J Is For Jerra Jerra

Don't Blink Or You'll Miss It, Mate

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

One of the joys of long interstate drives is having enough time on your hands to stop and shoot some images every times you see a sight that takes your fancy. Which, in my case, is fairly often. Oh, okay, make that VERY often.

In June this year I was driving through the lush Riverina, the picturesque farming area in New South Wales. Every time I cross the border from my home state, Victoria, I am surprised by how green it is in NSW, and this time was no exception. Even though it was early in the Australian winter, there had not been a lot of rain in Victoria, but across the state line, things were emerald green.


The first image was shot at the tiny Jerra Jerra Creek just outside the town of Culcairn, while I navigated my way to Wagga Wagga and then on to Temora. It was a good road, although there were some sweeping bends, so I had to make sure every time I stopped to take some shots that I was in clear view of traffic coming from either direction.

This abandoned building caught my attention, but because it was on a fairly straight stretch of road, I was able to pull over easily and shoot a couple of frames to emphasise its desolation and the sense of abandonment amid the green paddocks just off the highway.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

I Is For Idiom

Mend Your Fences Before You Go To Woop Woop

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

My parents grew up in a generation that learnt Latin and French, which in turn had tremendous benefits for my older brothers and for me. Why? Because we imbibed an understanding of the subtle nuances of the English language and how strongly influenced it is by European borrowings.

I think I inherited my love of language from my mother, who used to read to me long before I learnt how to form words in my own mind. I soaked up language and the way it was used and as I grew, I came to understand and appreciate the history behind common idioms.

But I was a callow youth in my early twenties when I travelled to Australia for the first time, covering a cricket tour in a land that I would one day choose to live in as a young newly-married migrant.

On that first visit to the country I would one day call home, I was already conversant with many of typically Australian phrases, simply because I had read o much Australian literature as a child, in particular the wonderful novels by the English-born Nevil Shute, who came to live in Melbourne and who wrote of this country in such simple yet evocative terms.

I knew that "dunny" was a toilet. I knew that a "ute" was a utility vehicle. I knew that "bastard" was almost regarded as a term of endearment among blokes.

But I learnt one great Australianism in Sydney, during the first week of that trip.


On the way to visit someone, I was told by a local resident who was driving me there that the person lived in "Woop Woop". I digested that information solemnly.

Much later (after I had returned from the visit) my aunt, who lived in Sydney, asked me how my day had panned out. I told her it had been a busy one and as I sat down to a great home-cooked meal, I began to enumerate all the tasks I had carried out, including a two-hour round trip to visit the person earlier that day.

"Where does he live?" inquired my aunt.

"Some suburb called Woop Woop," I answered.

I thought my aunt was going to suffer an asthma attack, because she was laughing so hard. When she had recovered her composure, she explained the reality to me.

Woop Woop isn’t a suburb. It’s just a fictional reference to any place that is far away or hard to reach.

For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

H Is For Highway

Gee, Dad Found His Own Way In The Outback

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

See, it’s perfectly logical. I used to get lost. Not because I am a bad driver, but simply because my aptitude for navigation does not always, ahem, match my driving skills.

So when Mrs Authorblog presented me with a GPS last year, the gods in every religious pantheon breathed a sigh of relief and said: "Right, we don’t need to worry about him getting lost – ever again. "

The GPS was great fun. I hooked it up even if we were driving to the shops, just for the novelty of hearing a disembodied voice actually telling me when to turn, which direction to turn, and how long it would be before my next cross-street. I reckoned I had found Nirvana.

When we flew interstate in January this year, it was the first thing I packed. As soon as we stepped off the plane in Perth, capital of Western Australia, I proudly marched up to the rental car desk, claimed my big Camry, opened the driver’s door in the sweltering heat and even before I turned the aircon on, I connected the GPS and put in the co-ordinates for the Sheraton.

Piece of cake. Never been to Perth before, but I drove with as much confidence as locals who had spent all their lives there.

But a couple of weeks later, I blotted my copybook. Just when the family figured I would never get lost again, I did. Yes, the GPS was operating and I turned left when it told me to turn right. You could just about hear the GPS clicking its imaginary tongue and intoning gravely: "This bloke’s a moron. "

But I recently drove a 1200-kilometre round trip up the bush, into neighbouring New South Wales, to the beautiful little Riverina town of Temora. I was on my own, without the family for the first time in clan history, because it was just a quick in-and-out trip for research purposes. But I reckon Mrs Authorblog and the Authorbloglets were placing wagers on how soon it would take me to get lost.

I left on schedule, arrived at my destination on schedule, drove around the town without any dramas and then drove back to Melbourne on schedule. No big deal?

Mate, I did it all without the GPS. Yes, I had it with me in the car, but I never once turned it on.

Just one word of warning. Next time you see me, don’t tell me "Get lost" – because I probably will, literally and metaphorically.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

G Is For Grace

Sometimes We Find It In Unexpected Places

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

There is no knowing where you'll find the next object on which to train your camera. This gracefully crafted piece of metalwork caught my eye one morning, in a beautifully maintained garden on the tropical island of Langkawi, Malaysia, in July last year.

It was part of a footpath lamp that was about two and a half metres tall and although this was shot early in the morning beside the beach, I was in deep shade cast by a canopy of tall trees.

I was able to stand on a step on the steep hillside to achieve the angle of shooting downwards on something that was actually a few inches taller than I am!

I framed this very deliberately to include the interesting but subtle reflection on the convex surface of the lamp in the top right-hand corner, as well as the muted tones highlighting the curved section of the painted metal in the bottom right-hand corner.

This composition also gave me some interesting (and varied) background hues to highlight my main subject, with the edge of the water only about thirty metres away.

Just for the record, have a look at the second shot (below). It's taken from exactly the same spot a couple of seconds later, with the same settings. But this time I changed the focus ring so that the metal was in soft focus and the hotel pool and the nearby sea were the main subject.

For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

F Is For Federation Square

Does This Shot Remind You Of The Moon?

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

It might look like an invocation of Pink Floyd’s lyrics, but it ain’t really the dark side of the moon.

It’s a tight shot of the floodlit facade of Federation Square, here in the heart of Melbourne. There are different planes here, hence the gradation in light – but have a close look at the precision of those triangles.

Euclid himself would have been so proud of the precision shown by the architects and the builders!

The image above was shot on New Year's Eve 2008, just after the first of the evening's fireworks displays and literally a couple of hours before the clocks ticked over into 2009. As I located the image to upload for this post, I remembered shooting a similar frame a couple of years earlier.

In a neat display of synchronicity, the image below actually shows the same facade, from a slightly different viewpoint.

You can even see the silhouette of the single floodlamp that gives the building its beautiful glow. And even more synchronously, the second image was taken exactly two years earlier, on New Year's Eve 2006. Yup, just after the first fireworks display.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

E Is For Engine

You Could Say It's A Decent Track Record

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Thomas the Tank Engine was a major part of our home when the Authorbloglets were growing up. When one of them was two years old and we set off on a long overseas trip, several Thomas engines made the trip as well – in a backpack, under a special deal that ensured they would be carried through every airport (and there were several) that we visited on the trip.

When we moved into a home that we built, there were several metres of track and several dozen engines that were permanently laid out on the carpeted expanse of one of the play rooms.

No, I’m serious. The track was carefully put down and the engines installed – and they were only put away four or five years later. So yes, Thomas and the other Really Useful Engines played a fairly significant part in our lives.

At one stage, the collection had built up to the point where one of the Authorbloglets had only one engine remaining – Boco, the diesel. But we could not find Boco anywhere. Not even at the ABC shop, where we ventured in an attempt to try and order Boco from overseas. Eventually, a childhood friend visited us from England and before she flew out she asked if there was anything special that we needed.


Yes, there was. Could she possibly duck into a toy shop and buy a miniature Boco? Because she lived in the UK, this was not a problem and when she arrived and handed over the gift to the little Authorbloglet, it was as if the Promised Day had arrived.

Maybe a couple of years later, we struck a similar problem. The twin coaches known as The Old Coaches could not be found in Australia, or any other country we tried to scour. After all, this was in pre-eBay days. Eventually, I phoned someone I had interviewed once, about five years earlier.

Would he perhaps be able to buy the coaches and mail them to me if I paid him the costs? Absolutely, he said, assuring me he would be delighted to do so.


About ten days later the Old Coaches arrived in the mail and it was – as you would expect – akin to the Second Coming. I kept in touch with this person whom I had once interviewed and a few months later he told me he and his wife would be in Australia on a very brief visit, on a very tight schedule.

We asked if they would possibly be able to have dinner with us and they said yes, they would possibly be able to squeeze us into their hectic schedule.

And that was the evening the Authorbloglets finally got to meet Christopher Awdry, the man for whom the Thomas stories were first told before they were printed in book form – and the man who took over the stories after his father, the Reverend Wilbert Awdry, died.

Yes, he signed every Thomas book under our roof. And yes, it took him a long time!


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

D Is For Drop

Okay, So Maybe It Also Signifies Danger As Well

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I guess it’s not often you get to take a shot directly above a waterfall, but this shot of the Montmorency Falls in Quebec City was taken in mid-September 2005. I wasn't rafting over the edge - but I had a great vantage point from the wooden walkway that spans the falls themselves.

I was astonished when the guide told me that these falls are actually higher than the Niagara Falls – but obviously not as wide. She also told me that the Montmorency Falls freeze over completely in winter – and yes, that’s a sight I would love to replicate from this identical angle.

I shot this with a Canon EOS 3000 in fairly grim weather. There was low cloud and rain, but I was determined to get a bird’s-eye view of the gorge.

As I’m well over six foot, I was able to lean over and hold my camera out a long way to take this shot directly above the apex. If you look to the left of the frame, you’ll actually see floating logs down below, looking like a collection of matchsticks.

I shot about a dozen frames, from slightly different angles, but I like this one because of three reasons: a) it is an almost even balance between foaming water and relatively calm water far below; b) it is unmistakably Canadian because of the logs and c) I was lucky enough to catch two separate tendrils of “mist” emerging from far below.

This is just a low-resolution version of the original shot. To see the high-res version, just view my RedBubble version of the same shot at Over The Edge Of The Waterfall.

For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

C Is For Colour

And For Cameras, Which Capture Those Hues

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I honestly don’t remember the first time I saw a colour photograph, but I was probably very little, maybe about five years old. Most of the photographs in our family albums were black-and-white images, back in the days when 35mm cameras were a luxury item.

School photos were black and white. Formal portraits were black-and-white. Wedding photographs were black and white. Life was in vivid colour, but black-and-white photography was - and still is - the ultimate form of pictorial art.

But my father also used colour film and what I do remember is that it could sometimes take months to finish a single roll of colour film. Then the camera would be taken, almost like a religious icon, to one of the city’s leading photo studios. There, someone would take the camera into a darkroom, wind off the film and return the camera to Dad.

Then the film would be put in a special bag and despatched 2000 kilometres away to Bombay (now Mumbai) where it would be processed and returned to us in a special envelope, with the prints in one packet and the negatives in another.

What I do recall with clarity is that after handing in the film, it was more than a month before we would actually see the prints.

Another thing I remember clearly from my childhood is that strips of colour negatives had that unique burgundy colour, whereas black-and-white negatives were glossy black. And another vivid memory from those years is my absolute amazement that if a particular area on a colour negative was green, the colour on the print would be red.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would one day travel to some of the world’s most beautiful places, capturing each aspect they offer, in real-life colour, thanks to the magical technology of digital cameras.

It is our duty to recognise, with humility, the R&D that goes into the equipment that we use. But most of all, we need to recognise - also with humility - that a power greater than anything Mankind could possibly harness, created the beauty around us that we seek to capture.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

B Is For Buddy Holly

Like They Say, Folks, The Show Must Go On

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking towards Southbank when I noticed a vivid pink bus. I quickly grabbed the camera from around my neck when I realised it was actually heading towards Crown casino – and if I was quick enough, I’d be able to shoot a couple of frames.

Now it’s time for a confession – I stood behind the bus as its driver reversed slowly but carefully down a thoroughfare shared by pedestrians. No, it’s not as stupid as it sounds. There was a set of bollards prominently placed, so that no traffic can pass a certain point. I made sure the bollards were between me and the reversing bus.


At that point, I realised that the bus was actually the tour vehicle for "Buddy The Musical", the latest theatrical production on the life of Buddy Holly – and that the personalised number plate actually proclaimed BHOLLY. That’s why the first frame in this series is deliberately composed to include the blue-and-white number plate which you did notice, didn’t you!

On another note, yes, it’s still six months away from the traditional decorative use of holly. But you have to remember that it’s still winter here, so if you’re going with the Christmas In July theme, there’s nothing better than some extra Holly!


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

A Is For Angel

This Melbourne Landmark Is Larger Than Life

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

So, did you spot the angel in the photograph above? No, don't look in the sky. The large sculpture by the riverside is called "The Angel". One of Deborah Halpern's signature pieces of art, it was commissioned 22 years ago, in 1987, for Australia’s Bicentennial celebrations the following year.

This sequence of images was shot exactly two years ago, on an icy cold Melbourne winter day. And just in case you're looking at the image above and thinking the trees don't look like our normal Aussie gum trees, you're dead right. They're actually English elms, planted all along the Yarra River by the early settlers.


I was standing at the area of parkland known as Birrarung Marr, photographing Deborah Halpern's masterpiece when I realised that if I stood under the 30-foot tall (almost 10 metres) work of art , I could actually use its shape as a triangular frame for the cityscape.

Angel's first home was actually the south moat of the nearby National Gallery Victoria, or NGV, but it was moved in 2006 to its present spot at Birrarung Marr.

This shot (above) was taken under the work of art, looking directly across the river. A few second after I took that frame, I wondered if I would somehow be able to find an angle where I could actually photograph Princes Bridge.

The short answer was yes. As you can see from the image below, I was able to compose an asymmetrical shot to include not only all three spans of the prominent bridge, but even the surface of the Yarra, as well as the towering Rialto. It used to be Melbourne's tallest building until Eureka Tower (visible in the second frame) took that distinction when it opened in 2006.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

Z Is For Zoom

They Zoom Overhead, And We Zoom In As They Fly

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

It's not often you have the privilege of photographing one of the most iconic fighter aircraft in aviation history - but as some of you would remember, about six weeks ago I drove 1200 kilometres for the chance to shoot some images of Spitfires at the Temora Aviation Museum.

The Museum has the only two airworthy Spitfires in Australia and while there are always some amazing photo opportunities in the Outback, this was one rare photo shoot I wasn't going to miss for anything.


The first image, of the Spitfire Mark XVI climbing into the sky over Temora, was taken with a 70-300mm zoom lens. I was in the stands with hundreds of others and I shot an entire series of images as the fighter started its takeoff, the tail came up and finally the aircraft became airborne.

The first image in this sequence, shot without a tripod, shows the distinctive undercarriage retracting into the wheel wells in each wing.

The second image (above) shows the Spitfire in tandem with another World War II-vintage fighter, the US-built Curtiss P-40 Kittyhawk.


This shot (above) shows the clean shape of the Spitfire's distinctive (and famous) eliptical wing, which was inspired by the late Reginald Mitchell's observation of seagulls and their wing shape. In the shot you can actually see the fighter's original 20mm Hispano cannon, the distinctive scoop or air intake under the fuselage, as well as its angled tailwheel.


And when a Spitfire, flying inverted, reaches the topmost point of a loop, several hundred metres above you, there is one other thing you must remember to do as you watch and admire the beauty of its performance. You have to remember to press the shutter on your camera.


If you missed my earlier series of Spitfire images at Temora, you can see them at W Is For Warbirds.

It's fitting that these images were shot on 6 June, which as you would know is the 65th anniversary of the Normandy landings. There is a very neat symmetry in being able to shoot these images on such a historic day.

And yes, I'd drive 1200 kilometres again, to capture images of this aircraft in flight. Wouldn't you?

For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.

X Is For Xtra Special

Another Feather In This Street Musician's Cap

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Terry Sansom would have to be one of the most unique musicians I've seen anywhere in the world. He’s unique not because he plays the piano in the Bourke Street Mall here in Melbourne - he's unique because he treats it like a fully portable instrument.

He pushes the piano into the mall every day and when he’s finished, he pushes it away again. No fuss, no bother. No worries, mate. Me, I've never pushed a piano anywhere in my life, let along down a public mall, so I can only guess what a huge effort that would be.

And can he play? Mate, let me tell you, he so can play - he has a wide repertoire and he plays with a sense of fun as well. But because Bourke Street Mall is not one of my usual haunts, I'd never seen him until about four weeks ago.


Like I said, I don’t really spend a lot of time in this part of the city, but I was racing through the area one afternoon, in pouring rain. Naturally, I did not take my camera with me. My Pentax is efficiently weather-sealed, but I wasn't going to tempt fate in heavy rain that day. As I raced on foot through the mall, I suddenly heard the sound of a piano.

That’s when I saw him for the first time. Sitting there with a plastic poncho to protect him from the elements - and playing his heart out as the city bustled around him. He wasn’t part of a store promotion. He wasn’t playing with corporate sponsorship.

Just a bloke and his big old piano. Naturally, I had to ask the obvious question. I walked up, put some money in his bucket and asked him how on earth he gets a piano into the mall.


“Van”, he answered in a monosyllable because he was intent on playing. I had to find out more and I had to get some pictures of him. I asked if he would be there the next day, He nodded.

The next day, when I returned with my camera, the weather was clearer. Again I had to ask him how on earth he manages to push a heavy full-size piano around. This time I waited to ask him the question between songs. He told me he loads the piano onto his van at the end of the day and then brings it back into the mall the next day.

So how did he actually push it around? He pointed to the left-hand side of the piano. His eyes twinkled. "There’s a bit of redgum under there and I drilled through it to put a detachable wheel in so I can actually 'steer' the piano."


See, that another thing I’d never thought of. How on earth would you push a piano on your own - and "steer" it to ensure that it travels in the intended direction? It’s not like getting into a Ford, and turning on the ignition, is it? Just one of those things we don't think of because we've never had to do the task before.

I had picked the right day to meet him. With winter's embrace of our city, he was heading up north to seek warmth and longer days. He won’t be back in Melbourne until November.

When I ask permission to take photographs, he nods with a smile. Then he tells me people don’t generally ask permission. But he’s not complaining. He tells me he’s on YouTube. Passers-by film him and upload the clips to the site.

Then he tells me about the German tourists who bought one of his CDs. They took his music back to the factory where they worked - and the CDs were an instant hit. They were so popular that no one was allowed to take them out of the workplace. So they then had to put in an extra order for some more stock!


Does he do gigs? Yes, he says, he's doing a 60th birthday tomorrow. Far from where he lives? He shrugs.

I have to ask one final question. Where does he live?

He gives me a wry grin before he replies. "Wherever I park the van".

POSTSCRIPT: A big thank you to Craig Glenn, who tracked down this YouTube clip of Terry Sansom playing.


For the home of ABC Wednesday, go to Mrs Nesbitt's Place.