by Guy Lerner
April 30, 2004
As Australia's land mass drifted slowly and violently away from its sister continents hundreds of millions of years ago, it took with it a unique concoction of biological antiquity that exists today, unchanged and in isolation, much as it was then. Ferns that fed the hungry mouths of dinosaurs spiraled and twisted among themselves in lush arrays that still give shade in hidden forests. Giant trees whose forefathers saw the passing of an ice age rise majestically through the canopy of the ancient forests below, looking upon a world not dissimilar to their own distant memories. Here, in a land open to exploration, stands a stunted mountain, Tomah, and from its rich soil and cool air man has built a monument to the history of what we once knew.
Less than two hours' drive west of Sydney, nestled on the foothills of the
Blue Mountains that mark the divide between the fertile coastal belt and the
arid interior, Mount Tomah is the cool-climate counterpart of Sydney's famous
botanical gardens. Spread over 186 hectares of protected land, 28 of which is
open to the public in the form of cultivated gardens, Mount Tomah Botanic
Gardens rise up to 1000 metres above sea level, attracting average winter
temperatures of seven degrees Celsius, and over 1500mm of rainfall each year.
The extremes in weather systems, between the milder, humid coastline and dry, hot hinterland frequently traps the gardens under a blanket of fog and mist. It was on one such day that I made my way down the picturesque Bells Line of Road from a stay over in Katoomba; visibility was reduced to a few feet, and my headlights were straining to puncture the grey with their thin yellow beams. From a sudden break in the fog after a sharp downhill bend in the road, a small sign pointed to a pair of gates on the freeway shoulder. I eased the car to a stop, listening out for large transport trucks that use this route as a western thoroughfare, before guiding it through the gates, along a snaking path that skirted the edges of an old pine forest.
Minutes later I reached the visitors' centre of the Mount Tomah Botanic Gardens; I must have driven past its entrance dozens of times before, but never perchance was drawn inside. This time, I reasoned, there was a sense of strange adventure in the air, a calling to explore a world I'd never seen before.
Parking the car beneath a lone tree in a small concrete enclave, I dressed warmly, packing my camera securely in its bag, and stepped outside. To my surprise the air was warm, the breath of the earth condensing against the approaching front. From what little I knew of the gardens, they were supposed to harvest plants from some of the world's coolest regions; winter temperatures regularly dropped to freezing, and summers rarely heated up past 20 or 25 Celsius. "Geologically the gardens were unique to this region," I read in the guide that I picked up from the jovial park warden; "The top 100 metres of soil consists of a layer of basalt, a volcanic rock which weathers to form a rich acid clay loam that is more fertile than most Australian soils. Basalt has many fine vertical cracks, which trap rainwater and form a natural underground reservoir which provides a water supply for the garden." So that's how they did it, I thought, gasping at the richness of plant life peering at me through the mist.
Taking a few small steps forward, I loosened the zipper on my raincoat, and disappeared into the fog.
Footnote: Why Digital?
While some may argue that digital photography is still in its infancy, there is little doubt that today's sensor technology rivals some of the best 35mm film stocks available, so good in fact that it's pushing larger-format film - favoured by nature and landscape photographers - for market share. The camera I use, a Canon 10D digital SLR (single lens reflex) is based on the traditional 35mm frame with the exception of a 6.3 megapixel CMOS imaging sensor. While a direct comparison to film is always subjective, the prints produced by a digital SLR using technology found in the 10D and similar cameras rival the best prints produced from the highest-resolution 35mm slide emulsions, at sizes up to 19" x 13" or more. In other words, for gallery-quality prints, the time of the digital SLR camera has arrived.
Technicalities aside, the real reason I used a digital camera was this: I would not have been able to capture any or all of the photos you'll see here if I was still using a film camera. Why? Because the time it took me to make these photographs - considering I was travelling with my family (read: zero allowance for slow and meticulous photography) - was limited, and therefore I had to make sure all the elements of the photograph were in place (exposure, composition, focus, and did I mention exposure) on the fly. Sure I'd have taken my chances with film, but I'd have also burned up a few dozen rolls in the process. Since my film isn't sponsored, I probably would have given up on some of these opportunities to save what little film I could afford.
Many photographers (of all walks, professionals and hobbyists alike) will find themselves in this situation at one time or another, and will benefit immensely from the speed and accuracy of today's digital cameras. Digital SLRs are by no means as "cheap and affordable" as some pundits will have you believe, considering the price upfront often excludes must-have extras like lenses, batteries and (if you don't own one yet) a high-powered PC and software for post-processing. However, if you shoot and shoot often, just the time saved on developing and scanning prints and slides means the value is there form day one, even before you discount the cost of film.
In developing the travelogue series, I hope to encourage the idea that digital photography is anything but a sidebar to the real thing. In a few years, film will be long resigned to museum halls and family albums, but the art and soul of photography will live on forever.
You'll also find a full review of the camera I used for this travelogue here.
Copyright © 2004