In the final part of his exclusive four-part series, Colin Prior puts his camera down and wonders about the value of wild places.

Why do we value wild places? Simply, I believe because they form a link with our past. They are the stage on which every species, including ourselves, has played out the endless role of survival. In that capacity they offer a conduit to a very different, more primitive existence held in the psyche, which can be re-ignited when we enter these realms. The challenge of climbing a mountain, crossing a glacier or kayaking down river rapids re-awakens our sensory perceptions, which exist in a near constant state of stand by.

So, wild places form a link with the past and offer an environment in which we can confront our pedestrian lifestyle Is that it? surely there’s more? What’s fascinated me for some time about wild places, is the opportunities they create for connecting with the natural world. This connection can take place very quickly in the presence of powerful natural phenomena such as a lightning storm, witnessing the sheer force of a gale-driven sea, or by coming face to face with a grizzly bear. It’s at moments like these that I become part of what’s taking place, not simply as an observer but in a spiritual sense, an integral part of the experience. At other times, connection can take longer to attain but usually within a day or two, individuals will have discovered a resonance with their surroundings.

In a letter to a colleague last year, I recall writing: “The wild place is the hero and should be valued as such - places where the endless natural cycles take place, as they have done since time began, free from the threat of development. For within these wild places, men and woman can be earthed in much the same way as an electrical charge finds its way to earth. The key is to tune into the right frequency - there is only one, but once discovered, it’s like an energy, which permeates every aspect of life.”

This isn’t intended to sound like divine intervention or about “seeing the light” spiritually, but it does sum up my emotional state at these moments. I remember having been dropped off on the remote island of Scarba and after climbing to the summit on a fantastic July’s day, finding the feathers of a golden eagle under its preening stone. In that moment, I connected to the entire environment in which I stood, which was reflected in the series of images that I later made. I still have the feathers to this day.

Earlier this year I set off to climb Ben Starav in Glen Etive. I hadn’t been on the mountain since the 3rd November 1990, where I took one of my ‘signature’ images. I had picked the hottest day of the year, and record temperatures made walking with photographic and camping equipment almost unbearable. In addition to my panoramic camera and extra lens, I decided to carry the Canon and three lenses which I would use to shoot a waterfall before the climb began.

My plan was to conceal the camera somewhere and pick it up on the way back. I did manage to make good use of it and then hide the two lenses, but decided to bring the camera and a 70-200mm lens along for good measure. Less than a third of the way up, I had almost ground to a halt as a result of heat exhaustion and fatigue, so made a final effort to lighten up. I jettisoned my tent, mattress, sleeping bag and stove, and concluded that it was warm enough to sleep in just my fleece. This helped, but progress was still slow and I camped overnight some 45 minutes below the summit. I carefully picked out a boulder, making sure that the moss below was dry and squeezed myself underneath, rolling myself into as small a ball as possible. It was a short, uncomfortable night and I was forced to run around each hour to create some body heat. By 4.30am I was heading for the summit and as the sun rose behind Buachaille Etive Mor it turned the clouds a crimson hue.

I shot with both the 617 panoramic camera and 180mm lens and with the Canon. Continuing onto the summit, I drank in the vistas and stood exactly where all those years ago I’d shot Glen Etive at dusk. That was a memorable moment, enhanced by two golden eagles, emerging into the late evening light. I remember wishing that I had my long telephoto lens to isolate these birds against the snow-covered mountains of Glencoe, but the picture is forever in my mind’s eye.

Standing there in midsummer years later was a very different experience, I relished the moment and paid homage to the spot which had shaped the course of my life. The experience infused me with renewed enthusiasm to spend more time in wild places and to overcome the natural aversion to new challenges where risk and discomfort are integral parts of the experience. It is solely in the uniqueness of wild places that we can find answers about ourselves.

Last year at the World Wilderness Congress in Alaska, Dr. Ian Player spoke passionately about wilderness and its values. He quoted his late friend John Aspinall, referring to him as the most famous gambler in Britain who later became a conservationist and poured millions into saving of the gorilla and other causes:

“I believe that wilderness is the earth’s greatest treasure. Wilderness is the bank on which all cheques are drawn. I believe our debt to nature is total. I believe that unless we recognise this debt and renegotiate it then we write our own epitaph. I believe that there is an outside chance to save the earth and most of its tenants. This chance must be grasped with gamblers’ hands. I believe that terrible risks must be taken and terrible passions roused before these ends can be accomplished”.

This is our task. We need something that will stir our psyche’s depths and touch the images of the soul. It has to surpass creed and be instantly recognised. We must remember the first principle of ecology: that ‘everything is connected to everything else.’ And the wilderness experience is the spiritual spark that ignites the understanding.

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