Behind the Lens with Virginie Chabrol

Arran is said to be Scotland in miniature. It is crossed by the Highland Boundary Fault and, like the mainland, is divided between flat and fertile areas and mountainous landscapes. This was my first visit to the isle, despite several years spent in Scotland and its proximity to my adopted home town of Glasgow. Yet, I had felt compelled to explore the tumultuous slopes and rocky ridges of the Goatfell range since I had seen a photo taken from its highest peak. 

It was in autumn. James – my partner and fellow photographer – and I knew that rain was coming but according to the weather forecast we had a clear window of a few days. We took our chances. Our plan was to climb Goatfell and to camp on its summit to make the most of the light. 

Goatfell was hidden in the clouds when our ferry reached Arran and the weather did not improve during our walk up the mountain. We pitched our tent in a sea of thick clouds and hoped for the best. At least, it was not raining... 

Little did we know that we would wake up in a frosted ice world! Outside the tent, the rocks scattered on the summit were all covered with rime ice drawing delicate feather-like patterns. No need to say the views had not improved. Were they even getting worse? It was hard to say as we could barely see a few metres away. 

The cold and the wind were biting, but the atmosphere was magical and so we quickly began wandering around, exploring the summit draped in its new frozen coat. James and I quickly lost sight of each other as often happens when photographing. The landscape was totally alien – a photographer’s dream – so we had to make the most it. 

I kept shooting – interesting details and shapes, disappearing paths, icy boulders emerging from the mist... but even if the conditions were incredible I knew I was missing something. The mountain was lost in the clouds and everything was in the same shades of greys and whites. Without any element to give depth and scale, it was hard to make sense of it all, photographically. 

Then James appeared from nowhere – a shadow moving in the fog - and it all clicked perfectly. The boulders next to me, the human barely visible, the greyness of it all... I could tell the story of the eeriness of the moment in one single frame. 

When shooting personal projects and stories, I don’t like staging my photos as it feels like I lose spontaneity. Sometimes, though, I will ask people to stay where they are when I can see I could use a little bit more time to get the photo I want. The wind and the lack of visibility made it impossible in this case and I only had time to shoot a few frames before James disappeared again. Yet, I was lucky it was enough time to get what I knew would be the photo revealing our experience.