I’ve been doing an ongoing documentary project on inshore fishermen on the lovely island of Mull off Scotland’s west coast.
For those who choose to do this its hard hard work, in an economically and socially deprived area; but an area that the residents are committed to, and devoted to the way of life required to survive there.
I’d been out with the fishermen during the week, fishing for brown crabs, which were stored live in a series of cages in the bay. On the day the refrigerated truck comes to take their live catch to markets in the south, to England, France and Spain, the men rise early. Pre-dawn on a bitterly cold and pitch-black December morning they begin to sort the crabs for export.
No electricity supply here so the only light comes from an arc lamp and petrol generator. The men worked in a pool of golden light, the constant hum of the genny accompanying their banter and craic. I used a flashgun on my camera to gently fill the shadows as I followed their labours.
Then my batteries packed in and I needed to get more from my vehicle. As I walked from the pier my eyes adjusted to the darkness….which I realised with astonishment was no longer total blackness, but a gloom-filled dawn casually ambling in to chase away the night.
I turned and looked back at the workers in the light. Ahhhh! A picture!
I ran for my camera and set up my tripod and timed it, one two three four CLICK! And again. And again. And finally I caught what I wanted – the men doing ‘something’ and each one separate and distinct, and in the distance the pinprick blinking of the Ardnamurchan Lighthouse, the most westerly point on the British mainland, miles away across the Sound of Mull.
Sometimes being in the light conceals from you the exquisite beauty of darkness.