1. PITTS GALLERY
Read MoreSPRING LAUNCH
Red winged blackbird taking off from an exploded cattail in the spring.
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head over heels
chickadee in winter storm
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FROSTED MEADOW
Sometimes I learn the hard way.
I was positioned on a hillside, shooting elk in this meadow, when I decided have a quick look around the bend of the hill. Well, one bend led to another until I found myself about 50 meters away from where I’d left my camera set up – when I spotted what I thought might be a wolf moving through the tall grass.
I raced back, berating myself along the way, and sure enough by the time I returned, what would have been a full frame shot had become much wider and getting more so by the second. It turned out to be a coyote. He was pouncing in and out of view, as he worked his way quickly across the clearing. When he moved onto this little rise, about a hundred meters away, I got my first clear shot at him. A few clicks later he disappeared into the tree line.
The distance, morning lighting, and the thick layer of frost gave a painterly quality to the image and I was very pleased with the results. I was pleased as well to have landed the shot at all and, at the same time, learned a valuable lesson;
Always take the camera.WINTER CARDINAL HUES
It was the Christmas holiday and I set out that morning trying to get the definitive photograph of a chickadee. There were at least a dozen of them around the feeder when a pair of cardinals showed up. The male was the more cautious and kept his distance but this gal came right in to feed despite my presence. She shielded herself from me by staying deep inside the lilac making it difficult for me to pull focus through the branches, but a few times I was able to snake my way through and grab some shots.
Then she hopped up to this perch in the (somewhat) open, tilted her head at me, paused just a beat in a perfect pose, and flew off, but not before I rattled off a few frames. There wasn’t much light but the muted shades of the winter branches were the perfect match for her pale shades of brown and red.
Voila! The chickadee would have to be for another day. That day I had my cardinal.FIRST FOX
It was the Ides of March. Well, nearly anyway. It was the 11th and it was a beautifully warm sunny Saturday. Flocks of geese had been honking all week long on our pond, happy to find a great place to rest and refuel on their migration north.
We’d also been seeing teens of turkeys the last couple weeks, parading around the area and even coming up to the feeder on the deck.
Spring was definitely in the air and I decided to take a ride and see if the blackbirds had returned to my favorite swamp. Indeed they had, though still small in numbers and I didn’t see a shot. But on the trip back home I saw a fox crossing on the road up ahead and to my delight he parked himself on the high bank on the west side to catch the last light. I slowed to a stop, popped myself up through the sunroof and started firing off shots as fast as I could. I was in an extremely awkward shooting position and could barely see what I had in the viewfinder. I just tried to get the eyes centered to focus on and held down the trigger. A couple dozen shots later another truck roared on by and scarred him off. Just as he left he looked back at me. Click.
My first fox.WHAT LIES BENEATH
I went to Newfoundland for the whales, the hope of capturing a big tail shot and the chance to see icebergs. My research showed that mid July was virtually a lock for whales but the icebergs were likely to be gone – even though it was a record year for bergs (thank you global warming).
So I was excited to hear, when I arrived at my first location, that one of only two remaining icebergs around Newfoundland was stuck in a bay nearby. I learned that the whale/iceberg combo is the grand prize photograph for some and the guide services pride themselves on delivering the opportunity for such a shot.
I went out twice a day in the zodiac – on the morning and evening runs – and every time we’d hunt for whales and visit the iceberg. If we sighted whales nearby, we’d maneuver to try and line up a combo shot. Quite a feat on their part really, if you consider the logistics of finding and predicting whale movement in the ocean, lining the whale up with the only iceberg around, and timing it capture it diving.
For my part I had the challenge of getting the whale in focus and keeping it and the iceberg in frame from a small boat on rolling seas while keeping my camera dry.
This particular day the thick fog that engulfed the ice created a magical view of what looked like an ice castle in the clouds. We slowly circled around the base and gawked at the size and beauty and craned to take pictures of the steep sides towering above us – always ready to blast out of there if it began to crack or shift. Then we ventured back to open waters and farther down the coast.
On the return leg of our tour, we picked up a humpback headed in the direction of our iceberg and the maneuvering fun began. There were some opportunities to include both in frame but nothing worthwhile as the ice was just a hunk of white off in the distance. Then he did a deep dive and we lost him.
“Blow at one o’clock!.” He’d surfaced - much farther ahead and close to the berg - but too far for a shot. We raced to catch up and as we approached we could see he was going to dive again. I steadied myself as the boat swung and rolled into position and fired away as soon as I thought I had locked on to him.
I got five shots off in a second just as he went under. Three were just waves and ice. One caught a tail half submerged. And this one - WHAT LIES BENEATH.INTO THE MYSTIC
It looked like a scene out of prehistoric times - huge, horned beasts ambling across a desolate landscape. As they grunted along, their clouds of breath mixed with the surrounding geyser plumes. The smell of sulfur from thermal springs filled the cold morning air. It was a small herd, moving steadily east. I followed them until the last silhouette disappeared into the mist.
Then they were gone and I realized I was standing alone in the middle of a cloud. I couldn’t see them but I could hear their grunting. I thought it best to leave and worked my way back west toward open sky and present day.DESERT BLAZE
Red winged blackbirds flocking to feed in the grain fields of Bosque del Apache, New Mexico
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A Blush of Cardinals
It’s sad when I have a good shot that’s missing a piece of the puzzle that would’ve made it a great shot- too good to toss - not good enough to do anything with. I have hundreds of them.
The “ …make lemonade” technique.
We had a major ice storm just before Christmas in 2013 that shut down parts of Ontario for several days. To pass the powerless time I shot around the feeder trying to capture high speed images of the birds in flight displaying their wings against a snowy background.
The chickadees were the most plentiful so I positioned myself close enough to get good detail yet wide enough to keep them in frame as I tracked with them speeding to and from the feeder. My technique yielded several good shots.
The cardinals were much fewer in number - slower and easier to track, but because of my proximity to the feeder the framing was tighter. As a result, in many shots the composition was poor or they were partially cut off.
That was the case in this sequence of shots where I caught the female rising up and about to land on an off-screen perch. Individually they each had a certain beauty but none were good enough to stand on their own.
It wasn’t until the following August while browsing through my good-not-greats that I happened across these again and solved the puzzle.SNOW ANGELS
This is a photograph of a male trumpeter swan photographed during a snowstorm in late March. He and his mate were migrating north when they chose to wait out the storm on our pond in Tottenham, Ontario.That morning, I was surprised to see a pair of swans mixed in with the usual collection of geese and ducks that hang out in our open water. I quickly layered up, donned my waders and headed out, hoping I could get into position without scaring away the newcomers.I snuck up the creek to the dam under our bridge and hunkered down to get an eye-level view of the birds as they cruised around the pond, feeding and resting. The bridge protected me from the snow but the water, of course, was ice cold and my waders had a slow leak. So I’d shoot until my boots filled with water, sneak back inside to dry out, warm up, recharge camera batteries, and then sneak back out for another session. This lasted until the storm cleared in the afternoon and they flew off. The female was tagged and we later learned that she was a three year old released in Stratford, Ontario and spent her summers on Wye Marsh just north of us. She’d also been spotted several times in other area lakes. It was a great day of shooting and I knew I’d captured some memorable images but I had no idea just how lucky I’d been; the combination of snowstorm, diffused lighting, and super-telephoto lens created a unique effect that looked more painterly than photographic, giving them an angelic appearance.
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HALTING BEAUTY
Just one more and then I’m done.
One more sighting. One more opportunity. One more shot. One more and I’m done for the session. Done for the day. Done for the trip.
I’ve told myself those lies countless times but I can never seem to settle for just one more. Call it patience, determination, greed, whatever – I end up staying until I run out of subject matter, time, memory, power, daylight, or they kick me out of the park.
But not this time.
It was last light of day. There were several pairs of cardinals using the feeder. They would chase each other away as needed but each was getting their fill – except me. I hadn’t gotten a good shot all afternoon.
Now it was getting dark and I was pushing the limit of acceptable image quality. Fingers were frozen and batteries were running low. I told myself I’d leave just as soon as the next cardinal flew into frame, regardless if it was a good shot, just as long as there was at least a feather visible.
As soon as I saw her leave the branch I started shooting. Held the trigger down until she landed, grabbed a seed and flew off. I’d caught a glimpse of her in the viewfinder so I knew I had something but didn’t dare glance at the screen to review. I got up, stiff from the cold and sitting too long, grabbed my gear and headed in for the night.
Jackpot! I’ll never lie again ... honestDRENCHED
Bears in trees were everywhere.
The whitebark tree pine cone seeds are a big part of the bear's diet. At the higher elevations in Yellowstone Park, Wyoming, there is a run of whitebarks along one of the mountain passes. Unlike other pines, these cones don't drop off; the bears must either rob the secreted caches of birds and squirrels, or do for themselves. The first week in October they were out in full force doing for themselves.
The bears appeared to climb effortlessly and seemed at ease no matter how precarious the perch. If a cone was out of reach they’d either bend the limb as they wished or snapped the limb right off and plucked the cone like a grape. Some would daintily pick out the seeds with their claws and others would just chow down on the cones.
This day it was raining steadily so I had to shoot from under a camera covering. I’m not crazy about shooting bears while using it because I can’t tell what’s going on around me. Plus, it was overcast and the bear was buried in the dark of the tree cover. But just when I was ready to pack it in he popped up into this open area of the tree top. He casually bowed a few limbs to get his treat, then looked my way to give me the shot and let me call it a day.
Quite a sight.From BIRDS