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It’s not very often, but occasionally I will get the chance to capture a boxing competition.  What could be more fun than shooting two teams trying to belt the living hell out of each other?

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Well fun is the wrong word I suppose, It’s not fun.  These competitions are tense, in fact the air feels thick, it’s an effort to move around.

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Capturing these things can be difficult, but I think you have to put the time in, spend time with these boys in the build up.  The afternoon is all about the bravado, the image, the focus.  Young men with little experience but a big heart and weeks of dedicated training.  Too much effort to just let it all go.

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Then the evening comes, the tension just gets worse.  Making eye contact, looking for a glimpse of an emotion, but the discipline is good, just focus.

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The bell goes, the crowd erupt.  I wonder if the fighters even hear it all.  I try to be in the ring with them, to pre-empt the attack, it’s not easy trying to be inside someone’s head.

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Three two minute rounds sounds like a breeze, a token effort, but that is not what the faces say.  Now the fight is on the masks slip a little, on some more than others.  The chatter between rounds seems pointless as you feel the fighters know now how it is all going to go.  Have they got the measure of their opponent?

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Still, it only takes one hit, lucky, maybe.  You make your own luck.  All those hours of training seem distant, has it all been worth it?

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The fight ends, the final bell.  What now?  The fighters seem lost.  Who won, dare I believe?  There is no certainty, only confusion.  Two confident boxers believe, but they can’t both be right, so who saw what?  What did the judges see?  The crowd silenced in anticipation.

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As the referee calls the competitors forward and grabs their wrists, the fighters regain composure daring to anticipate.  The ref holds up the winners hand and then for a moment the story reveals itself for a briefest of moments.  It’s all over, this time.

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Was it really worth it?  Don’t ask me, I bear no bruises from this one.

This Steven Spielberg film “Saving Private Ryan”, is widely regarded as one of the best ‘war’ films ever made.  Visually stunning and emotionally gripping it is a modern take on an event that is now sadly beyond most of our memories.  One of the most memorable scenes for me is the opening, the assault on beach.  The mood felt tangible.  Was this what it was like?  The scared to death soldiers vomiting through fear as they head towards a heavily entrenched enemy.  I imagine there were plenty of instances of this.

Of course you cannot draw too many similarities between WW2 and what is in comparison almost a skirmish in Afghanistan (not to belittle the threats on the ground of our our soldiers).  That said, for our guys on the ground it is immaterial as we all live our own experiences which don’t really ever draw reference from other’s experiences.

I recently went out to photograph a ‘HAF’, a Helicopter Assault Force with the Brigade Recce Force.  I am not what you would call a fighter, not battle hardened, I do, however, go out on patrol with many of the guys and consider myself to have been  very ‘lucky’ so far.  This was the first time on this operation (I have done similar things in Iraq) that I moved into what is perceived as a hostile area by helicopter, to be dropped off in the middle of a field to then watch our transport quickly vacate.

What were the feelings like?  Although only a couple of weeks have past now, those feelings are fading fast.  The night before was a night without much (or any) sleep.  I won’t lie, I was, you could say, a ‘tad’ apprehensive to say the least.  These are normal feelings that I have felt on quite a few occasions.  Adrenalin is good for you and keeps you alert.

We met up at early o’clock for tea (the staple drink) and a ‘bacon butty’, which we forced down.  The operation was planned to enter an area believed to be an insurgent held area by helicopter, together with elements of the Afghan National Army, clear suspected enemy compounds and then extract all in time for lunch.

There was an atmosphere over the butties, one I have experienced before and no doubt will again.  It was one of focus, bravado, morale, humour.  The old ‘squaddie’ humour, though unique is very welcome.  The coaches laid on to get us all to the helicopter were a squeeze as we were laden like donkeys with all we would need for the operation.  The nervous laughter as each soldier tries and almost fails to find passage through the narrow aisle.

Waiting in the dark for our charriots, three Chinook helicopters with their distinct audio signature, line up ready to load.  We wait in our order to cram in.  On the order to move we all get in and sit.  There is no strapping in here.  Just sit, wherever you can, lucky if you get a seat.  As a photographer I push the camera towards its limits to get an image, any image.

As we fly, the lights inside the cab are extinguished, the noise stops vocal communication and briefings come in the form of simple hand signals.  10 minutes, 5 minutes, 3, 2, 1!  We land in the early morning dull light, GO!  Quickly the helicopter spews its cargo into the middle of a mud field.  ‘Fan out’, I know the shot I need, so move as quickly as I can to get into position before the helicopter takes off again.

Its still pretty dark, so I have to think quickly about exposure.  It keeps my mind occupied.  I still want to give some sense to how dull it is.

All too soon our transport has gone and all that remains is silence exacerbated by our ear defence.   Then we wait………………………..in another bloody ditch!

Before long we move from compound to compound, we meet locals, chat, drink chai (Afghan tea), move again, more chat, more chai.  All the time alert.

Exploring a compound looking for vantage points over the neighbours and there is always an opportunity for a photograph.  Some of these places are so dark it is a constant battle with exposures.  Challenging but rewarding.

After meeting up with our Afghan colleagues it soon becomes apparent that by turning up in such numbers and prepared to fight a common enemy, the insurgents have employed their only real tactic in these situations and have melted into the community.  There is obvious frustration in this but there have been finds of weapons and no lives lost.

Before long its time to make our way to the pick up point and all the soldiers involved in this operation gather in their groups in the middle of a field awaiting once again our chariots.

As quickly as the disembark, we are all back in the Chinook and soon back to our temporary home, as we say in the military, back in time for tea and medals.  As I look back, I don’t really think I can say I enjoyed the operation but I certainly cannot say I hated it either.  I am glad I went, saw these guys operate and I am certainly glad that this time at least we all came back.

These images were all taken during the operation, some under quite difficult lighting conditions.  This is what I enjoy doing so much that I feel so fortunate to be able to.  I know how lucky I am to have these opportunities even though they come with a huge sacrifice to my family, I know I have their support, which means so much to me.  I hope you like the images.

Any of you who know me on Facebook will no doubt have been made aware by my oh so generous colleagues that I was involved in a rather unfortunate incident.

Those of you who may have been out here before will know that when it rains, it can rain hard.  Not that this happens too often, but when it does, this place (Bastion) can flood, and flood fast.  After being here for several years there has been quite a bit of development with a decent (relatively speaking) road network and huge drainage ditches.

Sounds great, but the problem is that when the big rain comes, it can quickly fill the ditches, and when it does in places the road disappears.

So driving through Bastion at night, in the rain claimed another victim……….me!

Laden with kit, driving back to the office, one of the roads was swallowed by a flood.  Initially it just looked like a patch but once in, it just seemed to get deeper.  Probably only 3 inches deep,  I slowed down, dropped gear to keep the revs up and tried to pick the route, but with no visible markers for the drainage ditches, once the minibus found the edge, it had me.

Evacuating the vehicle was interesting.  Pretty soon we were all up to our groins in the water.  And from there the good old military banter begins.

One thing I have learnt is that the ‘taking the piss’ is never not going to happen, so you have no choice but to laugh along.

So there we have it, I am a little red faced, I have added that little bit of morale to the team but the reality for me is that at least no-one was hurt and if this is the worst that happens to me on this tour, I will be happy.