All images and videos in this whole Blog are Ed’s

Ode to Ed

Home—I Miss Ed Already

My last night in Scotland was a handoff, and saying goodbye to Ed was difficult. I had such a magnificent time.

As he did on our last trip to Scotland, Ed drove for three and a half hours, dropped me off, and immediately began the three-and-a-half-hour drive home—seven hours of driving in total. He had to get back to prepare for work the next day.

We arranged to exchange packages in Perth with Rob Reid, another great friend. In this case, the packages were me and my bags. Altogether, my friends drove for approximately ten hours that day—for me.

After many sleeps, I checked out of the Holiday Inn and crossed the street, pulling my luggage over every kind of terrain imaginable. After more than fifty years of travel, I still have not learned how to pack light.

I am my own Sherpa, and there is no way to lighten the load. After all, I need two camera bodies, four lenses, charging cables, a flash, and lights. I have backups for everything, and I use the best glass money can buy.

The quality and features of today’s equipment are mind-numbing. Take my Sony Alpha 1, for example. It is old technology now—three years old. I used to joke that I had the best professional camera available for approximately twenty-five minutes.

Still, there is something wonderful about a lens that can track a bird, find its eyes, and keep them sharp. As a result, I now count a sighting only when I can see the bird’s eyes. The Sony can track and lock a bird’s eyes at a stunning rate of 120 times per second. Yes, 120 times per second!

Clothes can do double duty, and I can wash them. Lenses, however, each have individual jobs and are essential. I must admit that I am using my iPhone more often. On this trip to Scotland, I even went out one evening with only the iPhone. It was torture.

The camera equipment was essential on at least two occasions. During the quicksand episode, it gave Ed something to grab while pulling me out of the silty water—or, as I prefer to call it, quicksand. I managed to keep the camera tucked under my sweater, so it stayed high and dry.

The heavy camera bag may have helped, too. When I thrust it toward Ed, its weight might have helped pull me out of the sinking sand. It is nice to know that my equipment can occasionally function as emergency rescue gear.

The other time the equipment was a disadvantage was when I was walking through the bog on the moors. It was not as frightening as the quicksand, but three- and four-foot-deep pools of clear water were scattered throughout the area. Fortunately, the heather offered enough firm footing to avoid them.

I should point out, however, that I am not as sure-footed or nimble as Ed. He moved across the landscape like Muhammad Ali, floating like a butterfly from one high spot to another.

Me? I was an out-of-shape George Chuvalo with feet like Herman Munster.

I am sure I swore at Ed for at least half of those steps.

Still, nothing good happens if you never push yourself. The walk across the moors was well worth the effort. Reaching the end felt like a major accomplishment and called for a celebration. The scenery was spectacular, and the photographs were among the best of the trip.

Fortunately, I left the big camera bag at our base and took only what I needed. Bringing the entire bag would have forced me to jettison a lens—or possibly something more important, such as food—to lighten the load.

Over the moors, I was grateful for every ounce I had left behind.

Ode to Ed

There were many highlights on the trip, but the biggest was spending time with Ed.

We have many things in common, yet we are also very different. Some of those differences are substantial, but overall, ours is an incredibly amicable relationship. Ed goes above and beyond to make sure I am happy, and I accommodate him, appreciating the over-the-top treatment and the way he looks after me.

It was always a challenge to avoid saying I liked something.

I often compared Ed to my mother, Lucy. If I even hinted that I liked something, the next time he had the chance, he would make sure it ended up in my hands.

Come to think of it, I should have told him that I really liked the latest Corvette.

Ed did all the planning for this trip, and it consumed him. At the time, I was in the middle of publishing my judo book, The Essence of Judo, which was demanding enough on its own. I was crisscrossing the province, interviewing fifty-three people, visiting good friends in British Columbia, and winding down my one-year commitment to introducing my clients to David O’Neil at Bellwether.

Closing out my business consumed whatever spare time I had left.

As a result, Ed handled everything. He planned the routes, researched accommodations, found the hikes and sightseeing opportunities, and even researched the restaurants. This trip was entirely Ed’s creation, tailored to me and my photography I trusted him completely.

On top of all the preparation, Ed took two weeks off from his new job to drive me around. I was treated like a prince. At times, Ed may even have thought he was looking after a princess. ;-)

Every day brought something special.

Ed documented the trip with his 365 camera, and we tried out some interesting photo ideas. One idea involved me scaling an open rock face. That would have been a wonderful accomplishment, but I am uncomfortable climbing a ladder, let alone scrambling up an exposed rock face without safety equipment.

Another idea was to walk along the seashore as the waves rolled in. We abandoned that attempt because of the quicksand.

The goal was always to have fun, and with Ed’s zany sense of humour, nothing ever felt untoward. I tried to join in on his ideas too, although I am more reserved than he is.

I also do a couple of things that drive him crazy. I am slow and methodical. I am not known for animated reactions, either, which must have driven him completely nuts.

Somehow, the friendship has survived.

Photo opportunities were everywhere, whether I was in the car travelling to a location or settled at a home base. The lighthouse at Stoer was our base for three nights. I would go out to capture something specific, return briefly, and then notice that the sun had created an entirely different scene.

Out I would go again.

The weather worked the same way. Rain, sunshine, clouds, and everything in between, each created something special.

And what can I say about Cullen?

I could easily have spent an entire week there. If it was not the rugged rocks and surf, it was Seatown. If it was not the upper village, it was the birding. There simply was not enough time.

Ed also wanted me to experience the minke whale sightings he had enjoyed, so we went out three times in his boat. He is an excellent skipper and was very careful to ensure I felt safe. I never once felt in danger.

On one outing, the swells became higher, and Ed wisely decided they were no longer going to be fun. He made a quick and decisive decision to return to the harbour.

We saw Findlater Castle, where the movie The Odyssey was filmed.

Unfortunately, we did not spot any whales or dolphins while we were at sea. I had also hoped for an up-close opportunity to photograph northern gannets, and the trip to Findlater gave me plenty.

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This post is an amalgamation of Ed’s edited days. Not every day is included because the website has content-length restrictions. The rest will have to wait for another stage.

For now, I must return to editing the 12,000 photographs for the book.

Our Friends, New and Old

Ed’s background and storytelling ability made him a wonderful companion. He could regale people with stories about his involvement in the movie industry.

I, on the other hand, cannot reliably remember actors’ names or movie titles—let alone the lines spoken in a film forty years ago.

We did share our adventures with complete strangers we met along the roads we travelled. Many of them are now following our adventures as well. No one could simply say hello and move on.

We had to connect properly.

Can you imagine Ed, NOT GETTING INTO THE PICTURE?

It was pure bliss to share stories with fellow travellers and our hosts in a more meaningful way.

This trip was about much more than photography. It was about two friends connecting, just as we have done for the past forty-five years.

The fact that people wanted to come along for the ride is a testament to that friendship.

Thank you, dear readers. You added an extra layer of fun to the trip. Your likes and irreverent comments were fascinating, and we even heard from people I had not heard from in years.

We had a wonderful time sharing the special moments that happened every day.

Thank you for giving us the venue—and the forum—to share our adventures.