Andy Tyndall Photography
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Droning on about .... well, drones

3/25/2018

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A few weeks ago I attended an Art Exhibition in the Goldfields in which “Drone Photography” featured among the prize categories. The judge, when announcing the winner mentioned her excitement at the possibilities drones offer for photography and art. And she is right.


I am not , of course, the only photographer with a drone by a long, long way - and I would certainly not pretend to be the most proficient of drone pilots. However, I have found my new camera to be a perfect addition to my photographic armoury, allowing perspectives once only achievable by expensive helicopter rides. Now it is possible to show clearly the scale of, say, a building in the desert, the expanse of a town. Or give a viewer an idea of what it would be like to fly through a deserted village.


Choosing an affordable drone was not hard. Aware of much twitchiness among authorities at various levels, I approached the Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA) website for guidance. They have a whole section on drones which makes it clear, very early on, that if your drone is over 2kg you are going to need to be licensed and certified by CASA. There are exceptions for pilots flying their drones over their own property, otherwise training and certification is required.


So my drone would need to be under 2kg. I would still be allowed to fly it commercially subject to permission from CASA whose  simple red tape process is outlined clearly on their website.


Like thousands of others, I opted for a DJI Mavic PRO. It is cunningly compact, folding and fitting easily, with three batteries,  into a medium size camera bag. Its weight - well under 1kg - allowed for less restrictive flying rules but it was the huge number of image-making options that swung me. A 4K video option, 4000x3000px stills from a 28mm lens mounted on a controllable gimbal was not a bad start.


The flying mode options impress me still: I have easily programmed the Mavic to follow moving objects, fly along side them, guided it between buildings, positioned it exactly where I wanted it for stills. My fears of crashing it remain but are eased by the Mavic’s ability to detect obstructions (it stops dead, hovering, until I fly it around or over the object) and it lets you know in plenty of time how much flight time is left, heading for home  (it logs its take off point) itself or landing before the battery is drained.


Other modes are ‘Sport’ for rapid flight and agility, although I have mine set permanently on cinematic, a mode which allows for gentle movements and halts, perfect for videos.


Flying it takes a bit of getting used to but is a simple process using a controller, a mobile phone (check that your mobile phone is compatible with the app - not all are!) and DJI app. Joysticks, a touch screen and buttons control rotations, altitude, flight speed and direction as well as camera tilt and pan. The drone can also be controlled directly by wi-fi from your phone, but I found this much less easy or satisfactory.


I was surprised by its batteries’ power, too. Each battery lasts approx twenty minutes, which I have found is usually plenty of time to capture the images I want, although I nearly came unstuck trying to fly it back against a stiff wind: I watched the flying time diminish rapidly and landed it with 5 seconds to spare, glad I did not have to find out the hard way if the Pro’s emergency landing automation worked!


There are many rules to be aware of in Australia. Most are common sense brought in for all when the few disregarded others’ privacy, safety and peace. Be aware of the need to maintain visual contact with your drone at all times, do not fly over or near people and do not exceed maximum altitudes (usually 120m). All details are on the CASA website: http://www.casa.gov.au/.


The Mavic Pro came with a decent sized micro SD card (it took a while to learn how to reformat after downloading images), charger for drone and controller and three batteries all for under $2000. For the vast array of options the Mavic opens up for  keen photographers, it’s hard to pass up the the value at that price!

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The Golden Quest

3/18/2018

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I first heard of the Goldfields of Western Australia as a young boy fidgeting through Nigel Chapman’s geography lesson in an unremarkable classroom at school in Oxfordshire, England. The names of the towns of Kalgoorlie and Coolgardie were bandied about as the centres of the 1890’s gold rush - and the lesson moved on.
What was never clear to me as a boy, nor since (despite many, many photographic assignments to Kalgoorlie) was the extent of the gold rush - not just the volume of people involved, but the size of the area explored, settled, grown and then abandoned.
Until a few days ago I had no idea exactly what effect the region and the gold rush era had had on the economy and politics of Western Australia: the  gold fields’  “join” vote outnumbered the Perth “no” vote  in the 1900 referendum on Federation - in fact the gold fields was taking steps to pronounce a separate colony, Aurelia, in protest at the lack of referendum on Federation in WA. And then there are let the tales of individuals, their loves and losses, the heroes and villains.
I do now - because there’s an app for it.
​

Three wonderful days on the Golden Quest Discovery Trail have just provided me with the most eye-opening experiences and insights into the Goldfields region that I could hope for - and not just about the rich gold mining history, but also about the environment of the region and its wildlife. I saw camels, dingoes, zebra finches, eagles and kites as well as the ruins and remains of once busy mining towns, now left to be subsumed by the desert.
Starting with half a day’s drive or train ride from Perth (or an hour on a plane) to Kalgoorlie, the Golden Quest Discovery Trail is easily travelled and navigated, especially with the new app and Trail Guidebook (goldenquesttrail.com). 
Download the Golden Quest Discovery Trail app, which sits well in conjunction with the guide, and you have all you need to find your way around the 965km figure of eight (sort of) trail which takes you from Coolgardie in the south up to Laverton in the north east and back down to Kalgoorlie. It contains information on the individual sites you will pass, brief histories and stories about events and characters which made the sites significant, details of services available (with phone numbers) at the larger towns you visit.
In addition to helping you plan your journey, the app can track your journey in real time thanks to GPS technology so you can see exactly where you are in relation to your next stop, last stop or, even, in the general Goldfields area.
Calling in at the visitors’ centres along the route is recommended, too. The centres are kept up to date with the trail’s conditions and can tell you of any upsets and updates relevant to your journey.
I called in at Coolgardie Visitor Centre and picked up the Trail Guidebook. Again, I recommend the purchase to anyone setting off on the trail, as it contains much more detailed information on the sites and events along the way as well as all the info on the app. It is a little under $40, and the historical and environmental information is well researched and written, providing fabulous reading long after the trail is completed.
The trail itself is best travelled in a 4WD. Having said that, I saw no reason why a reliable 2WD wouldn’t complete the journey. Most of the trail is on dirt roads and some is quite remote, away from mobile phone coverage, so common sense and the usual rules for outback driving apply: bring spares, water, food, warm clothing; look ahead and travel steadily.
Time to allow? I travelled it easily in three days (an average of an easily-achievable 320kms a day ) but suggest allowing at least four days, not because the going is slow but because there are so many unexpected, beautiful spots to stop, pause, camp and enjoy. It really was a shame I had to keep moving.
I stayed in accommodation throughout the trip, but the Goldfields area is “RV Friendly” meaning that self-contained campers and caravans are welcome in any of the towns. Free camping is available at multiple sites. You can camp by water every night of your journey if you want to - and every town has at least one campground.
So with the Golden Quest Discover Trail app, the guidebook, a reliable vehicle, supplies, camping gear and, say, a week to spare, you’re set to learn more about WA’s Goldfields while experiencing one of the most enlightening, surprising and enjoyable journeys of a lifetime.


FACT FILE
Golden Quest Discovery Trail in THREE days
Day 1: Coolgardie to Kookynie – Overnight stay in Kookynie
Day 2: Kookynie to Leonora – Overnight stay at Leonora-Gwalia
Day 3: Leonora to Kalgoorlie-Boulder


Golden Quest Discovery Trail in FOUR days
Day 1: Coolgardie to Kookynie – Overnight stay in Kookynie
Day 2: Kookynie to Laverton – Overnight stay in Laverton
Day 3: Laverton to Leonora – Overnight stay at Leonora-Gwalia
Day 4: Leonora to Kalgoorlie-Boulder


Golden Quest Discovery Trail in FIVE days
Day 1: Coolgardie to Menzies – Overnight stay in Menzies
Day 2 Menzies – Kookynie – Overnight stay in Kookynie
Day 3: Kookynie to Laverton – Overnight stay in Laverton
Day 4: Laverton to Leonora – Overnight stay at Leonora-Gwalia
Day 5: Leonora to Kalgoorlie-Boulder


More on the Golden Quest Discovery Trail at goldenquesttrail.com 
More travel in the Goldfields at goldfieldstourism.com.au




Highlights:


Picking a top five from this particular journey is hard: I love the size and relentless bustle of the Superpit, the haunting echoes of times long past at Gwalia and the silent space around the Lake Ballard Gormley installation. This trip for me, however, was about surprise encounters and new, unexpected experiences of scene and ambience.
In order of occurrence:
  1. Coolgardie. Once the unofficial capital of the gold fields, Coolgardie packs a massive amount of fascinating history into its gorgeous historic buildings, most of which lie hidden away from its wide main street: displays of a world renowned bottle collection and the story of an incredible mine rescue; the school (still teaching local kids) built by the Bunning brothers who went on to found a certain hardware chain; the gnamma hole where the first successful prospectors camped and the town was named; Warden Finnerty’s house (also Bunning-built), run by the National Trust, lies on a hill with stunning views over the town and  east to Kalgoorlie and offers guided and ghost tours. The graveyard, final home to hundreds who died of disease in the fledgling community also holds explorer Ernest Giles’s grave (he ended his days working as a clerk in Coolgardie) and that of an Italian competition cyclist who died in a race in 1900. An early start and return to Finnerty’s house rewarded me with a spectacular gold fields dawn, too: with mists swirling in the flats, the rising sun burnished the haze and surrounds with a rich yellow appropriate to the gold fields.
  2. Menzies. Apart from finding the best coffee on the whole trip in Menzies, I loved the buildings, their murals and the iron ‘statues’ with the gloriously humorous quotes attached to them. Stop in Menzies for a coffee and a wander- you won’t regret it.
  3. Niagara Dam. Rowles Lagoon, with its tall trees, nesting kites and gentle rushes is only just pipped by the peace at Niagara Dam in my highlight list. Respect to the wag who named a trickle of water on a small decline after the Canadian falls: but admiration for the unexpected reservoir bounded by the rough, red rocks which draw the line of contradiction between the arid landscape for miles around and the expanse of still water held in check by the dam wall.
  4. Kookynie to Laverton. All of it. The. Whole. Journey. From Willie the Horse reigning (get it?) supreme over the ruins at Kookynie and its quirky, comfortable tavern. To the dingoes which crossed the road in front of us, the lonely graves and attendant stories lying in secluded spots in the bush, the string of abandoned mining towns. To the enormous feats of engineering which built the railway to Mt Morgans - and the sleeper-strewn embankment and bridges which are all that remain. To Laverton itself with its Police precinct, and jail - complete with prisoner graffiti - the Outback Gallery and The Great Beyond Visitor Centre with its good, proper coffee and stunning audio visual display and eclectic range of goods for sale. And the camels which appeared in the bush as we left the town for Leonora.
  5. Hoover House and Gwalia Museum. Treat yourself to this: Bed and breakfast in the elegance of Hoover House, once residence of the WA mine manager who became a US President. The peacefulness and views to the north are probably little changed from when Hoover was there. To the south, a working mine still rumbles on. Spacious rooms, period furniture and the right to roam the Gwalia Museum before it opens to the public. And perfectly preserved Gwalia ghost town lies just down the road at the foot of the hill. An unforgettable experience.
And autumn, winter and spring are exactly the right times to get out and explore the Goldfields! You won’t regret it!

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ButrintE  - or a day trip to ALBANIA

3/11/2018

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Our first glimpse of Albania is from the bus which, having wound its way along the narrow roads from Corfu town, has crested its final hill in the run down to the small fishing harbour town of Kassiopi. The ruins of a hill fort, a sweeping crescent  piazza waterfront and its attendant cafes are below us and in the distance, across a shimmering blue sea are hills. High hills and, at their base, tall white buildings. That’s  Albania, a country renowned for fiercely maintaining its privacy and traditions whilst surrounded by nations that have witnessed substantial and sometimes catastrophic changes. My parents, sailing near Corfu in the 1950s often retold how they came a  bit too close to Albania, only to be  ‘encouraged’ back to Greek waters by an Albanian gunboat whose artillery was definitely pointed at their vessel and not ahead of its bow.

The day after arriving in Kassiopi we easily discover more about Albania: the buildings we see are part of Sarandë,  a favourite holiday destination for wealthier Albanians; the snow on the Albanian hills is crystal clear to view on warm winter days from Corfu; there are many Albanians living on Corfu and - most useful to us - there are regular day trips to Albania with excursions to the little known World Heritage listed site of Butrint, barely half an hour from the port of Sarandë.

Tickets are booked (they are not expensive), an alarm clock set for an early rise and we are ready to step into the unknown.

The day started innocuously enough in the soft, blue pre-dawn light with a bus ride to the ferry which runs from the town of Corfu, one hour away.  It’s a bit of a milk run offering wonderful scenes of rural Corfu and stunning views from the ridge of the hills that dominate the geography of the north of the island. We pick up various tourists from resorts, retreats and private houses along the way and finally rumble into the old port precinct.

A short time queuing for the visa formalities in an unsophisticated shed and we are soon on board the boat and puffing our way  north up the coast of Corfu before swinging east to Sarandë.

Many years ago I landed at Tashkent in heavily Soviet Russia. The most memorable aspect of that brief sojourn was the line of armed, grim soldiers ensuring we couldn’t stray from the course that led to the breeze blocked waiting room with its faded posters, insipid apple juice and dubious-looking chicken wings.I suspect we will be greeted at Sarandë in similar fashion, by a no-nonsense squad of gun-toting uniforms sent to ensure we do as we told and not necessarily as we want.

And I am completely wrong. Not a gun in sight. Instead a small group of welcoming multilingual guides.

The visitors, divided into groups according to their language, are soon on board buses and creeping round the streets of Sarandë to a hotel for tea and some nibbles before we head off to what’s left of Butrint.

Out of the city we rumble, past new developments where goats bounce around half-completed buildings. It is, without doubt, off season, but nevertheless, I am surprised by the absence of people in the city, its suburbs or developments.
A narrow road winds its way above a fertile plane criss-crossed by waterways. On the other side we get occasional glimpses of a coastline with pristine beaches, islands and  hills sweeping down to rocky shores. We draw to a halt on a large area of levelled land by  a sluggish, wide estuary just as the heavens open long enough to persuade half the visitors to remain on the bus. The rest of us  steel ourselves for a drenching and pile out to discover the ruins and little known story of a fascinating piece of Mediterranean history.

A two hour guided tour of this UNESCO World Heritage listed city reveals its history. Settled since prehistoric times, Butrint  was occupied at various times by the Greeks, the Romans and the Venetians before being abandoned in the 19th Century. Its defensive walls and high perch on the hill overlooking  Lake Butrint must have made it impregnable to assailants while the still waters of the  Vivari Channel provided a perfect conduit for the trading ships of the Mediterranean countries.

So why  did Butrint change hands so often? Why was it abandoned?  The guide tells us it was the marshes and the Lake. The mosquito infestations caused such fierce outbreaks of malaria that Butrint, for all its logistical advantages for trade and defence, became untenable as a viable place for humans thanks to the tiny mosquito. Note to self: if returning, bring insect repellant suitable for bird-sized biters.

The dozens of structures and  fortifications still standing bear testament to the various occupying forces. The view from the  ramparts over the marshes to one side and the lake and mountains to the other are breathtaking despite - or perhaps because of -  the swirling rain clouds.
It is extraordinary how intact so much of it is considering the several hundred years of opportunity for weather, nature and humans to degrade it. As it is, we gazed onto the amphitheatre where Romans would once have watched plays, we stood on battlements where Byzantine soldiers would have once watched for signs of enemies, we wandered through temples and basilicas where Greeks would have worshipped and picked our way through the ruins of once decadent Venetian merchants’ houses.

At the foot of the ramparts are portals through which produce would have been imported and exported. Today the only boat visible is far out on the lake, a small dinghy occupied by a yellow raincoat figure optimistically fishing in the downpour.

We make our way to the Venetian tower at the high point of the  site in a bid to make some geographical sense of Butrint’s location. To the east stretch long rich pastures interspersed with waterways or flooded roads- on that day it was hard to tell. To the south lie the dark, forbidding mountains towering over the lake and the former city. To the west, over the trees we can view glimpses of water and the hills that line the channel to the sea, while to the north the view is similar, bar the water.

We return to the steamy-windowed bus and the tourists who remained.

Back in Sarandë,  we are free to walk around the town. The rain has eased enough that now we can see over to Corfu. Sarandë is unpretentious. It has tall buildings which appear designed for function rather than glamour: they are there to house holidaying Albanians. Occasionally we stumble across a house which, having seen better days, gives us a glimpse of the struggle Albania must be facing to progress and appeal to Western tourists. The harbour front provides a wonderful view back onto the city and its mix of old and new buildings. Colourful boats decorated with bright flowers lie by the quay which I suspect they rarely leave. Bright yellow  nets piled on the quay suggest, however, that there is still some fishing activity.

There are also plenty of cafe, tables and umbrellas to welcome visitors on a sunnier day. it would be good to return in the tourist season.

We return to the port and set off back for Corfu as the heavens open again. This forces the passengers on the deck into the saloon down below and it soon becomes apparent that most of the day trippers, rather than filling up on ancient history, had availed themselves of some fine Albanian hospitality in several Sarandë taverns.
It also becomes clear that the little boat is very ‘practical.’ For while the alternative transport to and from Albania - an aerofoil -  no doubt has rows of seats and, possibly, a television to entertain the customers, this little tub does not. But we do have the Poles.

We are seated at one of the many, many tables available in the saloon. Not one of them is fixed to the ground - and nor are the chairs. The plus point to this is that you can pick up a chair and move it to where you want to join the rest of your family. the negative side is that, if the tub rolls too extravagantly, you are going to move - and the table isn’t going to stop you.

None of this bothers the Polish. They have stocked up with something potent from the Albanian duty free and a party of a dozen or so young Poles are leading the singing at one end of the boat .Their raucous chant lifts and rolls with the boat, two old ladies near us are singing away to the song, an extra loud cheer rising whenever the boat pitches into a particularly deep trough. there’s much table thumping and laughter. It’s better than any television and it may be just as well the words are unintelligible, so that I can answer truthfully, when asked by our youngest child what they are singing about. “I have no idea.”

And that’s how we chugged back into Corfu.  It was disappointingly quiet without the Poles on board the bus back to Kassiopi. But as we disembarked near the harbour front we could see the shimmer of lights of Sarandë across the water. Strange to think we had  been there that afternoon. Wonderful to have seen a bit of  this unassuming country and a glimpse of such fascinating history,

If you get a chance, visit Albania. In the summer. Bring some  insect repellant - and some Poles.







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Iceland: land of laughs and lava...

3/5/2018

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The first indication of what was in store was, I suppose, on the plane. An Icelandic movie about two friends driving round Iceland to raise money for charity. An American-style road movie  set in Iceland, I thought. Yes. But it’s been given an  Icelandic twist: they drive round in reverse. The film (“Bakk”) is  ‘different’, quirky and very amusing.
Much like Iceland itself, it transpires.


The second indicator manifested itself  as the plane drew to a halt. Amid the tumult of passengers standing up, the pilot  added, very unobtrusively, a final rider to the usual airline-style welcome-to-country.


“You may,” he said nonchalantly, “wish to put your jackets on as it is a little bit chilly out there.”


And there you have it - the delicious Icelandic understatement still  in our windblown ears as we clung to the rail of the icy stairs descending to the tarmac below, small flurries of snow swirling past us as we traipsed to the bus. A “little bit chilly”, in Icelandic terms refers to a -7 degree temperature, it seems.


Later that evening and the next morning we encountered this humour in all sorts of locations around Reykjavik: on walls, cafe blinds, T-shirts, tourist guides, menus and from the people we met and talked to. It’s a humour that would resonate with most Australians: a dry, obtuse view of the world moulded to understated observations bordering on gallows humour. Is it because, like Australia, Iceland is a country settled in the face of grim hardship that forces, in the grip of the realities, a wry humour as a means to cope?


There’s the first floor cafe terrace announcing it will only open when the ‘temperature reaches a toasty 5 degrees.’ Despite it being a mild winter by Iceland standards, I suspect that terrace would remain closed for  a few weeks yet.


A little array of single gloves is arranged on the spikes of  an unobtrusive entry gate It appears to be someone’s original advertisement for, I think, a speed-dating meeting. And there’s a random mural on how to tie a tie, just in case you find you need to be reminded. In Reykjavik, on the main street.


We happen across the ‘Iceland Phalllological Museum’ - yes, that is exactly what it’s about! - proudly advertising itself on T-shirts as being ‘Not for Pussies.’ Other, less risqué outlets cheerfully sell similar garments pronouncing “Don’t Mess with Iceland: We May not have the Cash, but we’ve got the Ash” I would have bought one, but the word ‘Mess’ was actually substituted for something less child-suitable.


Reading up on one of our destinations, Thingvellir (more on this fascinating place another time), we discovered a line about the location’s suitability, in the south west of the country, for a meeting point for ancient chieftains. The guide observes that those making the seventeen day journey  from the eastern side of the island did find crossing the glaciers and rivers ‘problematic.’


A little bit down from the inexplicably named ‘Chuck Norris Burger Bar’ we are trying to buy orange juice. “Appelsinusafi”, we learn. Not to be confused with Apple juice , which is “eplasafi”.
“Yes!” the assistant happily explains in perfect English (all Icelanders learn English from seven years old). “The word apple entered our language twice and we kept both!” And why not?


Do walk around Reykjavik’s centre. It’s marked by the towering  Hallgrimskirkja Church which affords quite exhilarating 360 degree views over the capital’s colourful roofs to the harbour, inlet, lava fields and crisp, clear, snowclad ranges beyond. This vibrancy of colour lends a wonderful energy to this subarctic city, home to two thirds of Iceland’s 350,000 strong population. Houses are coloured brightly, people wear colours (and occasionally even black,) buildings and installations are lit at night by colours, predominantly echoing those of the Northern Lights.
Mix these colours, the humour, the sharp air, the inconsistencies - the political incorrectness - and the snow together and the refreshing energy is there even in the long subarctic nights kept crackling with the boom of fireworks .(Icelanders love fireworks: selling them as fundraisers for various community organisations, they let off 650 tonnes of them each year.)
A soft, understated pulse running through the world’s most northerly capital city, warms you to its quirks  even when it is “slightly chilly out there.”


And I haven’t even touched upon the geothermal hot-tubs in the snow yet….


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    Author

    Travel has always featured strongly in my photographic work: whether on assignment for a newspaper or on holiday with my family, I have always enjoyed recording the unique scenes and sights appreciated most by eyes fresh to a region. This blog is a small record of some of my travels and experiences - and even some photography tips. Some have been published, some not. Whatever, I hope you enjoy the blog.

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