How Michael Blowers got his freedom shot on the Organ Pipes, Kunanyi/Mt Wellington

As the Managing Editor of VL, I get sent a lot of climbing photos. So many in fact, that in the weeks leading up to our print deadline, I frequently joke that my email inbox starts to look like a digital kid’s picture book… but for vertically-minded adults. I really do look forward to my quarterly pre-print picture book sessions, but when Mike sent me his shot of “Freedom” (30, Organ Pipes, Kunanyi/Mt Wellington), I knew we needed to include the story of how and why he shot it to do it justice. Here, Mike talks us through how he balances impressive landscapes with equally impressive climbing, and demystifies the very real effort behind shots that look effortless.

As climbers, we’re lucky to spend countless hours in incredible places—places that invoke awe and a sense of adventure that is rarely felt in our everyday lives. It’s these places that leave a lasting impression on us. 

For me, the Organ Pipes of kunanyi/Mt Wellington, at the doorstep of Nipaluna/Hobart, is one of these awe-inspiring places. With imposing dolerite columns, heady exposure, and expansive views across the surrounding rolling hills, endlessly reaching their way into the ocean through the surreal shapes of the coastal peninsulas, it’s easy to remain lost in the views for hours. 

Making this place truly special is its location—the powerful mountain environment is juxtaposed with the city lights of Hobart at its foothills. It’s surreal to step out of the city and find both challenge and enduring rugged remoteness, entirely at odds with the sleepy town 1000m below.

Understandably, the climbing is absorbing and technical, exposed, and often intimidating. However, amongst the intensity, there are always moments of quiet to be found. It’s often at a rest or a belay where everything else fades away that gives you the space to take it all in and acknowledge the beauty of your position. As a photographer, I’ve spent the last few years climbing here and made it my goal to capture that feeling.

I think that the ultimate goal in photography is to elicit an emotional response from your images, and in climbing photography, that can take many forms. In my opinion, the best climbing shots are the ones that showcase the delicate balance between the grandeur of a landscape and the emotion of the action, as this unique combination is something only climbers understand. While these shots are infinitely harder to get, the ability to capture the fullness of the moments we spend climbing is well worth the effort.

As the person behind the lens, deciding what makes it in the frame is a constant battle. On one hand, I could limit my focus on the climber alone and only capture the familiar tight frame action of pulling hard on minging holds, which could leave you, as the viewer, feeling stoked and keen to climb. Ultimately though, this shot would just end up on the pile of other climbing action shots we’re already familiar with, likely missing any of the initial powerful feelings of being in a place that inspired me to pick up my camera in the first place. Conversely, too much focus on the landscape in your composition will give you plenty of appreciation for the beauty of a place, but you’ll risk letting the unique impact and exertion of climbing fade into the background.

In my pursuit to shoot climbing images that balance the power of our sport with the power of the places we climb, I’m always looking for inspiring compositions when I’m out climbing. Sometimes, I find them by actively looking for a shot, and other times it’s a matter of pure chance. Looking down on a route and thinking, “Woah! That looks incredible!” or simply while enjoying the views. This shot was the latter. 

I stumbled upon the composition for my shot of Freedom while looking along the beautiful line of columns that lead to the next buttress after finishing a climb at the Amphitheatre. My attention was immediately drawn to the prominent, detached pillar sporting a precarious, car-sized block wedged between the top of the pillar, connecting it to the main wall. I couldn’t help but think how beautifully the pillar would catch the sunrise alpine glow, and how well it would frame the expansive view behind it. On this pillar’s wildly exposed main face sits the hardest climb at the Organ Pipes, Freedom (30). “Wouldn’t it be incredible to get someone climbing Freedom for the sunrise with this incredible view as the backdrop?” I thought to myself.

After a few weeks of obsessing over the possibilities I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so I decided that it was time to wrangle the climber to make it happen. With Freedom going at the lofty grade of 30, the pool of potential climbing subjects was relatively small. Add into the mix the necessary 4 am wake-up call to beat the sun and the speed it would take the climber to get into the perfect position as the sun rose, the list dwindles further. Luckily, I’ve spent a bit of time climbing and taking photos with Ryan Sklenica, who incredibly just established Australia’s hardest route Hartkäse (36) in Nowra, making him the perfect candidate for an early morning jaunt on Freedom. Outside his impressive climbing CV, Ryan’s an all-round legend who’s always psyched to jump in front of the lens for me and, thankfully, was excited about another one of my crazy ideas and quickly jumped on board.

Now that I’d found the location and the right climber for the shot, managing nipaluna/Hobart’s notoriously indecisive weather was the next challenge… If you’ve spent time in Hobart, you know that Kunanyi’s weather is fickle at the best of times, and we needed a clear morning with just enough cloud to catch the light. As Ryan and I scoured the forecast over the next few days, and as luck would have it, a perfect window popped up with a small amount of low cloud forecasted but largely clear skies for the weekend. 

Awesome! Now I’ve got the route, the climber and a rather hopeful weather window lined up, the last small hitch? Who would be mad enough to get up at 4am and drive up the mountain with us, not to climb,   but to stand in freezing conditions as our humble belayer?! “Surely Scotty would be up for it,” I’d thought.

My good mate and climbing partner, Scott Roberts, is always up for ridiculous missions. Whether for photography or just a climb, he’s reliable. The only problem is that he’s also reliably late, which could be somewhat disastrous for a sunrise shoot. After somehow convincing him that he should come up and join us for a shiver belay at an ungodly hour, I went into full planning mode. Driving up the evening before with Ryan to check out the rappel access, timing our approach so we knew how long we needed to get there to set up the rappel and get everyone into position before the sun rose. Confident in our plan, we called Scotty to fill him in, begging him not to be late as we set our alarms for that absurd hour. 

The following morning the insistent noise of my alarm dragged me out of bed, and while wishing I had an IV drip filled with coffee to wake me up, I checked the sky to see plenty of stars–”Perfect, we’re on!” 

I packed my cameras and headed up the mountain with Ryan. As we turned onto the road to the summit, we noticed Scotty’s car pull in behind us, miraculously on time! At the top of the mountain, everything we had balanced to make this shot happen began to fall into place. We donned our head torches and made our way down to the rap point, our excitement building.

Scotty and Ryan rappelled over the giant precarious block leading to the pillar and into the black abyss below. Once hearing they were secure on the anchor, I pulled the rap line up and made my way to the next buttress where I’d planned to take the shot. Now it was a matter of waiting for the sun.

As the sun finally began to rise, I realised that the result would be better than I could have ever hoped for. The light was flawless and full of colour, giving the columnar shapes of the cliffs incredible depth while illuminating sections of the low clouds below us. Finger on the shutter, I began to somewhat frantically find that delicate balance between powerful climbing and the majestic landscape. Both were fervently fighting for attention as the scene began evolving in front of me. Then, the moment I was waiting for finally happened. Ryan reached a comfortable stance, perfectly silhouetted by a low cloud, stopping to take in the headwall above him…that moment of quiet only climbing gives us where you can fully absorb the magnitude of place. Quickly taking the shot, I realised that I had finally captured the fullness of what it feels like to climb here, something I’d spent years wanting to achieve.

So did I find the right balance? I honestly have no idea. But every time I look at this shot it transports me straight back to the powerful atmosphere of climbing on Kunanyi again, and that’s more than enough for me.