A Pinhole Morning at the Ouse Valley Viaduct

There’s a certain charm to quiet Saturday mornings, especially when they’re free of obligations. On November 30th, with no plans in place, I decided to venture further afield with my pinhole camera. The Ouse Valley Viaduct was calling—its iconic arches a perfect subject for long exposures. Armed with my gear, I set off early, hoping for a sunrise to add some drama to the scene. By 8 a.m., I arrived, but the sky hadn’t gotten the memo—it was a stubborn, unbroken grey.


The first thing that greeted me wasn’t the viaduct itself, but a gate laden with signs: "Path Closed,” “No Public Access,” and a particularly disheartening “No Drones”. My hopes for capturing some aerial footage vanished in an instant. I suspected the restrictions were tied to ongoing restoration work on the viaduct, likely a precaution against injuries. Sitting on the fence—literally and figuratively—I decided to wait and observe. It wasn’t long before I spotted dog walkers casually ambling across, which gave me the confidence to proceed. If they weren’t being chased off by angry farmers, I figured I’d be safe too.

Unfortunately, the gloomy weather wasn’t my only challenge. The field leading to the viaduct was a wet, boggy mess, and my boots squelched with every step. I stopped to take a light meter reading and confirmed what I’d suspected: the overcast conditions meant long exposures were the order of the day. It was going to be one of *those* shoots—where patience, persistence, and a little creativity are tested at every turn.

Not exactly the enthusiastic start I’d envisioned, but sometimes that’s how adventures begin.



With the viaduct towering above me, I decided to take a short walk along its side to scout for opportunities. Soon, I came across the Ouse River, snaking its way beneath the arches. Its water was brown and murky, flanked by a slippery, rain-soaked slope that made getting close a challenge. Undeterred, I carefully made my way down, reasoning that this would be as good a spot as any to take my first exposure.

Unpacking my ONDU 4x5 rise pinhole camera, I set up a composition that framed the viaduct with the river flowing below. The light conditions called for a 10-minute exposure—a commitment, to say the least, especially knowing I had plans to work through six sheets of film. While I enjoy the contemplative process of long exposures, the minutes have a way of stretching when you’re standing in the cold, damp air. Still, I pressed on—this was just the beginning, after all.



After wrapping up my first exposure, I made my way back along the viaduct, drawn to one of the arches for a classic composition. Setting up my ONDU on the base of the arch, I aimed for that quintessential shot looking straight down the line of repeating curves—a bit of a cliché, sure, but one I couldn’t resist. Originally, I’d planned to use my Harman Titan for this image, but with its exposure pushing close to 30 minutes, I opted for the ONDU instead, which would only require around 20 minutes. Sometimes, practicality wins the day.

With the ONDU sitting patiently on the arch base, I suddenly found myself with a spare tripod—an opportunity I wasn’t about to waste. While the ONDU worked its magic, I grabbed my Harman Titan and set off to explore further, eager to see what other compositions I could uncover amidst the viaduct’s grandeur.


I trudged out into the wet, muddy field, hoping to capture a wider shot of the viaduct in all its grandeur. But inspiration was wearing thin. The scene lacked the spark I was looking for—no compelling foreground interest, just an expanse of soggy, uninspiring terrain. Still, I set up a composition, albeit with little enthusiasm. At least this exposure was mercifully short—a quick 1 minute and 45 seconds. Sometimes, you take the shot simply to keep the momentum going, hoping the next moment will reignite the creative spark.


With my field exposure done, I headed back to check on the ONDU. It still had about eight minutes left on its long exposure, so I decided to make the most of the wait by setting up another shot with the Harman Titan. This time, I aimed the camera straight up, capturing the dramatic view towering overhead. The exposure for this shot would take 10 minutes, giving me plenty of time to soak in the scene. Standing beneath the viaduct, I couldn’t help but admire the intricate Victorian engineering—an awe-inspiring reminder of the 11 million bricks meticulously laid to construct this monumental structure. 



While the Harman’s 10-minute exposure was underway, my ONDU finally finished its long exposure. I wrapped up the shot, carefully packed the camera away, and took a moment to breathe. Juggling multiple cameras felt a bit like being in a busy kitchen, trying to keep all the dishes going at once—each exposure its own carefully timed recipe. Despite the challenges, there was something satisfying about orchestrating it all, like I was “cooking up” something creative in the field.


After that, my Harman Titan's upward-looking shot was finally complete. I packed it away and set off once more, hoping to find some spark of inspiration on this cold, wet, and muddy grey morning. The conditions weren’t doing me any favors, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet—sometimes the best shots come when you least expect them.


I wandered around a bit more, but my inspiration was quickly hitting rock bottom. The dull, grey light and endless stretch of muddy fields weren’t doing much to lift my spirits. It became clear this wasn’t the day for the Ouse Valley Viaduct to truly shine. This is definitely a location I’ll need to revisit in the summer, when the light and surroundings might breathe new life into the scene. For now, I decided to pack up my gear and head to a nearby reservoir. With any luck, I’d find a spark of creativity to salvage the day and finish on a high note.



I arrived at Ardingly Reservoir, a picturesque spot that immediately promised more potential than the viaduct. Yet, at first, I found myself struggling again to see anything creatively. Fences surrounded the water’s edge, restricting access, and a large sign listed all the activities Not allowed which is always a nice welcome. Still, I was determined to make something of it.  

After a short walk, I stumbled upon an unexpected subject: a bench partially submerged in the reservoir. Whether it was the work of mischievous kids or some rebellious adults, I couldn’t say, but it was intriguing enough to spark my curiosity. Ignoring the fences, I hopped over and set up my tripod in the shallow water, aiming for a low angle to capture the bench and its reflection. Unlike the earlier gloomy settings, the open area and light dancing off the water made this shot feel much more alive. A quick one-minute exposure later, and I finally had something I felt good about.




From here, I decided to revisit a potential shot that had caught my eye earlier. With my last sheet of film in hand, I set off to explore it further. The location was tricky—the water’s edge was down a steep, rocky slope, making access difficult. From the shoreline, the composition would have been ideal, but I had to make do with a vantage point from the top of the bank.

I aimed for a simpler composition, hoping to minimize the clutter of trees and bushes in the foreground. Unfortunately, they were scattered all along the edge, impossible to avoid entirely. Still, the scene had its own charm; the soft, misty clouds hanging low in the distance added a moody, atmospheric feel that gave the image a touch of drama.




As the day came to a close, I reflected on the journey—how the challenges of light, weather, and unexpected obstacles had shaped my experience. The Ouse Valley Viaduct, though lacking the spark I’d hoped for, is a place I’ll return to when conditions are more forgiving. Ardingly Reservoir, on the other hand, provided a much-needed change of pace, offering a scene I could truly capture with ease. Despite the frustrations and moments of creative struggle, each shot felt like a step forward, a reminder that sometimes the best results come after patience and persistence. It’s all part of the process—and the journey is just as rewarding as the final image.







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