. But there was no news from Domhnall. I rushed round cleaning the flat, but there was no news from Domhnall. I went out and sat in a cafe and drank multiple cups of coffee, checking Lucille's blog obsessively, but there was no news. Eventually I thought to check to see if there was any information about the Italian team they were climbing with. Hooray for Google:  'Italian expedition Manaslu' came up with a webpage for Adventure Consultants, and when I saw it I remembered that Ted had mentioned that name as the team that Lucille and Domhnall were climbing with. I opened the page. Whoohooo! The Adventure Consultants team had summitted and said the weather had turned, into the best day they'd had so far on the mountain, after weeks of heavy snow and wind. It wasn't conclusive news - I wasn't certain Domnhall was with them (they didn't sound Italian, after all!), but even if he wasn't, he couldn't have been far from them, and at least it sounded like the weather was being kind so he had the best chance of being OK.

By now I'd had far too much coffee. I texted the sat phone to say we were thinking of him and wishing him safe descent. I emailed Ted with the Adventure Consultants link to see what he thought. Then my phone rang - it was the sat phone! In the middle of the noisy cafe I grabbed it and heard Domhnall's voice say he was back at Camp 3. Relief! Happiness! We didn't manage much more before the connection broke, but it was enough to hear that he sounded fine and safe and well. He'd been climbing for something like 19 hours.

It's tough being the home team: never mind the muscles and high-altitude red blood cells and bravery and sheer grit of the mountaineers, it's us who have the nerves of steel ;) But now we had the good news. I texted the rest of the family. There were some more emails back and forth between me, Ted and Domhnall's girlfriend Jen, comparing what we'd each heard, and although none of us actually knew if he'd summitted or not, we knew that both he & Lucille were safe back in a tent and would soon be getting some well earned rest. We'd hear the rest of the story later.

Well, the story's still coming in, and don't think this is nearly the end. Our nerves have a bit more strain to take yet, because Part 2 is about to begin. Lhotse, here we come.....

Blood and guts theatre

We went to see a crazy, on-the-edge-of-your-seat play last week. It's the second play I've seen by playwright Martin McDonagh, after going to his Beauty Queen of Leenane at the Young Vic in London last year. The Beauty Queen was a gripping black comedy-tragedy with twists and turns that left you thinking about it long after it was over. And Martin McDonagh wrote and directed the film In Bruges, which I still haven't seen but people keep recommending. Also, his brother John Michael wrote and directed The Guard, which was one of the best films I saw last year (available at all good Blockbusters and Lovefilms - get it out now if you haven't already!).

So all in all I was really keen to see how the Lieutenant of Inishmore at the Lyceum in Edinburgh turned out. And it was a rollercoaster. It's a satirical look at terrorism, a tongue firmly in cheek portrayal of rural Ireland, and a blacker than black comedy of torture and violence, with singing. And with probably the best last minute story twist in the (cat's) tail I've ever seen in a play.

Martin McDonagh seemed to have been a bit of an enfant terrible of the theatrical world back in the 90s when he first shot to fame, and apparently when he first wrote The Lieutenant of Inishmore, no theatre company would produce it. This is not entirely unsurprising to me now, having seen the roll call of mangled cats, torture scenes, jokes about Irish terrorism, and bloodspattered body parts. But since then it seems to have played everywhere from Stratford on Avon to Florida, and even though I spent most of the last scene hiding behind my hands from the gore on stage, I'm really glad I've seen it. Funny, shocking and thought provoking - what more could you want from a night at the theatre?

And it was still hot

Maurice Sendak has sadly died, at the ripe but still too young age of 83. The wonderful Mr Sendak is probably my favourite children's author of all time. Where The Wild Things Are was one of my best early childhood books (along with Fantastic Mr Fox and Charlotte's Web). And those memories last, as the old poster of the Wild Things above my bed must prove. Many of his other books have been coming back to me today too - like A Hole Is To Dig, which he illustrated with characteristic humour and life, and the surely-written-for-Sesame Street Chicken Soup With Rice, which I only discovered today was recorded by Carole King, along with various other Sendak books, including the cautionary tale of Pierre 'I Don't Care!' (who was swallowed up by a lion, so let that be a lesson to all you nihilists out there). And the absolutely brilliant In The Night Kitchen ('Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter! We bake cake and nothing's the matter!'), which is apparently one of the most banned books in American libraries, because they object to child nudity in a food preparation area.

The man was a generous visionary, with a boundless imagination that he shared with the world over 60 years. Rest in peace, Mr Sendak, and thank you for the magic.

Groundwater makes a splash

My line of work has been hitting the headlines in the last couple of weeks. Suddenly groundwater - usually out of sight and out of mind for everyone except us lucky few hydrogeologists - is splashed all over the place.

First newly published work by some colleagues went viral: they've developed the first quantitative estimates of how much groundwater there is sitting beneath Africa, and the story was the most read on the BBC science webpages for a couple of days, and was all over the radio, TV and newspapers. That was actually bittersweet for me - great to see this story getting publicity, but I was involved in a very small way at the start of that project - helping create the first version of their map of aquifer productivity across Africa - and I've been wishing I was still involved for the last couple of years. But my colleagues were kind enough to include my name on the paper, so I should just smile and ride on the back of their success.

Then this week the wettest drought in history is getting all sorts of airtime, with various of my lovely colleagues trying to get the story across that in areas where three-quarters of water supplies come from deep underground, two weeks of rain in April is not enough to make up for the two dry winters in a row that have meant ever decreasing groundwater levels in aquifers. As my boss put it, making a heroic effort with an economic crisis metaphor, a groundwater drought is like a massively overdrawn bank account. We'll have to both stop spending (aka reduce water use) and keep paying in the cheques (the rain has to keep on falling) for a long time before we get back in the black. I think I'm even more impressed with my other colleagues who tried their best to hype up the drama of a video of the inside of a borehole for a BBC piece - I thought they did pretty well, considering.

Meanwhile, the reality of what I really get up to at work is much less impressive. I could put a photo here of my desk, where I spend 90% of my time, but instead I'll go for the jugular with the best work morning out I've had in a while - here we are this week trying to push back the boundaries of science by collecting data from a borehole in the middle of what must be Scotland's biggest building site, the future Commonwealth Games Village in Glasgow.