#droneshots
Droning, Lake Aititlan.
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(at Lake Atitlán)
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”The veil, where land and water meets, is thin.”
Beautiful Drone view of the Pacific #coastline, #Montezuma, Costa Rica. Droned by @liviomacchia , Arab Uke by @ArieldeLion.
The precise boundary between the land and the Seawater often lies in the eye of the beholder. Some distinguish the Sea Water from the Land on the basis that Seawater expected not to be questioned while the Land critically examined.
#arielism #droneshots #santateresa #envisionfestival #oceanart (at Montezuma, Costa Rica)
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Arctic textures #protectthearctic #glacier #north #hellofrom #earthofficial #createyourstory #lr_perspective #earthcapture #dronesdaily #droneoffical #droneshots #dronenature #dronepilot #stayandwander #visualsofearth #ourplanetdaily #earthfocus #mavic2pro #upyourgame #djiwhyifly #djipro #shotwithdjipro #turningthetide #onlyoneocean (at Alaska) https://www.instagram.com/p/CKuhjd4p44f/?igshid=1eplmdqxb3hb4
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Driving down these lonesome dirt track roads, icy waters below us, empty mountains all around.
Miles and miles and nothing but silence, nameless peaks stretching toward the sky dusted with patches of white. Those sunset clouds splashed unusual shades of deep purple and dusty rose pink casting a colour haze across the landscape that’s hard to describe, the fleeting kind that comes only after rain and lasts just a few minutes before it’s gone again.
Our tyres ploughed through deep, sticky mud to reach the small ridge that would become home for the night. We wrapped our faces in scarves against the cold and scrambled down the bank to skim stones across the lake’s frozen surface; they bounced and echoed with a bullet ricochet sound that reverberated around the valley and clattered through our ears.
These were the only noises we would hear all night; no birds, no cars, no wind or rain, just us above this frozen lake as the colours slowly melted and the stars came into view.
So much of Albania was just wild land, beautiful places that would not appear on any hiking trail or in any guide book, free to explore, yours to enjoy. With no fences or barriers to hold us back we could pitch up and call anyplace home for the night, and that was just the kind of freedom we craved.
Oh how good it was to be back in this land again.
Ever wanted to camp up on your own private island for a few days?
Us too, and although this small patch of land that gradually disappears into a fine point and sinks into Lake Prespa isn’t technically an island it was as close as we would probably get to one in our van.
We were surprised to find a small village at the end of this long and bumpy track, emptied of all its inhabitants for the winter as an icy slush began to fall from the sky. Boats littered the shores of the lake, empty and lifeless without people to navigate them. We were the only forms of life for miles, basking in the peace and solitude we craved.
The really special thing about this place was that it sat on the corner of three countries; behind us was North Macedonia, to the side of us was Albania and in front of us was Greece. The Greek stretch of land was dotted with streetlights at night, the Albanian side had a few but the Macedonian side had none. Moody mountains wrapped in snow clouds dominated the skyline, islands and pelicans punctuated the lake’s glassy surface, and soft drops of ice gently pelted the roof as we sat cosied away inside our van cradling cups of mountain tea.
By morning the snow had cleared, replaced by brilliant sunshine and swirling vapour clouds. It was warm enough in fact for a dip in the lake, its cooling, shallow waters sought after by Macedonians in the summer but unsurprisingly empty during the winter. Still, it was good enough for us whose last shower was too long ago to bear thinking about.
A fishing boat sailed past as we were drying off, then we packed up and moved on in the direction of Lake Ohrid, Prespa’s neighbouring lake. Here we were to watch a hundred people dive into its icy waters for the chance to be the first to catch a cross blessed by a priest and thrown into the waters as part of the Orthodox Epiphany celebrations, with nothing to warm them up afterwards but rakija.
Perhaps we weren’t the only crazy ones after all.
Our van wheels crunched over unpaved road after unpaved road, kicking up mud and gravel as we bumbled along a series of winding dirt tracks which wove their way through endless pine forest.
This was the face of Bosnia & Herzegovina’s interior, a world away from the bustle and bullet-strewn concrete structures of its capital Sarajevo. Here, pretty little stone houses were strewn across scenic plateaus which seemed to appear mysteriously out of the dense thicket of trees that surrounded them and crept up to their doorsteps. Wild animals were known to roam these forests, and we wondered how humans could live so close to them without conflict.
We were still carving our route home out, ever Northbound, savouring these last few days in the Balkans before we would hotfoot across Europe back to England. We slept soundly that night, cradled by the forest, and coaxed our van into life with jackets bundled against the icy morning air. This was our pattern of travel these days; squeezing the most of every moment, battling with our van to get it home, the road our only constant as we went.⠀
As the forest dwindled and eventually gave way to civilisation we followed a winding little road partially covered by snow up to a ledge, where we spent the night sleeping underneath the remnants of Tito’s fist. Now a crumbling concrete structure, this bizarre object known as a spomenik had once been a monument to the Partisan soldiers who fought in the Battle of the Wounded in the valley below, but was nicknamed for its uncanny resemblance to Yugoslavia’s former leader ad the iron fist with which he ruled. However, shortly after the Bosnian War, a group of vandals planted dynamite inside and blew it to pieces, although its skeleton still dominates the skyline for miles around.
We were beginning to understand more of Bosnia’s chequered past, evident in every bullet-strewn building and every crumbling ruin we passed. Twenty years was not enough time to heal, but even after the visible reminders had long since been repaired, the memories would not fade for generations yet to come.⠀
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Our arrival in Bosnia & Herzegovina came as a pleasant surprise.⠀
After following the craggy walls of the mighty Tara Canyon all the way through Montenegro it led us straight into the capital city of Sarajevo. We weren’t here to see the war ruins, nor had we come to try and find the best burek (although that was debatable). No, with just seven short days in this intriguing country that was once one of the most fundamental parts of the Yugoslav Republic, there was only time to explore one thing: the remains of Sarajevo’s Winter Olympics venues.
We pulled up after a long day of inter-country driving, arranging of SIM cards and fawning over foreign foods in a new supermarket, next to a long, snaking and heavily graffitied piece of concrete. We’d seen photos of the abandoned bobsleigh track online but never for one minute did we imagine we could drive into it, let alone camp. The place was perfectly secluded amongst the pine trees, at the top of a mountain which gave a spectacular view over the city. As night fell we rested underneath the Sarajevan sky now studded with stars.
Come morning we noticed a distinct chill in the air, and threw open the door to discover a blanket of snow all around us. We’d had no inkling snow was coming, and had been lamenting the day before how incredible it would’ve been to see the bobsleigh track as it was during the 1984 Winter Olympics.⠀
We bundled on our boots in pure excitement and piled out of the van to make tracks in the fresh, untrodden snow and explore the lengths of the snaking concrete track which wound its way in and out of the pine forest. At times we were completely hidden by trees, shrouded in fog, appearing at regular intervals in view of a road or a place where spectators would’ve gathered in years gone by before the war changed the face of Sarajevo forever.
Fingers suitably numbed, we headed back into the van to warm them with coffee.
The distant sounds of the Call To Prayer rang out across the steely waters of Lake Skadar, crackling out through distorted speakers atop the minarets of several mosques, clashing and vying for dominance like the howling of street dogs. The sky was reflected in the glassy lake surface as it turned slowly from blue to purple to an electrifying red which set the clouds ablaze. And we were making our preparations to head deep into the mountains.
We’d been parked up amongst the waterlogged trees and lake reeds for several days, a furtive little spot accessible by driving through a shallow river that had swollen to twice its size following the rainfall on the day we arrived. But now the blissful sunset colours cast down onto the distant mountains of Montenegro and all was calm in the far North of Albania again.
Of all the lakes we’d camped by in recent months, Lake Skadar was easily the largest and most impressive.⠀
While we’d stuck religiously to our inland route around the Balkan Peninsula these lakes gave us some comfort and a gentle reminder of the ocean’s edge we’d left behind in search of provincial adventures. Although we’d grown up a stone’s throw from the sea and these country’s coastlines provided an easily navigable and scenic route, we’d been drawn to see more of Europe’s hinterlands, a world away from glitzy seaside resorts and tourist attractions. In the heartlands of Albania we’d discovered spectacular mountainscapes, empty lands, impassable roads and an authenticity, warmth and unrivalled hospitality from its people. The same was true of the Balkans’ whole interior, and in fact we’d only briefly touched the sea in Thessaloniki since our departure from Calais many months prior.
These lesser-visited areas are what we live for; places you won’t find in any guidebook, unblemished of tourist attractions. Just raw and honest countryside, nothing more.⠀
We finished packing up our backpacks just as the last of the light was fading, ready for our journey tomorrow into the most remote corner of this country. ⠀
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When it rains in the mountains, it really rains. Not a fine mizzle or the odd shower like we get in England, but a biblical, all-engrossing rain that pelts down from the sky and sends rivers running down the mountainsides in great waterfalls that flood the roads and make planning any sort of activity quite impossible.
Such is the unpredictability of the Accursed Mountains, a corner of Albania whose curious histories and unique way of life woven amongst its limestone peaks will forever keep us coming back for more.
This fascinating mountain range was so named for its wildly inhospitable conditions, and is one of the rare mountain ranges in Europe that is yet to be fully explored. But mountaineers with their compasses and maps will never truly conquer these mountains, for the only way to truly navigate them is with a lifetime of muscle memory, ingrained into mountain men from the age they learn to walk. There are few roads, no signposted trails, and no forgiveness; if you get lost and the weather doesn’t get you then the wolves surely will.
But while the mountains may ward you off with their inhospitality the people will surely not, as they are perhaps some of the warmest and most welcoming in all the Balkans. With no fear of strangers and no reason to lock their doors some three hours away from the nearest town, they will happily invite you into their home for a coffee and a rakia before you continue on your journey.
The Albanian Alps possess a deep sense of mystery that fascinates us and seems almost tangible as we pull off the craggy SH25 alongside the Drin river, unwilling to drive any further in the torrential downpour. The thunderstorm would not pass until tomorrow evening when we would be rewarded with another spectacular Albanian sunset, but before that we would endure a night of lightning strikes powerful enough to knock out the area’s only phone mast, and thunder that shook us violently inside our van; if you’ve never heard thunder in the mountains before, imagine someone dropping about thirty dustbins off the side of a cliff at once. It booms.
It felt all at once overwhelmingly exciting and familiar to be back in the North of Albania once again, parked up so close to an area we’d become so affiliated with that had played home to one of our favourite travel stories. But now we were about to make more, as we were set to be heading off the road and into the furthest reaches of these mountains on foot, a place where vehicles could only dream to go and mules were the primary mode of transport.
Soon we were going back into the heart of the Accursed Mountains.
April was a strange month, a bit up and down, internally and externally. Nevertheless, I managed to experience lots of beautiful places and situations. Among other things we finally went up Mount Blair, a mountain I had my eyes on for years. The theme for April is change and resisting it, just like the weather was bouncing between Summer and Winter. I used my acoustic guitar for a change, so I hope you enjoy the music and of course the video.
Norman’s Law
This is a well-preserved Iron Age hillfort, which was so much fun to explore. There is a total of 3 walls, each becoming larger in diameter. So this must have been a large and important fort at one point in time. The top and innermost part of the hillfort still has ample remains of the 3 to 4 meters-thick wall that once protected it. This fort is close to Newburgh in Fife and lies along the Fife Coastal Path. For the most part, Fife can be associated with the Pictish tribe of the Venicones, the most likely candidates to have inhabited this fort. From the top you get a great view towards the River Tay and the Scottish Highlands in the North. It’s very likely that on the other side of the river the tribal territory of the Caledonians began. To the North-East you can see Dundee, which coils around Dundee Law, another ancient hillfort.
A full hillfort tour is up on my channel!
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I Designed My Own Custom Billabong Wetsuit! (Part 2) Let’s Go To The Beach, Surf And Have Some Fun.
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The Golden Hour. Amazing Summertime Sunset Drone Footage Flying At The Beach. Drone Beach Sunset.
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