Some people, when I said I was going to spend part of my holidays photographing Spaghetti Junction, asked “are you joking”? To which I say no mate why would I be?
Let’s be honest, my photography has always been a bit leftfield, and while it wasn’t the only plan I had for a week off it was something I wanted to do for one night. Duly, I arrived on a nice warm August evening having already done a 10 mile hike round Cannock Chase and eaten a late Sunday lunch with friends. Most days out would probably end there, but I had a lot more wandering to do before this day ended.
In a case of Déjà vu reminiscent of exploring an abandoned air base when the London riots were in full swing 13 years earlier to the week, Britain was once again on edge – an unrest that would spill in to Birmingham while I was there, with hotels like the chain I was staying in set alight across the country as discontent boiled over. Fortunately not the one I was staying in, which was on the outskirts in a construction twilight zone and a nightmare to even get to given the number of road closures in its vicinity.
The Gravelly Hill Interchange, to give it its proper name, is a complex late sixties concrete engineering solution to the convergence of several major roads, that in turn had to allow three canals and a river to pass unrestricted beneath. It was built at a time when much of Birmingham was being concreted over, and opened in 1972.
From my perspective, I was interested to see the underside of the sprawling roads and capture the areas to which the 200,000 vehicles that pass overhead on a daily basis likely don’t give a second thought. The edgelands, if you like. I wasn’t sure what to expect and didn’t want to be going in blind after dark – the social unrest adding an unease to an already gritty location out of sight of the life going on above and around it – so an initial recce in the evening light was where I began, capturing the tangled layers of road rising on stilts from the waterways below.
From underneath this ageing engineering marvel stands heavy and oppressive as it reaches for the sky, criss-crossing over itself, and adding a 3D disorientation to the uncomfortable environs of an urban realm full of dark corners and still waters. It wasn’t even dark yet – heaven knew what it would be like to try and shoot it in the dark later…
The roads were out of the way, but the watercourses restrict your movement down here. Add some blind alleys, palisade fencing and blocked footpaths and it’s not easy to navigate at all.
The recce was a good move – when I went back for the second take there was precious little light at all and I had no torch. The occasional cyclist’s lights punctured the blackness and added to the edginess of my surroundings, though I suspect they were taken aback by my presence clutching a tripod as much as I was perturbed by theirs careering towards me. For the most part though they passed silently or even said hello, as I took a few shots in the dark and tried not to stumble into the murky water.
You wouldn’t think to look at this, but the long exposure and ambient light makes what was a near pitch-black location look well lit. In the moment, I could barely see in front of me.
Having captured what I could I re-entered the streets above and wandered round Aston Reservoir for a shot of the elevated roadways reflected in the still waters, with the resident Canada geese nesting for the night on the foreshore around me.
It was peaceful in a way that belied the frenetic activity of pavements and sports pitches nearby and I actually really enjoyed it. I usually do. Just like that warm afternoon 13 years earlier at the derelict air base, wandering in and out of the shadows, capturing another off-beat slice of Britain. There was no trouble, and but for the news, you’d never have known there was any elsewhere.
It was getting late in the evening when I packed up and made to walk back to my hotel, ending the day having walked 38,000 steps before I retired to bed.
The following day I set off for Shropshire for something a bit more traditional, as the skies darkened and the weather turned. I’ll leave you with a shot from there, of Stokesay Castle’s 17th century gatehouse:
Until next time, thanks for stopping by.