And finally, Patagonia. El fin del mundo. The wide, but wide, open spaces of the Argentinian Patagonian pampas seem to be heaven sent to the panoramic photographer. Every direction has “designed for XPan” stamped in the corner. And yet as soon as you point a camera at it, it slides away, dissolves into nothingness.  It’s the pampas. There’s nothing there. Nothing to see, nothing to photograph, except that it just draws you back, teasing and insisting that you capture it.

I have several rolls from Patagonia where there isn’t one image worthy of the name out of the 21 precious Kodak Ektachrome frames. And yet at the time, totally immersed in the empty immensity of it all, I was convinced that every shot was a masterpiece.

But how do you photograph emptiness ? This one example, 80km from nowhere in all directions, maybe, more by luck than any skill, hints at something. The texture and direction of the grasses in the foreground mirrors the higher, darker clouds, and the sliver of lake in the distance gives some depth.

I just remember the wind, and the silence. Oh, and the cookies.

One problem with digital cameras is that it is all too easy to build up huge volumes of photos that become so overwhelming that you never even look at them*. This is certainly the case from the photographic results of my jaunt at the beginning of this year to Argentina and Antarctica. Although I have more or less completed a reasonable edit of my Antarctica photos, the Argentina ones have been largely untouched.

In particular, a set I had at the back of my mind was one from the first few days of the trip, in the touristy La Boca neighbourhood of Buenos Aires. I particular wanted to get around to doing something with these, as they are the first proper set of photos I took with the Sigma DP2 Merrill. Unfortunately, on our way to La Boca, I was relieved of the weight of carrying my shoulder bag around with me. Some lucky Argentinian found him/herself the proud owner of 3 Sigma DP2 batteries and a lens cap, as well as a pair of reading glasses and a rather nice bag. Certainly, the worst loss in practical terms was that of the batteries, which reduced me to something like 40 shots at a time on the one remaining. Obviously buying a battery for a Sigma DP2M was not going to happen in Buenos Aires, try as I might. Or indeed anywhere else in Argentina.  So, it was a bit like having 1 roll of film. Just like the old days.  And just like in the old days, I printed them.

* Actually it was even worse before digital. The task of “sorting out slides” was enough to put anybody off photography for life.

Chinstrap penguins (Pygoscelis antarctica) are almost certainly the cutest of all penguins - except for all the others, of course. But really, they’re cute. Not quite as entertaining as Adelies, not quite as exuberant as Gentoos, not quite as big as Emperors, but sweeter than all of these combined.

And here’s a selection.

With the unflappable support of the Olympus Optical Company’s E-5 photographic apparatus and assorted, and somewhat heavy, lenses.

Keeping in tune with my general aura of grim despondency, the first set of non-panoramic photographs I have put together from last winter’s Antarctica jaunt features that slough of despond, Whaler’s Bay at Deception Island. In much the same way that I was drawn to decay and desolation at Pyramiden, at the other end of the planet, and indeed at Argentiero, in a very different climate, I find Deception island quite fascinating. It seems that vestiges and faded memories of human presence seem to attract me much more than the thriving activity. Deception Island, and Whaler’s Bay in particular, depresses quite a few people - there remains an aura of wanton, reckless destruction from whaling times, and the residue of the last sequence of eruptions contributes to a dark atmosphere. It’s not a happy place.

Whaler’s Bay has been considerably sanitised since my first visit. Although I appreciate the idea of cleaning up the environment, in particular when it comes to dangerous substances, it does seem somewhat at odds with preserving Antarctic history. I’m not sure how justified it can be to present some kind of squeaky clean vision of the past, in particular erasing Argentinian graffiti from the oil tanks.

Whaler’s Bay oil tanks in 1987 …

… Whaler’s Bay oil tanks in 2013.

Some photos from the abandoned silver mining village of Argentiero, on the north-western Sardinian coast. A closed silver mine, but an open gold mine for photography. But this time around, it had to compete with the beach…

Accomplished with the invaluable help of: Olympus E-P3, 14-45mm lens, Nik SilverEFX.