Our new calendars – Signals in Stone and Dust & Shadow – are out now.

Each calendar features 12 images taken from my portfolio. Signals in Stone focuses on the megalithic monuments of France’s Grand Ouest region (in this case, mainly Brittany and Normandy), including several photographs taken at Carnac.

Dust & Shadow is about more recent monuments that mankind has left in the landscape. This first publication concentrates on German coastal defences in France, left over from World War 2. The images explore how these sites are starting to acquire a mysterious and enigmatic quality similar to that of ancient monuments.

The calendars are printed and delivered via the online service RedBubble. They are large format (A3) and printed on heavyweight art paper. This means the images are large, making them ideal for cutting out and framing once the year is over.

These images, and many others from both projects, are also available from RedBubble as framed, card-mounted or laminated fine-art prints, with the same high-quality printing used for the calendars. And you can also buy them as greetings cards. Visit the WebVivant Gallery on RedBubble to view the images.

The calendars are the first publications from our new web-based publishing venture, WebVivant Press. We’re planning a whole range of books and calendars for 2010. These will include novels and non-fiction books available in both print and e-book versions, and high-quality photography books. There will be a series of Human Landscape titles based around the photographs in the portfolio and others not available online.

If you would like to be alerted when these books appear, visit the WebVivant Press website and use the form on the home page to sign up for email alerts.

For the megalith enthusiast, visiting the Carnac region can be an overwhelming experience. There’s just so much to see. But here are some personal recommendations, as well as a few photography tips.

Many of the monuments in the Morbihan department of France are among the most important megalithic sites in the world. And the department has one of the highest concentrations of megalithic sites you’ll find anywhere. Alas, that brings with it popularity and a responsibility to protect and manage, and it risks turning the sites into McMegaliths – well-preserved but devoid of atmosphere.

If you visit the Morbihan and see only the main Carnac alignments (Le Ménec, Kermario, Kerlescan) and the famous Locmariaquer megaliths (Le Grand Menhir Brisé, Er Grah and La Tables des Marchands) you might easily leave with a vague sense of disappointment. Yes, you would have seen magnificent artefacts of great historical and cultural significance. But it’s hard to be moved by them.

I would strongly recommend visiting these famous sites at the beginning of your trip. Tick the boxes, take the snaps, browse the gift shops then move on to the places that retain something of their auspicious character. Those we visited that fit into this latter category would include Le Dolmen des Pierres Plates at Locmariaquer, Le Géant du Manio near the Kerlescan alignments, the Petit Ménec alignments and the rambler’s path from the Kerzerho alignments at Erdeven (a route that takes in standing stones and the Mané-Braz dolmens). I’m sure there are many others, but in a week we only just scratched the surface in terms of megalithic sites in Brittany.

It also pays to plan what you’re going to see in advance and have at least a rough itinerary each day. If you can, get hold of a copy of Gabriel le Cam’s Guide des Mégalithes du Morbihan, even if your french isn’t up to snuff. Because it has at least one, reasonably sized image of each site, you can make valid judgments on which are likely to prove worth the trek.

Going out of season turned out to be a good move. True, we were lucky with the weather, having had bright sun and cloudless skies most days (which is rare in Brittany in November). But megalithic sites are just as fascinating on cloudy or rainy days – and often even more atmospheric. By turning up in the off-season, we had free and unfettered access to the Le Ménec and Kermario alignments and were also able to walk around by ourselves at Le Grand Menhir Brisé at Locmariaquer. We also had fewer other tourists to contend with – a real plus for photography. Talking of which…

A few photo tips

• Bend your knees! A lower viewpoint places the monuments against the sky, where they stand out and you achieve a better impression of their massive nature. It also helps to eliminate or minimise distracting background details, such as nearby buildings. Don’t take it to extremes though, unless you want to seriously distort scale. I spent a lot of time on my knees (which some might feel appropriate ).
• Have something to sit or kneel on. I didn’t, and my knees ended up seriously scratched by the gorse. Also, if you are visiting these sites with a partner, they might appreciate having a ground sheet or blanket to sit on (and maybe a book to read) while you busy yourself taking pictures.
• Wear practical clothing. You’re going to do a lot of lying down, kneeling and scrambling about, especially where dolmens are concerned. In cooler seasons, something like a Barbour or hunting jacket will keep you dry,clean and protected while providing plenty of pockets for lenses, flashguns etc, so that you don’t have to drag camera bags into tight spaces. Which brings me to…
• Keep your gear light. You may end up walking fair distances or squeezing into tight spaces. My preference now is for a backpack (a Lowepro CompuRover), which means I can haul water and some snacks without putting a strain on my shoulders. But if you can get all your gear in your pockets, so much the better.
• Carry a torch at all times. You’ll want this anyway when you’re inside a dolmen or tumulus, but it also has photographic applications. You can ‘paint’ with light using long exposures (I plan to blog on this technique very soon). And even if you plan to use flash, a torch (or flashlight, for our American friends) gives you enough illumination to frame and focus the picture. I always have a tiny LED torch on my keyring, but also carried a 2 D-cell Maglite.
• Flash is more useful than you might think. For interiors, it may be the only light you have. But even when shooting menhirs in broad daylight, it’s useful to be able to fill in the shadows, to retain some detail. Also, flash on a nearby standing stone helps pick it out from the background. So carry a flashgun at all times. I’ll be blogging on this, too.
• A tripod is good – sometimes essential. But if you can’t be bothered, carry a monopod. It’s often the case that you need to use a small aperture to get the depth of field you need – for example, to render both a menhir and the landscape behind it sharp, or perhaps multiple stones in an alignment. A monopod lets you stop down a couple of extra stops over what you’d risk hand-held. A monopod also makes a reasonable walking stick when hacking across the landscape (and there are walking sticks available with camera mounts, though I like to have a quick-release plate on my monopod).
• Think about the context. One standing stone or dolmen looks much like another when isolated in the picture frame. Think about what’s around it and the relationship the monument has to its surroundings.

This was the day Trish dubbed me ‘Megalith Man’ – a superhero with all the special powers of … a rock. Oh well…

We started early with a drive to Locmariaquer, situated on a small peninsula that frames the west side of the Gulf of Morbihan. Our objective was one of the most famous sites of the region – indeed, one of the most famous megaliths in the world – Le Grand Menhir Brisé. ‘Big Broken Stone’ might not sound like much of an attraction – DisneyWorld doesn’t have a great deal to worry about – but there is a certain magnificence to the idea of stone age man raising a 280-tonne, 20-metre high stone. Whatever they were celebrating, they obviously felt it deeply.

Of course, it was shut. Being one of the most famous sites, it’s kept behind a fence, with entry through the visitor centre (and a fee of 5 € a head). We were there an hour before opening time (10am in the off-season). No matter: there’s plenty to see in this area.

First, we took a look in the nearby cemetery. This wasn’t always a graveyard – somewhere under those bones is a Roman amphitheatre. Tucked in one corner is a large grave monument with a crucifix carved on to the front of what looks, for all the world, like a menhir. It’s a Victorian-era grave. Maybe the ’standing stone’ is just a stylised tribute to the region, or maybe it really is a menhir, stolen for the purpose.

We drove a short while to a nearby dolmen, chosen at random. By a stroke of luck, we had stumbled on one of the best of its type. The Dolmen des Pierres Plates is close to the beach, its covering stones visible among the dunes but the passageway and chamber still mostly underground. It is a rare type, with the passage angled, turning left through about 60 degrees after a couple of metres.

The site’s keepers have allowed a few holes to appear between the capstones and the ground, so some daylight penetrates at strategic places. But I was glad to have a couple of torches with me, especially as I had to crouch very low.

One shaft of daylight strikes a beautifully carved stone. There are other carvings too. There is a side chamber just beyond the turn in the passageway, and a large (but thin) stone nearly blocks the end of the passage creating a chamber behind it.

I spent a long time down there, shooting pictures with a combination of flash, the meagre daylight and ‘painting’ selected stones with the light from the torch.

Trish loved it too, especially the carvings. But Zola, our dog, wanted nothing to do with it. The reluctance to enter a dolmen, that we’d seen at Mané Kerioned, became out-and-out refusal. This was strange behaviour for him. He’s an outstanding guard dog. Wherever we walk, he insists on taking point duty, walking ahead of us to fend off any danger. And he’s not afraid of confined spaces or the dark. He had no hesitation in running in and around the derelict German fortifications on the beach near our gite, even when the tide was starting to lap at their openings. But no amount of cajoling or dragging would get him into that dolmen. He’s not afraid of Nazi ghosts but obviously has to draw the line somewhere…

On the way back to Locmariaquer, we stopped to photograph a single standing stone and the tumulus de Mané-er-H’roueg. The latter is hidden along a narrow lane between houses (the wall in this lane, at one point, looks to have been made from a menhir). The tumulus has the appearance of a quarry. There’s a stone staircase (looks relatively modern) leading to the burial chamber itself. This boasts some simple carving but is otherwise fairly bland. It is some way underground, however, and you do get a sense of the weight of stone above you. Zola was happy to come down the steps but point-blank refused to enter the chamber.

Then back to Le Grand Menhir Brisé. The guide books say that visits are by guided tour. Once again, however, we benefited from visiting out of season. We were the only people there and could wander freely – visite libre.

The Grand Menhir, even broken into four pieces, is impressively huge. There is no telling when it was toppled, though current thinking is that it might have been within a few hundred years of being raised. Fairly recent excavations have revealed signs of a number of other menhirs raised in a line with the big one. It may be part of one of these that is now a capstone in the Tables des Marchands dolmen that stands just yards from the Grand Menhir. Another part of this same stone (identified by the carvings on the two pieces, which match up like a jigsaw) is to be found in the dolmen on Gavrinis island, 4km away. And the large rock that caps the Er-Grah tumulus, also alongside the Grand Menhir, may be a third piece from the same stone.

This raises the fascinating idea that neolithic man placed no great value in the stones themselves – that while their function may have been sacred, the stones themselves were not. It also demonstrates that we cannot regard megalithic society, and its monuments, as a single, consistent entity. If it was neolithic people who toppled the Grand Menhir, what was their reason? Was there a change in religion? Or was it more social or political? If the stones were raised as a function of the status and powers of a priestly class, perhaps that class lost its status. This is all speculation, as much else about this period. But we must be careful not to get too dewy-eyed and mystical about these things, because it’s possible that the original owners and users of these monuments were not nearly so romantic.

The Table des Marchands dolmen is also impressively large. The sun was still low and cast interesting patterns inside the large burial chamber – one of the few dolmens in which one can happily stand upright. There is some carving, most notably on the large stele opposite the entrance, covered with a crosier (shepherd’s crook) motif. A nearby sign asks you not to touch this stone – which we obeyed, though we temporarily removed the sign to take pictures – one of the advantages of being there alone!

The site is also home to the Er-Grah tumulus – basically a big pile of stones. This remained largely undiscovered until recently. The main section, with its burial chamber (which is not open, so you can’t go in) has been known about for some time – at least since the 19th Century (although it had already been plundered by then). But in 1991, excavators started to uncover more of the tumulus, and by the following year they had revealed a structure 140 metres long! And that’s after a significant amount of it had disappeared: the north end of the tumulus was known as Er Vinglé – the Breton word for ‘quarry’ because that’s how it had been used – as a source of stones.

These three monuments are important sites and a visit is obligatory if you’re in the area and haven’t been before. But as I mentioned before, this is theme-park archeology, a site so carefully and perfectly preserved that it has become a museum exhibit, robbed of atmosphere. I was glad we visited. I doubt we’d go again.

In the afternoon, we drove to Carnac’s Kerlescan alignments. This is the most easterly of what are regarded the ‘main’ sets of stones -by which I guess they mean those in need of protecting with a fence. Fortunately, the gate is left open during the day and you’re free to wander around. At the western end of the group, lines of stones form three sides of a near-rectangle, the fourth being occupied by what’s left (which isn’t much) of a long barrow. As usual, the standing stones at the western end of the lines are huge, diminishing and converging as you move east. Although there’s a riding school right up against the Kerlescan site (and some of the stones seem to have been moved to make way for it), the surrounding woodland makes this a very peaceful and picturesque place.

Once again, however, Zola had moments of doubt. He was profoundly suspicious of the large standing stones you see at the left-hand end of the row in the photo (above right). He wouldn’t go near them.

The photography was challenging, with lots of fast-moving cumulus making for highly unpredictable light. I found myself shooting into sun a great deal, and discovered just how much my 18-70mm Nikkor lens likes to flare at the least opportunity.

The gorse and heather are especially thick here – which I discovered every time I knelt to take a shot.

We walked around the riding school and along a footpath that took us deep into the woods to find Le Géant du Manio and Le Quadrilatère de Crucuno (or du Manio, as some have it). It’s the latter you find first and the effect is magical. One moment you are enjoying a walk in the woods: the next, you are faced with a strange, inscrutable construction of obviously ancient provenance. It helped that the sun was getting very low now, so we saw the Quadrilatère in veiled and dappled light.

The low stones create a rectangle that looks like an arena for some arcane ceremony. In fact, it’s believed that these are the retaining stones for a long-gone tumulus. Whatever the explanation, there is a definite sense that one is on sacred ground.

The Quadrilatère had so stolen my attention that I missed seeing the ‘Giant’ at first – which is surprising given that it stands some 6.5m high! It is the tallest stone in the Carnac group. It is given a respectful space, the trees having been cleared back to form an open area stretching from the Quadrilatère. At first, this bare ground appeared disconcertingly like a parade ground, or perhaps a car park. After we had spent a little while there, however, contemplating the stone in the golden, broken light coming through the trees, this open space took on a more ceremonial aspect.

It does make the setting somewhat boring for photography, however. We were joined by another couple. The husband busied himself taking snaps while the wife complained that they had missed the light because it was behind the trees. They left. Soon after, faint shafts of sunlight began hitting the menhir. I moved into the surrounding woodland to get my shots, having to use some relatively low shutter speeds. Fortunately, I was using a monopod. I think these may be among the best shots I got on this trip. I’m still working on them but will post a note as soon as I add them to the portfolio. They place the menhir very much in the context of the landscape, so much so that it is not immediately obvious, and has to be discovered.

Walking back to the car, we found that the light had become very rich indeed. I fired off some more shots of the Kerlescan stones, now in a much more subtle mood. It’s obvious that I will have to revisit these sites many times, in different seasons and different lights.

Mostly a sightseeing day, in spite of the dull, overcast conditions. We spent the morning at St Cado, a beautiful little village on an island in the River Etel estuary. While finding somewhere to eat our packed lunch (yes, we have become our parents) we passed through the village of Kerhuen which has its own dolmen. That’s not unusual around here, of course. Pretty much everywhere has its own dolmen.

Kerhuen’s megalith is perched on a small plot of land tightly ringed by bungalows and roads. It’s a patch of scrappy lawn that, in an English village, would probably house a phonebox and a bus stop – a token piece of public land indifferently maintained by the council. The dolmen is average,but notable for the impossibility of photographing it without including overhead power and phone cables and/or bungalows. It was also littered with beer cans, cigarette stubs and sweet wrappers – something we would see many times. Dolmens appear to be places that teenagers can use as clubhouses. I think I would have done the same at that age.

On the one hand, you could think that, in such an unrelentingly suburban environment, it is wonderful and surprising to find a monument built 5,000 or 6,000 years ago. What village wouldn’t benefit from having a piece of history like this?

On the other hand, one can reflect on how this important artefact has been so grudgingly granted its place in this urban sprawl, and how such a parsimonious allotment of space has robbed it of its magic.

Oh well, perhaps if there weren’t so many dolmens in this region, it might have been treated more generously. As it was, I stopped the car and got out to shoot what pictures I could, more out of a sense of duty than any expectation of creating a worthwhile image.

The weather brightened somewhat in the afternoon. We drove to Larmor-Baden to get a look at the Gulf of Morbihan. I’d read so much about the tumulus on the island of Gavrinis – one of the major sites in the region – and felt a little frustrated that the boat trips to the island don’t run at this time of year. But, looking at the map, we thought me might at least get a glimpse of the island.

Standing at the port at Larmor-Baden, we tried to work out which of the many islands was Gavrinis, and deduced that it must be hidden by the small, tree-lined island that seemed close enough to touch. It was only later, having become more accustomed to the small scale of the map, that we realised that island was Gavrinis! The tumulus, however, is on the far side, out of sight.

We drove a little further east, parked, and took a stroll around Ile Berder. This is private property but with a public footpath around its periphery, through stunningly beautiful pine woods. At one point we found a jumble of rocks, a few of them seemingly shaped and carved, cleverly arranged as seats. There was something about them that suggested the carving of the rocks was old. The trouble is, granite always looks ancient. And it can be hard to tell a ruined ancient monument from a collection of boulders. I’d like to know more about this seat, though.

At the southern tip of the Ile Berder, we had a good view of the tiny island of er Lannic. Silhouetted against the bright water, we saw the jagged shapes of its cromlech – a semi-circle of standing stones that curves down into the water, so that half of them are submerged. There is, apparently, a second semi-circular cromlech continuing from the first (so that, together, they made a shape like the number 3), but this is now permanently under water.

This wasn’t always the case. In neolithic times, the water level was as much as 6 metres lower. Most of what is now the Gulf of Morbihan would have been a fertile valley system with three rivers running through it. It makes you wonder what else is under there…

Things weren’t going well. Here’s a technical tip for you: if you decide to take your desktop Mac with you on holiday, and opt for the cordless keyboard and mouse, first check that you haven’t switched off Bluetooth. Logging into a Mac without a keyboard is problematic. I won’t bore you with the details, but the solution involved buying a USB keyboard and borrowing a USB mouse. It was on our way back from the shop that we found the Mané Kerioned dolmens.

They are by a main road, on a rise nearly surrounded (as so much is in this part of Brittany) by beautiful pine forest. Two of the dolmens are on the surface, their covering tumuli having disappeared. They have that massive, Flintstone-like quality: although never intended to be seen this way, they have a wonderfully sculptural solidity that tempts you into reading significance into the form. This is a mistake, of course. They are like that for practical, structural reasons.

A squeal of delight told me that Trish had discovered something interesting. It was the third dolmen, which is still underground. I joined her in the small burial chamber, its roof so low that Trish (at 5ft 1.5in tall) could only just stand near-upright in one spot – in all other places she had to crouch. What had delighted her was finding carvings on a number of the stones. Indeed, there is something about these engraved surfaces that adds a special dimension to the monuments. They are like a message, a direct connection between us and the people who felt compelled to grind them into the stones’ surfaces several thousand years ago. Inside the dolmen, you could forget about the nearby road and slip back those many millennia.

Zola wasn’t impressed. He’s our breton spaniel, a profoundly bolshy and uppity hound who would normally be scampering all over the place. But he seemed reluctant to enter the dolmen – Trish found herself dragging him inside. We didn’t think much about it … until a day or two later.

We had the site pretty much to ourselves – something that would be repeated throughout the trip and another good reason for going out of season. We were also impressed by the easy access to these sites. Mané Kerioned is regarded as one of the best megalithic sites in the region, certainly among the best of the dolmens. Yet there is no fence, no fee, no permission required.

In the afternoon, we decided on a quick tour of the Quiberon peninsula (Presqu’île de Quiberon). The object of the trip wasn’t strictly megalithic – just general sightseeing. We found a few menhirs along the way, of course, usually near the road and therefore enjoying all the auspicious atmosphere of a fire hydrant. But worth documenting all the same.

We also came across some derelict German blockhouses from the Second World War. These are littered all over this coastline (much of which remains in military use). They reminded me of the ancient monuments we had come here to see: although their function is known, unlike standing stones, they sit there with the same kind of monumental imperviousness.

My good friend Doug Selway is an artist who has produced some striking work – painting and printmaking – based on the military constructions at Orford Ness. Thinking about his work and seeing these monolithic relics made me decide to start a companion project to my photos of ancient sites – working title, ‘Modern Megaliths’. These images will be posted on my professional photography website.