To Drone or Not to Drone? Photographing Postbridge in Dartmoor

To drone or not to drone, that is the question.

As virtually anyone who has suffered the misfortune of encountering me in the flesh will freely attest, I am a man who thoroughly enjoys droning on. It is a source of mild personal irony, then, that I do not actually own a drone.

Now, I must confess that the ten year old boy who permanently resides somewhere behind my ribs would like nothing better than to send a motorized gadget swooping through the upper atmosphere, snapping aerial photographs of the Devon countryside with frantic glee. Indeed, this inner child is entirely prepared to throw a world class tantrum to get one.

Unfortunately, standing firmly in the doorway between me and aerial glory is the thoroughly unromantic figure of my bank account. No amount of pouting seems to move the unyielding hearts at Lloyds Bank, so a photography drone remains indefinitely exiled to my Christmas list.

The Challenge of Photographing Postbridge

By now, you are almost certainly wondering whether this particular ramble is headed anywhere at all. To be entirely honest, when I start waffling, even I am rarely privy to the final destination.

But there is a point, and it concerns Postbridge on Dartmoor.

Postbridge Clapper Bridge has spent years languishing on my landscape photography bucket list, yet I had never quite managed to capture the scene I held in my mind’s eye. For me, the magic lies in framing both the historic 14th century clapper bridge and the neighbouring 18th century road bridge together in a single shot.

The lay of the land, however, presents a devilish little topographical challenge, a hurdle that could easily be solved by gaining just a few extra feet of altitude. The very altitude, of course, that has been denied to me by a foolish obligation to pay for trivial luxuries like food and shelter rather than vital camera gear.

A Creative Alternative to Drone Photography

With my bank balance steadfastly refusing to perform a miracle, I was forced to resort to good old fashioned British ingenuity.

The solution was standing right in front of me: my trusty tripod.

I firmly attached my camera to the tripod head, gripped it securely by the base, and hoisted the entire precarious contraption high above my head like a medieval standard bearer. And lo: there was the angle. Both bridges were framed beautifully at last.

Matt from MJC-photography taking a picture using the tripod to provide extra height.

Naturally, I felt compelled to make loud, throat rattling airplane noises while operating the shutter. It added a certain je ne sais quoi to the artistic process, with the delightful added bonus of causing nearby tourists to give me a very wide, very cautious berth.

So, there you have it. A long sought Dartmoor landscape photograph secured, my inner child appeased, and not a single propellor required, all thanks to the low tech magic of a six foot pole.

Grey Skies, Barking Trolls, and Postbridge: A Photographic Mishap

Well, the weather. Honestly. You'd think the Sky People, or whatever they call themselves up there, had nothing better to do than mess with the likes of us, the lens-toting, sunset-chasing, landscape-obsessed mortals. A glorious, postcard-perfect day, all sapphire skies and fluffy little clouds, just begging to be captured. And then, poof, grey. Just… grey. Like someone had dropped a damp blanket over everything. So, plan B. Naturally.

Plan B, in my case, involved the rather less glamorous, but arguably more entertaining, pursuit of pet photography. You know, those close-ups of furry faces that people inexplicably adore. And, as a delightful side effect, a bit of location scouting. Postbridge. Ah, Postbridge. That charming little clapper bridge. A place I'd promised myself I’d capture, oh, years ago, and which had, frankly, started to resemble a permanent fixture in shot list itself, rather than a subject to be photographed. It had, as they say, taken root.

So, with a photographic itch that was positively demanding to be scratched, Sarah, Winnie (the dog), and myself set off for a spot of what I like to call "shutter therapy." Now, Winnie, being a seasoned professional in the art of dog-posing, one would think she’d have this whole thing down pat. But no. On this particular evening, the allure of the river, and the prospect of dragging Sarah into it, proved far too compelling.

And thus, the scene. Picture, if you will, a middle-aged chap, me, crouching by the bridge, looking for all the world like a particularly disheveled troll. Camera in one hand, flash in the other, meowing and barking in a desperate attempt to command the attention of a dog that was clearly having none of it. Sarah, meanwhile, was engaged in a Herculean struggle to prevent Winnie from launching herself into the river, while simultaneously trying to avoid being in the frame. It was, shall we say, a spectacle.

I can only offer my deepest apologies to the unsuspecting tourists who, no doubt, had envisioned a serene, picturesque moment by the clapper bridge, perhaps even a selfie or two. Instead, they were treated to a bizarre tableau of animal noises, frantic arm waving, and a dog that seemed intent on aquatic mayhem. They, quite understandably, made a hasty retreat. I can only imagine what the tourist board will say.