I walk carefully down to the water’s edge and am fascinated by the patterns formed by the ice. The natural creations change constantly as the water moves underneath. The ice gurgles and cracks as I start to take some images.
The moon reflects its bright rays in the water and reminds me of Derrida’s words about searching for the crevice through which a glimmer might be glimpsed.
It is still dark, so I use the 50mm lens and barely have the light to shoot without a tripod, but I do not want to be encumbered by a heavy load.
I change to my 70-200mm lens as the light improves and am fascinated by the intersection where the base of the reeds is locked solid by the ice. It reminds me of the fragility of these delicate stems and indeed the Island itself, buffeted by harsh and changing weather fronts. As the water shifts underneath the ice it continues to crack like a pistol firing.
As I focus on my work, the light pink rays of early morning peep over the Black Cuillin and light up the loch.
The reflections of the surrounding Red Cuillin Hills, topped with snow, are forcing their way through the opaque surface, but not as clear as they are on a still day.
As I leave, the loch is bathed in an orange glow, giving the icy water an oil-like quality.