FfotoAber Photo Marathon

I’ve never done one of these Photo Marathons before. I’m a plodding sort of person. I like to wander, with my camera, taking my time to shoot what it occurs to me to shoot, as and when images unfold in front of me. I see what I see and photograph accordingly. I love taking candid images around town, or, sitting and waiting for the light to change in a landscape out in the hills. I’ve done photo a day challenges, sometimes for a couple of consecutive years, but without any thematic structure, leaving me free to choose my subjects, or, more frequently, my subjects to choose me. This has its difficulties too, but I always came up with something, sometimes spending hours over any one image. So working with themes, within a fairly tight time frame, is not something I would normally choose to do. But it’s good to challenge yourself from time to time, and step out of your comfort zone, so this year I signed up for the Ffoto Aber event in Aberystwyth. These events have been running for some years now, and seem to be increasing in popularity. Six photos in six hours, two themes being handed out every two hours.

A small crowd set off from The Morlan Centre as soon as we had the first two themes – The Other Side and Four. I strode confidently off into town, with that “how difficult can it be?” attitude. I thought I could easily think “outside the box”, and come up with some fantastically original interpretation in the time allotted. Then my brain froze. Time seemed to speed up, and a slight panic set in.

“The Other Side”
I also thought about a gravestone, a shot over a wall or from the inside of a shop window, but somehow ran out of time before moving on to the next image…

“4”

Part of my problem was that I kept getting distracted by all the things I wanted to photograph, rather than concentrating on what I had to take! I felt like a child whose mind keeps wandering, going off at tangents, rather than putting their efforts into the homework that has to be finished on time. Only this wasn’t just about simply handing in the homework on time, there were no simple “right” answers, and the results had to look good. My inability to come up with the ideas and produce images I was really happy with, was both frustrating and somewhat humbling.

“Raw”
I tried not to head straight down the butchers where a lot of people went, although, in fact, the winner in this category was a shot of raw meat.

“Pattern”

I was pleased that I completed the challenge. I can’t say that I was really happy with the images I produced, and I was exhausted by the end of the day, but I think I learned a few things. I learned that, in a situation like this, I tend to overthink things. Also, on the technical side, I came to realise how much I rely on a certain degree of post-processing. Not being able to make various little adjustments once the shot was taken really added to the challenge. Normally I tend to work with black and white, but for the sake of consistency, I decided to shoot entirely in colour. I guessed, based on what I’d seen from previous events, that one of the themes would be a colour, and I really didn’t want to give myself the added challenge of interpreting a colour theme in monochrome! Maybe next time.

“Collection”
Probably my most literal, obvious, and badly composed shot!

“Blue”

All in all, a very challenging, but enjoyable day for most people, I think. The results are fantastic to look at. There are similarities in many images, as you would expect, but also great diversity in style and content – see them on Ffoto Aber’s Facebook page.

I must put in a good word for the organisers, a dedicated bunch who work hard to make this event a reality year after year. There was slight chaos when it came to downloading everyones photos, understandable under the circumstances, but over all, a well run event bringing people of all ages and abilities together. You might just see me there next year.

Kids Eh?!

Having just taken delivery of a nice new lens, I set off to give it a test run. My random route around town brought me to the castle. I often find myself passing through the ruins and today it was quite crowded. There were several groups of youngsters, mostly aged around 12-13, possibly a bit older, I’m not known for my accuracy when it comes to guessing ages!

One or two of the lads were taking large rocks and slamming them against the walls in an attempt, I think, to impress the gaggle of girls standing nearby. They climbed and jumped, shouting insults at each other and were being generally boisterous. They were being kids. A mother with a toddler passed me, looked at the frantic activity, then looked at me, then back at the kids again and I wondered if she thought I should be saying something, or if I was in some way connected. I just smiled.

I have to admit that somewhere in the back if my mind, the grumpy old man voice was muttering something about telling them to be careful where they were throwing things and to have a bit of respect for other people who might want a bit of peace and quiet. But then the other voice spoke up and reminded me of what I was up to at that age….there was the time that……oh yes and THAT time…..Probably a lot worse than I was witnessing in front of me, and I suspect I could have ended up with several ASBO’s! They were just being kids, and as long as I perceived no actual threat to life and limb to themselves or others, I wasn’t going to get involved. The mood was not generally aggressive, and I found it quite encouraging to see kids this age being active rather than sitting down staring at a screen. They weren’t there for that long anyway, and soon headed off.

Later, I encountered another group, older this time, the BMX crew. I’ve often seen this varying sized group racing about town, along pavements, nipping the wrong way up one way streets, doing wheelies and jumps whenever the terrain allows it. I’m sure I show my age by how amusing I find it to see large teenagers riding bikes that seem several sizes too small for them, but I suspect its considered quite “cool” ( or whatever word they’ve currently usurped to express that concept!). I had a couple of close calls, near misses, as they appeared suddenly around a corner, though it has to be said that I got an apology every time.

“Whoa! Sorry mate!”, was the usual offering, quite polite really.

As much as I might smile and just think “Kids will be kids”, they were a bit rowdy, possibly a danger to some and there are plenty less tolerant than me, so I kept expecting, at some point, to see at least one of these groups having a talking to by a Community Support Officer. Maybe they did and I missed it, if so it hadn’t deterred them any. Then I saw something else.

Now, I can’t be entirely sure what had happened. However, the only person I saw being approached by the police was one young black man in a hoodie. He was not part of the other groups, and as far as I could tell, he’d been riding his bike on the pavement. He was stopped, asked to show his face and produce ID.

Figures produced last year show that black people are still much more likely to be stopped, questioned or searched than any other group ( just one of many articles on this subject can be seen HERE ). As far as I could see, this lad had done nothing wrong because he was allowed to go on his way after the CSO had examined his ID. So, was it really necessary? I never want to believe these statistics, surely it can’t be that bad, but on just one day, in quiet little Aberystwyth I had witnessed something that seemed, in my experience at least, to suggest that it is indeed the case.

Lurking Around The Station

I’ve been lurking around the train station in Aberystwyth a lot lately. I’ve always liked the atmosphere in train stations. Airports and bus terminals too, have a similar feel. Its humanity on the move.

With Aber being a University town, its population fluctuates in accordance with term times, and the beaches bring the seasonal migrations of holidaymakers. Compared to main line stations in the cities, this one is tiny, but the single remaining platform of the Victorian station is often a busy place.

Sometimes there’s the quiet chatting of the local, regular travellers, or the boisterous banter of students, clustered together as they set out on some new adventure together. Next to them, in stark contrast, could be the silent couple, staring into each others eyes, contemplating a reluctant, painful farewell. The angst hanging, tangibly over them.

Mothers and fathers struggle with the family baggage while attempting to rein in excited children or placate exhausted, crying babes. A lone traveller sits apart from the crowd, staring at their feet, and there’s often a bright eyed young woman, fidgeting and throwing desperate glances down the track, impatiently awaiting the train that will bring her lover home. Some bury their heads in a newspaper or book, while others, the youngsters in particular, stand, thumbs a blur over the screens of smart phones, texting wildly as music buzzes in their earphones.

“The train now arriving….”, rattles out of speakers overhead, and the train rumbles up to the platform. The crowd shifts and takes on a new shape. Those embarking, position themselves for boarding, the others hold back, trying to peer in through the windows to catch sight of their returning friends or family. The doors open with an hydraulic hiss allowing a torrent of weary passengers, luggage in hand, to tumble out. For a few minutes those embarking mix and mingle with those arriving in a chaotic exchange of position, punctuated with hugs, kisses, handshakes and the occasional joyous shouts.

The general murmur of voices is replaced by the monotone drone of the idling diesel engine. The few people left, scattered along the platform, are waiting to deliver their final farewells through the grime blurred windows. Some silently mouthing words, and some, communicating by phone, like a scene from some prison drama. A few latecomers wearing vexed expressions jog up to the train hoping they might still be in time to secure a seat, and then the platform is all but empty.

The platform is rarely completely devoid of people, many come to snack under the shelter it provides and it’s often used as a short cut on the route to shops and car parks, but even when empty the station holds a certain fascination. There is still a feeling of anticipation there, as though the old walls have somehow been infused with the amalgam of emotions emitted by the constant flow of people over the last 150 years or so. I’m no believer in ghosts, but I do think that places somehow acquire what almost amounts to personality.

Despite the various alterations and additions to the building, it’s retained enough of its original features to remain fairly inoffensive to the eye. The sunlight can create some pleasing shadows as it plays around the wrought iron structure, and at night, the electric lights make their own patterns.

Next time you’re sitting in a train, or waiting at the track’s edge, and you spot that strange chap with a camera, it’s probably me. I mean no offence. I often wonder, as I bring the camera to my eye, if there’s someone observing me. Someone else “people watching”. We all do it. I try to record just a little of what I see.

AberStation on Flickr

The Puddle

With the arrival of the first significant rain in quite some time, the railway station puddle has returned. It’s perfectly placed to cause maximum inconvenience to travellers making their way to and from the platform, and, it seems there are many different ways of dealing with it.

The most common technique amoung the young and sprightly, is of course The Leaping Clear. This generally leaves feet dry and avoids splashing, and is usually only attempted by those under thirty.

Another common sight is The Stomping Straight Through Because I’m Late For My Train move. This tends to occur due to panic often leading to a failure to observe the obstacle at all.

2. Stomping Straight Through Because I’m Late For My Train

Frequently used by people with common sense is of course, The Circumventing. A quick assessment easily reveals that The Puddle is somewhat shallower on one side, and with care, can be avoided quite easily. A completely different approach is the Sudden Stretch. This entails walking up at normal pace, giving all the appearances of being completely unaware, then, at the last second suddenly elongating the length of stride. This can sometimes be quite successful, though it relies on good timing. I managed to catch the two techniques in one shot.

Some of the more unusual moves include The Crouch. This is an odd one. There seems to be a belief that if one reduces ones height, and then execute a move not dissimilar to The Sudden Stretch, that it somehow gives one an advantage of some sort. However, this is not always the case. In the incident shown below, splashing occurred and some discomfort was caused. Then the subject caught sight of the weirdo taking photos and gave him a look as though it was all his fault.

Another unusual aspect I observed was the occasional Glance Backward. This can occur after any of the other moves, and involves a quick look back to make sure that The Puddle isn’t following you.

I had observed several reactions to the obstacle presented by The Puddle. Some people were indifferent, some a little irate, some downright furious. Some would stop briefly, tutting, as they looked up to determine the source, others threw suspicious glances at the water as they made their evasive manoeuvres. Soon the business of embarking and disembarking was all done, and the platform was pretty much empty. I was about to leave when I observed one more technique. It is almost exclusively used by very small children. It’s known as Enjoy, and involves deliberately taking as much time as possible to traverse the pool, whether in appropriate footwear or not, while simultaneously deeply pondering the sheer wonderful weirdness of water.

The Oldest Cyclist In Town?

I see a lot of cyclists around Aber these days. Perhaps it’s always been that way, and I’ve just started noticing them more. Darting through my line of sight, meandering towards me on the pavement, careering around corners or looming suddenly out of the darkness on winter evenings.

You have the serious, lycra-clad enthusiasts, peddling frantically on their hi-tech, lightweight bikes that cost as much as a small car. There are the parents and kids, often trying to cross busy roads, which can be a bit like watching a mother duck leading her ducklings to safe waters. Then there are the people who seem to spend a lot of time stopped, or pushing the bike along while having a good chat.

Youngsters are often seen parked up on what seem, to me at least, like rather undersized BMX’s, usually engrossed in a mobile phone.

Some time ago I had spotted an old chap, on a mountain bike, carrier bags full of shopping hanging from the handlebars. I had thought about trying to get a shot of him, but he stopped to chat with another chap whom he clearly knew. As I passed, I thought I heard the cyclist say that he was, “..Over 80 now, so I’m slowing down a bit..”. Yesterday, I spotted the octogenarian again and tried to get myself placed for a good shot. But it was a busy day, difficult to get a clear, candid shot. I stood in front of the station and tried to get a shot as he crossed the road towards me, but it was no good. I turned to walk on ahead, but then thought that maybe I should just go for a direct approach, and turned back to face him.
“Excuse me,” I started, ” but did I once overhear you telling someone that you were 80?”
“83,” he smiled
“And you still ride all the time?”
“Well, do you know, ” he began, speaking in a crisp, clear English accent, ” It’s the only thing that keeps me moving. Keeps me alive. Gets me out and about. You see, I don’t have any friends now really, they’re all dead – all my peer group,”
“That must be difficult, a bit strange…”
“No,” he said, smiling with his eyebrows,” Not really.” He seems a happy man.
I reached for my camera and asked if I could take his photo.
“With the greatest of pleasure,” he said.

“So, how do you rate these modern bikes then?” I asked, as I took a couple of shots.
“Oh marvelous! Look at these tyres, ” he waved his hand at the wheels of his sturdy mountain bike, “I can crash up and down kerbs with these. Chunky, look at them. Not like those thin, flimsy old things. I still end up buying a new one every couple of years though. Well, I do 20 or 30 miles a day”
“Really?”
“Oh, it’s all on the flat though…”

If I’m just half what this man is when I’m 83, I’ll be very happy indeed.