The Monument and the Plan
Allow me to diverge from the typical scenes of far flung seascape trips to introduce a familiar local landmark – well, familiar to me at least, and a bit of moon photography too. This structure holds significance for me as it stands within view from my back of windows of my house, perched just 35 meters higher than my own residence at 300 meters above sea level. It is positioned on the precipice of a hill, and gazes over the Irwell Valley; a conspicuous sight to those journeying northward along the M66.
This monument bears the name Peel Monument, erected in 1852 in the aftermath of Robert Peel‘s passing. Peel, a native of Bury, hailed from a family initially involved in a cotton print works before transitioning to ownership of cotton mills. Serving as Prime Minister on two occasions, he is renowned as the architect of the modern police force, hence the affectionate term “Bobbies” for our local constabulary. Peel staunchly advocated for Free Trade and famously repealed the Corn Laws, driving down grain prices and rendering bread more accessible to the working classes.
Standing tall at 128 feet, the tower’s construction material was hewn from the quarry adjacent to its northern flank which is still visible today as a bloody big hole in the ground. Accessible to the public during holidays, its ascent is facilitated by concrete steps winding their way to the summit.
The Cold Wait and the Shot
On this particular mid-June evening, the warmth enveloped the air. The idea of capturing a moon photography shot like this had lingered in my mind for some time. Yet, with each full moon that graced the sky, thick clouds and rain inevitably obscured the scene, rendering the endeavour futile. Peel Monument shrouded in rain? Hardly a thrilling sight, is it? As twilight began to deepen, the moon emerged above the eastern hills, its size and brilliance captivating. Without hesitation, I decided to seize the moment. Venturing to Holcombe Village, I parked the car just past the school and a steady uphill trek along stony farm tracks awaited me to reach the Tower. Eager as I was, I arrived a bit prematurely, panting like an asthmatic steam engine and sweat dripping off my brow. Assessing the compositional prospects, I navigated along the grassy track behind the tower, stumbling in the darkness through amidst tussocks and clumps of moorland cotton grass until finding a suitable vantage point.
Setting up the tripod and securing the camera to the ball head, I settled in to wait for the moon’s perfect alignment to the right of the tower. Moon photography takes patience. The moorland sprawled around me, an expansive openness and the high view enabling me to see the twinkling lights of the distant Manchester and the vast area of suburbs which surrounds it. Clad only in a t-shirt and shorts, the earlier warm breeze and sweat from the uphill slog now gave way to a chill. What had been a tranquil moment amidst the summer’s moorland aroma containing the sweet scent of grass and flowers was now punctuated by shivers and chattering teeth which prompted brisk pacing back and forth to keep warm and invigorate the blood. I’d never felt this cold, even in winter! As the minutes slipped away, I found myself with ample time to rue my hasty departure and the oversight of not bringing along essentials like a light fleece, something that would have brought a bit of warmth and comfort to my prolonged wait with much exposed skin. Despite my brisk pacing up and down to keep warm, time seemed to stand still and the chill in the air seemed to intensify, and the moon stubbornly remained to the left of the tower. It just didn’t seem to be moving at all – “Patience, lad! Patience!” I reminded myself.
As complete darkness encroached, the bright floodlight atop the towers first stage flickered to life and lit up the main column. “Bastard!!” I exclaimed under my breath. The tower’s illumination was unpredictable; sometimes it lit up, other times it remained dark—a randomness that had always confounded me. Initially disappointed by the floodlight’s intrusion, I begrudgingly admitted to myself that it might actually be a stroke of luck. The light would cast a glow on the left side of the tower, balancing the darkness on the side where the moon would soon appear. After standing muttering curses, and scrutinizing the scene for what felt like an eternity, I accepted the brilliant white floodlight as a potential asset. Anything to prevent the tower from appearing as a featureless imposing silhouette against the night sky was going to be a bonus. As the moon gradually slipped behind the tower, its glow began to illuminate the darker side, gradually improving the composition. Perhaps it was confirmation bias on my part, but the scene was undeniably taking shape – moon photography here we come! However, the persistent chill in the air refused to abate leaving my fingers numb with the cold.
Around 11:30 PM, the moon finally aligned itself in the desired position, prompting me to swiftly capture several bracketed shots. Knowing that a composite image would be necessary, I opted for multiple exposures to properly capture both the bright moon and the darker areas of the foreground and tower. Each set consisted of 3 or 5 brackets, each spaced 2 stops apart. Once satisfied with the results displayed on the camera’s rear screen, I concluded my work for the night at this location. Peel Monument moon photography mission completed. With a sense of accomplishment and chattering teeth, I efficiently packed up my gear, slung the rucksack onto my back, and made my way to the wide track which passed the front of the tower and descended the eastern face of the hill towards my car. I was grateful for the chance to get some warmer blood pumping around the old corpse too. The anticipation of settling into the heated seats spurred my pace, relishing in the simple luxury awaiting me. On my descent I did consider calling in for a swift one at The Shoulder of Mutton, as the front door was still open, however, this was obviously well beyond closing when I ambled past at nearly midnight and I doubt I would have been served had I walked in and asked. A mug of hot chocolate would have been more suitable than a well-kept pint of Timothy Taylor’s “Landlord” which is usually on tap at this establishment. Forgetting about the refreshment, I sped past the pub and continued my pace along the road towards the school to where I had parked. As I approached the car, I opened it and released the tailgate. Placing my camera bag and tripod into the back of the car, and then climbing into the drivers seat, I fired up the engine and made my way home – driving along the dark, deserted roads, my mind wandered as to how I would edit these shots and hoping they had turned out well enough to be edited. As curious as I was, I would have to wait and see though, it was already well beyond my bedtime.
