Edifice Complex

Town Hall Frames A Striking Dawn

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Just before we moved our clocks back at the end of more than five months of daylight saving, daybreak seemed to come almost reluctantly to this wide brown land of plains and mountains. The first dusting of pre-dawn cloud would emerge bashfully a few minutes after seven o’clock, but the sun would not actually climb above the horizon until about half past seven.

Since the first weekend of April, we have reverted to normal time and so the sun rises sixty minutes earlier in the mornings, but darkness cloaks this country-continent an hour earlier as well. This will lead to progressively shorter daylight hours until our June solstice, when the days get longer again, despite the cold embrace of winter.


This sequence was shot just before daylight saving ended and as you can see from the time on the clock tower, it was about 7.23am when I shot these images.

The interesting thing with dawn colours here is that the yellows and oranges tend to stay longer in the sky than other shades.

So as soon as I spotted these vivid pink streaks across a skyscape laden with thick cloud, I knew the colours would retreat rapidly. I happened to be driving through Dandenong, a town about 30km south-east of the central business district.


I made a quick decision to drive a bit further, down a couple of streets. Why? Because I knew I would be able to use the distinctive shape of the floodlit Town Hall against the dawn sky.

You’ll notice that I’ve framed these shots asymmetrically. There’s a specific reason for that. I had to be quick – and I didn’t want the squat building on my left (see the photograph below) to encroach on the composition. I shot this sequence with my 18-125mm lens, which gave me more than enough leeway to compose some tight shots of the tower and the dramatic colours across the cloud.


All up, it was no longer than two and a half minutes from the first shot to the last. Interestingly, a staggering drunk happened to notice what I was doing.

He asked if I was a photographer and I answered him courteously. Then, squinting at the beautiful dawn sky, he ventured the comment: "Great sunset."

Either he was twelve hours too late or twelve hours too early. I wished him well, we exchanged thumbs-up signals, and I got back into my car and placed the camera on the front passenger seat.

I started up and just before I pulled away (we’re in right-hand drive cars here in Australia) I looked in my wing mirror. There was no traffic, but this was the sight that greeted me, so of course I had to pick up my camera for one final frame - of the same scene, faithfully reflected in my mirror.


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A Modern Calvary

A Good Friday Sequence That Was Meant To Be

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

7.35.59 am. It was a few minutes before dawn last Friday when I shot this sequence - and I reckon it was perfect for a Good Friday post. The symbolism of the hill, the silhouette of a mobile phone tower instead of a crucifix, the endless landscape, the overwhelmingly grey dawn and a sudden burst of vivid colour - they are so redolent of all the Good Friday gospels and the mental images I conjured up when I was a little boy at Sunday School.


7.36.15 am. I wasn't even supposed to be in this spot. Providence - call it what you will - brought me here. I was in a hurry. I was in a hilly region in Melbourne's south-east, running to a deadline, but as I always do, I had several minutes up my sleeve.

When I am in this region, I normally take the quicker of two options - a clear, straight prime stretch of road with a speed limit of 80 km/h. The other option is low down on my list of priorities, because it is a winding descent through a residential zone where there are three roundabouts, intersecting thoroughfares and a top speed of only 50 km/h which drops to 40km/h in one area before a twisting ascent to the hill's crest.


7.36.39 am. Yet, for some completely unfathomable reason, I take the slow road. Why? I honestly cannot tell you. It went completely against the grain for me to snap on my indicator and make that turn, but that's exactly what I did.

The clouds were completely grey, an unrelenting blanket across the horizon. Then, as I climbed, I spotted a sudden burst of pre-dawn colour through a break in the hills. As a photographer, I knew that I had to pull over as quickly as possible. But I kept going, on the hope that a couple more bends would bring me a great view.

I knew the vantage point wasn't far away. It was less than 30 seconds at most, but I also understood that the heavy cloud cover meant the skyshow would probably only last for a few seconds at most.


7.36.44 am. I parked safely, snatched my camera from the bag and could scarcely believe the powerful colours in the sky. The glow of the pre-dawn sun was simply stunning and for a few precious seconds, there was a strong purple glow to the sky that was redolent of the Outback tones.

I shot this sequence standing less than two metres away from my car. Had I moved further to sprint to a better spot, I would have missed capturing these once-in-a-lifetime colours.

What looks like the sun rising large behind the hill is actually only the glow from the sun that is still below the horizon, but the range of colours that arc across the landscape is - luckily for me - like a rare rainbow.

If you have a moment to spare, scroll back and take a look at the time of each image. You'll see that only 45 seconds - yes, that's all - elapsed between my first shot and my last. These four images are the best of the 10 frames I shot in that time.

Honestly, I think it would take a very special sight to replace this as my favourite sunrise sequence.

For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

On A Hot Streak

Mate, The Mercury Can't Go Any Higher

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Me, I'm fine when there's frost on the ground. So while those of you who live in the northern hemisphere are complaining about having to shovel snow, spare a thought for us Melburnians as we swelter through the worst heatwave in a century.


I took these shots a few hours ago, and the sun looked like a flying saucer as it sank quickly towards the horizon. It's been 45 Celsius for the past three days - and that's 113 Fahrenheit, in case you're wondering.


How hot is that? Well let me put it this way. The weather has been so scorching that even railway lines are starting to buckle. Even those famous cool evenings and nights have become a thing of the past.


We're a tough breed here. We can cope with pretty much anything. But the real worry, as January comes to a close, is that the drought continues. We've had no rain this month. As you can see from this pictorial essay, we saw a buildup of dark clouds at dusk, but they brought false promise. We're still waiting for rain.

Any rain ....

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Who's Been Painting The Horizon?

Sometimes A Simple Street Scene Can Be Arresting

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This photo sequence was shot at Ocean Grove, on Victoria’s surf coast. It was about 8.30pm and I’d noticed cloud starting to build up, low on the horizon. That’s always a good sign, if you’re hoping for a decent series of sunset shots.

So I went outside with my camera, while trying to pretend that I really had no idea that dinner with the extended family was imminent. There was an interesting range of colours in the summer sky - yes, it is summer here in Australia.

There was a striking blue high in the sky, a range of medium pastels lower down and finally the promise of gold low down on the wide horizon. I shot these frames with my favourite 18-125mm lens, which gives a huge range of options.


I shot these from a street, hoping that the dog-walker coming towards me wouldn’t think I was photographing him. I just didn’t have time for explanations. I shot high, I shot wide, I shot horizontal, I shot vertical. I composed Big Sky shots to encompass the entire range of striking hues.

And then, as the gold and the dark clouds raked the lowest segment of the sky, I composed Flat Sky frames for best effect. No matter how striking a sunset is, you always need a bit of luck, an extra dimension that is sometimes accidental. Luckily, there was a street sign, a Give Way in the shape of an inverted triangle, slap-bang in the middle of my field of vision.

As the colours began to concentrate in one long band in the dying seconds of the day, that simple street sign became a silhouette on which to anchor the last streaks of light. For this last shot (below) I opted for nearby branches to anchor the scene, using the street sign in soft focus and slightly off-centre.


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The Last Salute Of The Day’s Light

On Final Approach To Melbourne

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

The inner child comes out every time we check in for a flight, whether it is a short domestic hop or a long international trip.

Do I want an aisle seat or a window seat?

Window, thank you very much. But now that I am a responsible father of three, I happily surrender the coveted seat to one of the Authorbloglets. No worries there.


Last week, when we were flying back across this huge country-continent from a family wedding in Perth, I kept peering past Mrs Authorblog to check the view outside the Qantas Boeing 767. The landscape changed in a range of amazing hues during the almost four-hour flight, and I knew we would be landing just minutes after inky darkness hit the sky like a squid’s secret weapon.

I had done the right thing and given Mrs Authorblog the window seat, but as I had my favourite 18-125mm lens on my camera, I knew that I’d still be able to compose a decent shot through the window if we were treated to a swift burst of striking colour.

Sure enough, just as the captain began to bank towards Melbourne’s Tullamarine airport, I saw the last burst of vivid colour beginning to coat the sky. I quickly shot a series of about ten frames, happily contorting myself (not an easy task when you’re my height) in order to capture the stunning Australian dusk.


The jet banked hard, heeling over on the port wing (that’s left, to the landlubbers) as I was about to hit the trigger and I watched in dismay as the colours swam so high up my little window in row 51 that I simply could not capture them.

Being the resourceful fellow that I am, I realised that I had a few seconds – while the pilot completed the manoeuvre – to capture the hues reflected on the metal skin of the wing, even though there was nothing but complete darkness across the leading and trailing edges.

Sure enough, the captain straightened out in a few seconds and I was level with the horizon once more. This time the colours were even stronger and more pronounced, with the wing itself in darkness this time.

To think that none of this would have happened without the Wright Brothers.


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Join The Mile-High Club

Yep, I'm Talking Real Fireworks In The Sky

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Photographing a fireworks display is always an interesting challenge. You can treat it as an exact science, or you can treat it as an abstract art form. That, in plain terms, is as simple as it gets.

Like a game of Monopoly, you can play the situation strictly by the existing rules, or you can toss the rule book out the window and treat the challenge entirely on your instincts.

So let's start at the beginning. What faces you are some definable factors as well as a couple that defy precise science. Let's begin with the things you can define. You have a vast sky above you. You are in total darkness. You know when the fireworks are scheduled to start. You know you will have an absolute cornucopia of colours.


But - and it's a huge but - there are things you cannot pin down. You do not know where the next rocket, starburst or aerial wheel is going to detonate. You do not know what colour is going to fill the sky next. You do not know what shape it will take. It's a big sky, mate, and the bottom line is that you simply do not know where to point your camera.

And here's another vital element to consider. Even if you are decisive with your camera and you have chosen the best possible speed in the circumstances, even Quickdraw McGraw would be hard-pressed to capture a starburst or a sky-high Catherine wheel at the precise moment it detonates above you.

So do you try and estimate the area of sky where most of the fireworks are detonating and simply concentrate your efforts in that wedge above you? Or do you try and follow each new launch from the ground, track it with your camera and hit the shutter as each explodes in turn?


Then there's the other big question mark. Do you use a tripod? Or should you opt for physical dexterity in view of the fact that a fireworks display is a public event and there are generally thousands of people around you who could a) block your view or b) bump into you and dislodge your carefully balanced tripod while you try and capture the best shots?

There's another factor to consider if you have the option of using a tripod. Quite simply, you are going to be bending over to use the camera for a prolonged period of time. Few tripods extend to the very height of your own eyes, which leads to an interesting clash of physical conditions.

You could be hunched like Quasimodo, with your spine partially parallel to terra firma, while your neck is twisted upwards as you try and get the best view of the sky above.

God created the human spine and neck to co-exist in the same vertical plane. Simple. Unarguable. So why use a tripod, especially if you're as tall as I am and you don't want to see your chiropractor the next morning?


So I chose to be mobile and to be flexible as I shot these scenes at the New Year fireworks display above the Yarra River on Wednesday night. The last time I did this, I used my 18-125 mm lens, which allowed me to get as close as I wanted, while giving me the option of getting an entire skyscape, simply because of the range of the focal plane.

This time I bravely (or foolishly, depending on your point of view) opted to use the 70-300 mm lens instead. I constantly varied my focal length and my focus ring as well. The first few images in this post bring you plenty of sky and a sense of place, but as the display drew to a close, I decided to zoom in fully and try - instinctively - for an overall effect that was "different".

Not an easy challenge, in a wide Australian sky where the fireworks could go anywhere. But I'm certainly pleased with the overall result. If you have time, do let me know what you think.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Star Turn

It's Christmas Time In The City

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I was walking down Flinders Street with my family on Tuesday, soaking up the Christmas atmosphere in the city, when I took this shot. We had just walked out of a multi-level car park when I spotted the delicate colour of the sky. It was about 8.30 at night and the sun had already set, leaving a beautiful summery dusk glow.

We were walking towards Flinders Street Station and I hastened my pace marginally, because I could see that the sky would be fairly dark in less than five minutes. I wanted to shoot the silhouette of the station's main dome and one of the minaret-like towers against the sky.

When I decided the combination of sky and silhouette was just right, I realised I was fairly close to a typical Melbourne Christmas decoration - rows of giant silver stars strung across the streets. I only shot one frame, simply because the all-round balance was as close to ideal as I could have got that evening.

I'd just like to emphasise that I did not plan this shot. I just happened to be walking down the street at exactly the right time. Ten minutes earlier or later and the shot would not have had the same effect.

But that evening, it was the ideal Christmas image - a summer sunset, an Eastern-influence minaret and man-made stars against a pastel sky.

For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Star Quality

Aussies Never Give You A Frosty Reception

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

There’s nothing quite like a blue sky to provide a great contrast for strong colours framed by your lens. This image shows you a major Melbourne landmark - the recently refurbished spire of St Paul's Cathedral. I chose this composition very deliberately, to use the yellow and green of Melbourne’s giant Christmas tree as a contrast to the sandstone of the steeple as well as the clear blue of the sky.

When I first shot the giant Christmas tree in our city square for the post Star Gazing, the sky was grey and moody. Then a few days ago, it was a beautiful blue Melbourne sky and I realised I should utilise my lunchtime to go back and shoot the tree again – to show you an incongruous meeting of worlds.


Why is it incongruous? Because the rest of the world celebrates Christmas in winter, while it’s summer here Down Under. So, something that is an everyday sight for me is something of a novelty for you. Hence the incongruity – a classic Yuletide symbol, the tree, photographed against the vivid blue of an Australian summer sky.

Christmas trees are supposed to be photographed under a sky laden with snow clouds. They are supposed to have a hoar frost upon their branches. When you choose your tree, you should be well clad and your feet should be suitably shod to negotiate frozen lakes and snowy hills.

Right? Not in Australia, mate. It's the height of summer here, as you can see from the clear blue sky in this series of shots.

And while I stood there in the city square, pondering the problem of how best to present the tree in a true Australian context, I had a classic D’oh moment.


There, to the left of the Christmas tree (see above) was one of the most natural symbols of this country with its topsy-turvy seasons – a slender gum tree. So there are two trees in this shot, a real gum tree beside the manmade metal Christmas tree covered with huge metal baubles and stars of many colours.

Because it was just after midday, the sun was practically right above me, which led to an interesting situation. As I squinted into the sun, I realised the nearby roof line could make a really arresting silhouette if I framed the shot correctly. And if I really contorted myself to work the angles, I could even get in the glare from the sun as well. Seriously, we’re talking real contortion here.


On the basis of my noble performance, I thought at any moment someone would tap me on my shoulder and offer me a job at Barnum & Bailey’s circus.

These shots were all taken in the space of about three or four minutes, but this frame shows a solitary cloud assuming something approximately like a stylised heart shape. To tell you the truth, I was concentrating so hard on the best possible composition that I didn’t notice the shape of the cloud. All I wanted to do was make sure the cloud was slap-bang in the centre of the frame. It was only much later, when I was reviewing the shots, that I paid attention to its shape.

I guess it’s very apt. Christmas is really a season of the heart.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Christmas Angels In The Sky

Maybe Yule Be Touched By This Message

Singapore, December 2007. Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Could I take a minute to tell you about the most amazing Christmas gift I ever received? It didn't have a price tag on it, yet in many ways it was the most priceless gift I could have wished for.

It wasn't gift-wrapped. It wasn't bought in a store. Yet I carry it with me wherever I go.

It was a gift I would like to pass on to all of you. It was a gift I received from a remarkable woman who taught me and my brothers that the most important Christmas attribute is to give, not to receive.

She had so little as a child. She was raised in a Bangalore orphanage, then was looked after by English nuns in a convent in Pune. That school was her only home; the nuns were her surrogate parents. She had nowhere else to go. She never had a home to go to until she married. Yet she never had a chip on her shoulder.

Instead of seeking therapy, she sought only to spread great love to all children. Generations of kids at St Thomas' School in Kidderpore, Calcutta, loved her like their own mother. They hugged her and kissed her - and four decades later they still tell me how much she meant to them. They called her, simply, and with such love, "Aunty Mac".

I know just how much she meant to them. Her name was Phyllis McMahon. She was my mother.

If you'd like to share her gift, please take the time to read my feature article The Great Christmas Surprise at Terry Fletcher's portal. If it makes you laugh, if it makes you think, if it makes you appreciate this season, indeed if it touches you in the slightest way, please send the link to friends and family and ask them to do the same. It is the least we can do at Christmas.

My mother would have liked that, too.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Sunset And Moonrise

A Double Blessing On The First Day Of Summer

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

I just happened to look towards the western horizon at precisely the right time on Monday. Luckily, I always have my camera close at hand, so I was able to get these quick shots of the clearly-defined rays of the setting sun.

Monday was an interesting day for a Sky Watch participant, especially one who lives in Australia. You see, December 1 is the official start of our summer, so spring is behind us and the weather is getting hotter as the days get longer.


These two shots of the sunset were taken through a window, because I needed the elevation in order to get the best effect of the rays - and I had to act extremely swiftly because I knew the span of the rays would only last a couple of minutes.

The clouds had me worried, though. We were looking forward to nightfall because I knew that a clear sky would enable us to see the extremely rare right of the moon, Venus and Jupiter aligned to look like a smiling face. For most of you, the sight would have been the other way around, but we're the Land Down Under, where everything is topsy-turvy, including the seasons and the orientation of the sky!

But as I told the Authorbloglets, the clouds were building up quickly and we probably wouldn't even get a glimpse of the "face in the sky".

Then, about an hour later, the clouds went scudding through fairly rapidly because of the strong breeze and we were able to feast our eyes on this sight. We were in a hurry as we were going out - so I took this shot without a tripod. There is actually a slight shimmer on the image of the stars, but it's not a bad result for a shot taken with the camera held freehand.

I guess it was a real blessing, by Jupiter.


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Zoom In

The Sky Trail Of A Genuine High Flier

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Most days I’m up bright and early and on Monday morning, as I always do, I shot a couple of glances out the window to see if there was any chance of great dawn colour in the sky. Naaaah, I told myself as I turned my attention to other tasks.

About ten minutes later I went into the kitchen for something and noticed this pink slash across the sky. It was obviously not a cloud and because it was a relatively still morning I realised it was a contrail (or condensation trail) left by a high-flying jet.

The aircraft had obviously flown over after my first glimpse through the window, or else I would have seen the contrail before. But in the soft light of those magical minutes before true dawn, the contrail itself, now broadening from its original gossamer-like state, was the only thing above the horizon to reflect the light of the sun that was about to rise.

About twenty minutes later, the orientation of the contrail had shifted further east, but I couldn’t resist taking this last shot, despite the change in colour.


For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.

Heavens Above

Dawn Displays Her Pink Ribbons

Photographs copyright: DAVID MCMAHON

This sequence of shots was just a lucky result. They were taken last Friday, literally a few minutes after I had entered my link on this site for last week’s Sky Watch post.

I switched the computer on and I walked into the kitchen, as I always do each morning. The sun had not yet risen, but I could see some interesting bands of thick grey cloud across the horizon. I knew there was a chance that there would be some arresting colours to shoot a few minutes later.

After I’d done a few things on the computer and around the house, I checked the sky again from the kitchen window. This time I could see faint daubs of pink across the bottom of each cloud band. I knew that in a few minutes there would be a dramatic display of colours, but I also knew that it was one of those windy mornings when the hues would disappear rapidly.

About five minutes later, the pink started to intensify, so I picked up my camera and walked out into the back yard, where I shot four frames. Then I decided to walk to the front of the house for a different aspect and perhaps a wider range of colours.

I was outside for less than three minutes. All up, I took eight shots and when I walked around to the back door, the colours had gone completely and all that was left was grey cloud patterns. That’s the thing with Nature - you sometimes have to be very quick to capture its greatest beauty.

For other participants in Dot’s concept, go to Sky Watch HQ.