Moonlight Sonata

I was on the remote mountains of the Isle of Rum, working on a photography contract over the course of a year for our government’s environment agency, SNH.

It was hard work, on big hills, in rough country. Today I knew I was the only person on the hill, with deer, goats and eagles for company. But I had a satellite phone to call in every two hours to confirm I was still alive.

And on this bitter winter evening, I was contemplating a long, slow, careful descent off the icy Rum Cuillin ridge back to Kinloch Castle where I was staying.

Wind shaped ice on mountain, Isle of Rum Scotland © John MacPherson

In the growing darkness of this December night, twilight glooming all around me, I could see a weather front sliding in from the west, its steely blue visage betraying its intent. But I would be down by then. I hoped.

The moon was half full, and cast a blue veil across the landscape. Bright enough that I needed no torch.

Rum rock crumbling on a crag held a hole, I tried to capture the moon through it. I postioned myself & camera. The moon moved. I moved & set up again. The moon moved. I moved…

The moon was uncooperative and was luring me towards a steep slippery edge. I decided to ignore the moon, and to descend. Safely down though, not the other, unintended down. And as I put my backpack on I noticed a small ice finger in a hole at my feet.

A small, thin sliver of weather-formed wonder, pointing west – towards the prevailing wind. The moonlight shone through it, luminous silver-blue. I set up my tripod, 60 seconds exposure, on slow film, with a small aperture. A long time. “A fortnight at f8” as we say in the Highlands. And I pressed the shuttertimer and waited.

And then in the silence between the sound of the shutter opening……………………………………………………………and closing, in that minute, I heard music. The unmistakable sound of a melody. Low, gentle notes, but a tune. Somewhere near. Not far. Not loud music faintly from afar, but quiet music loud close by. We can all tell THAT difference. And it wafted around me, high notes, counterpoint to a lower cadence, a deeper thrumming that was familiar, yet only half-remembered.

Ice crystals on grass beside a small stream on the side of Coire Dubh. Isle of Rum NNR, Scotland © John MacPherson

I followed the ice-finger’s pointing, west, towards the advancing weather. And found a small stream. The splish-splash water darting to and fro had encased the hanging grasses in ice diamonds. Some were so heavy they stayed still, others light enough to feel the waterfall’s liquid breath moved with it, as it thrummed into the orchestra pit it had carved itself over centuries.

Each little jewel glockenspieling in the water-draught, clink clink clink clink clinkety-clink against its neighbours.

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.