Simien Dawn
This is the closest I have ever come to perfectly executing a plan. I’m not sure whether it’s possible as a photographer to ever achieve an image exactly how you imagine it initially, but this is as near as I have managed, so far.
The Simien Mountains are almost 800 kilometers north of Ethiopia’s capital, Adis Ababa. The journey from one to the other takes you through some of the countries sparsest regions, where small village communities lay scattered atop the copious mountain peaks. It’s a spectacular journey on which the goats often outnumber the local population, but you can somehow always find a cold (ish) bottle of Coca Cola in any given village.
A common sight throughout rural Ethiopia
My journey for this image, however, started 1,500 kilometers south of Adis in Nairobi; 2,300km’s from the mountains. I’ve written more about this in a separate club piece, as the journey itself took almost a month from start to finish, during which I visited some genuinely breathtaking places and met some very, very cool people along the route. The focus here though shall remain on the story behind this particular image.
Having spent three weeks journeying to the mountains, I had just 2 nights inside the National Park to get the shot I was after; specifically a beautiful bleeding heart in front of the spectacular natural backdrop.
Famed for the vibrant, red markings on their chest geladas are the only grass eating monkeys in the world. Due to the abundance of their chosen diet available on the mountain meadows there have been herds recorded with over 1200 individuals, the largest of any kind of primate. These herds are made up of hundreds of smaller family groups, each of which answers to a dominant male and also follows a strict hierarchy amongst female members.
When you combine these remarkable facts with the other worldly backdrop it baffles me more photographers are not drawn to the Simien Mountains. Perhaps it’s inaccessibility puts people off?
The first 24 hours in the park were as unsuccessful as they were stunning. The region had lived up to all my expectations but I was hardly seeing a gelada. A handful at our first stop got my hopes up but through the entirety of the first day they were all I saw. Having set up camp on the first nights my through turned to the problem at hand. Where were the geladas? A recce of the area around our camp again showed brilliant photographic opportunities but no subject. I was starting to worry.
Camp site on night 1, one of the highest points in the national park (and FREEZING at night)
That night, after a meal of pasta cooked on a camp stove, our scout pointed to the horizon. There, vividly looming out of the intense darkness was a bush fire. It was mid March, and while the regions famed ‘long rains’ would shortly be arriving and last until May, the ground was aggressively dry. The wind, though light, would only push the fire further in our direction. Between us and it was perhaps a couple of miles and a dry river bed. As it drew nearer what was an orange ebb became distinct, individual flames and the idea of packing everything up and moving out of the mountains became a real possibility.
Thankfully, somewhere between midnight and dawn the fire abated and our decision to stay put was vindicated.
As dawn arrived I was out with my camera again searching for geladas. Their short, stumpy fingers make them excellent rock climbers and had their been any in the area I was almost certain they would have sensibly fled down the rock face from the impending blaze.
Searching for gelada tracks. What the gun was for I do not know. Decoration perhaps?
Sadly, I was right and with not a gelada in sight I went to inspect the damage cause by the fire. The earth was scorched black, previously bustling bushes turned to skeletons and, I realised, the periphery of the damage was a mere few hundred meters from our tent. Perhaps the decision to stay put was an almost life threatening one.
None the less breakfast (eggy bread cooked on the stove) was consumed, tent re-packed and camp moved on to our second and final site. It might sound strange that with all this time spent getting to the Simien Mountains I was only staying for two nights. The plan had been to stay longer but severe illness and three days of car problems had meant I had halved the time available in the mountains.
Immediately upon arrival at the final camp though I new my luck had changed. Evidence of geladas was everywhere - namely their scat (faeces) - along the sharp cliff edges adjacent to camp. Indeed that afternoon a group of near 100 individuals passed within meters of our tent and out on to the open mountain tops.
I spent a few hours photographing and observing the animal I had come so far to see. Often getting within a few feet as I lay on my stomach and allowed their way of life to continue around me.
My presence for this image felt completely unnoticed.
As I assume they must have done the previous evening, as dusk fell they disappeared down the rock face, sleeping in areas I presume no other species in the region can reach. My confidence though was a lot higher than the previous evening. I had seen the point they descended the rock and considered it highly likely they would ascend in the same place the following morning.
I was right. The next day, having been up long before dawn, I approached where I hoped they would eventually be at sunrise only to find the geladas already up for the day. They had beaten me to the punch, however, still sat right on the cliff edge exactly where I had hoped for the perfect photo opportunity. My presence for this image felt completely unnoticed.
Choosing the most vibrantly coloured of the males I made my approach, keeping as small as I feasibly could, and was treated to 33 seconds of him posing dutifully in the soft, early morning light. This was the very chance I had hoped for and it did not disappoint. Not only did he look so elegant but he had the good grace to yawn, exposing the fangs that make them such a formidable opponent when males fight for dominance.
How do I know it was 33 seconds? The time stamp on my camera. The first image I took was at 07:13:43, the final at 07:14:16. A one month, 7,000 kilometre round trip, for 33 seconds and 3 pictures. Worth every second.
