In late July 2016, I took advantage of the half-price offer on Tasmania's #ThreeCapesTrack and although this is not the sort of walk I would normally do, I can honestly say I wasn't disappointed. With hut accommodation making tent carrying unnecessary and the expertly constructed track keeping the boots dry all the way(!), it was fast and extremely enjoyable. Besides, the aging knees were quite sore enough at the end of four days!
This image was captured at dawn on day 3 of the walk. Leaving Munro hut just after 5 a.m., I raced seven dark kilometres to reach this location in time for sunrise. Most of the (several kilometres of) boardwalk on the track was iced over following the preceding day's snowfall and my boots offered pretty tenuous purchase as I skidded along in the light of my headtorch. Having been thus held up by a very real potential for injury (and an intense dislike for pain), the last kilometre was a race with the light. So many beautiful moonlit compositions presented themselves on either side before I reached the Blade, that I almost missed my primary goal. Easy distraction is an unfortunate personality trait of mine, as those who know me will attest, and one that rarely works to advantage for a photographer!
The 29m high Tasman Island Lighthouse stands at the 276m high point of the island. Constructed in 1906 and unmanned since 1976, the light provides essential navigational assistance to shipping, great and small. The spectacular vantage point of the Blade (seen in the foreground), is a narrow spine of dolerite on Cape Pillar, that juts out towards Tasman Island. Having sailed around the island and its very welcome light on several occasions during Sydney-Hobart yacht races, it was a thrill to be able to walk to where I was able to look across, rather than up from below. Rain squalls passed just off the coast, providing a natural diffusion filter for this beautiful rosy light, without getting me wet (or more importantly, my gear). The wind had been very strong for several days, reaching 113 kph the previous day and was still a good 60 kph when I arrived at my rocky perch. So I was very quick to choose a somewhat less precarious stance for my tripod than I'd initially planned, preferring not to see my gear blown off into the seething brine below, or (more importantly) see myself joining in its certain demise.
This image is made up of five individual, overlapping frames, shot in portrait format. These photos were then blended into one, seamless image. I hope you enjoy it.