EVERYTHING
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HIGH WINDS
LINES OF SIGHT
Semipalmated sandpipers, Bay of Fundy, New Brunswick, Canada.
A GLANCE BACK
NON TRIVIAL PURSUIT
Falcon pursuing sandpipers. Johnson's Mills, New Brunswick.
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 ... honest
ALGONQUIN
RUSHHH
Semipalmated sandpipers in massive numbers fattening up in the Bay of Fundy, before their 3 day non stop migration to South America.
POLAR EXPRESS
Danger was all around me. They were closing in: pushing me, tugging at my legs, herding me, all sizes and ages, and all with a gleam in their eye.
Usually I shoot alone. But that’s impossible at the zoo. I was in the midst of a dozen families of giggling kids shrieking at the site of huge bears playfully charging the windows of the underwater viewing room of the polar bear pool.
I concentrated, trying to catch the bears as they darted past the windows, not knowing which of the five portals they might go to, trying to get a clear shot without hands slapping at the glass, and trying not to trip over kids or the armada of strollers.
I also didn’t want to hog the view. So I stepped back and shot from behind the little mob, holding my camera overhead. Pretty soon I was giggling along with everyone else as the bears dove, tumbled, and bubbled about to the delight of their audience. Sure I missed some shots but it only takes one.
And this one was it.
The ARCHANGEL
This is 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 him an angelic appearance.
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.
WILD RUSH
Every morning, about an hour before sunrise, the snow geese would leave en masse from a couple of the large ponds where they had spent the night. They then all collected on this pond, would preen and mill around until just after sunrise, and take off again, en masse, and head out to the fields to feed all day until it was time to head back to the large ponds at sunset to again spend the night.
Sometimes something would startle them, as was the case in this shot, and they’d all take off, circle around, and settle back down until it was time to depart. It was absolutely amazing to witness. They started from the point of disturbance and came at me like a wave rushing overhead. The sound was deafening and I could feel it as they blasted toward me, literally blotting out the sun
WILD RUSH is a composite of three sequential images stacked vertically as the birds charged me and I panned upward with them. No geese were added. From where I stood, it was solid birds for about 150 degrees and this image represents only a fraction of that density. It is my belief that almost all of the count – 30,000, were there that morning in front of me.
A SWOOP OF SWIFTS
Chimney swifts, Wolfville, Nova Scotiia, Canada
WINTER FRIENDS
STARRY NIGHT
SAMBRO ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE
IN THE CURL
LITTLE DARLIN'
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.
WET & WILD
Wet & Wild
So… I’m standing ankle deep in the mud along the edge of this marsh huddling under my little homemade camera cover. All afternoon it’s been a steady, sleety, in and out of snowy, cold rain. My face has been jammed up against the viewfinder for over an hour, waiting for this handsome young bull to shake the freezing rain off his drenched coat … again.
He did it not five minutes after I started shooting and I caught the whole thing. It was perfect: heads up, facing me directly, lots of spray, focused, and a good exposure. A beautiful sight; like a dog shaking, only in slow motion because of moose mass. Knew I had a great shot but couldn’t leave with just one. He was still there and if the temp kept dropping I could get some big ol’ fat snowflakes that would spice up the shot.
A half later we’re both still there and I’ve got him doing it four times. It’s been one of those – okay, okay, next one is the last one for sure and then I’m done - scenarios. But it’s not getting any snowier, my back is getting stiff, the bottom half of me is getting soaked, I’m getting cold, and, I know I’ve already got the perfect shot.
I leave. Figure I’ll come back the next week if I hear he’s still around.
Turns out he was. But… he’d dropped one of his antlers.
Once again, timing proves to be everything.
HILTON FALLS (graphite)
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.
DRENCHED
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.
MIGRATION
SWAMP THANG
CATCHLIGHT
It was a shot that almost didn’t happen.
There was a group of us that had spent the sunset hours waiting and watching at a likely spot for moose to show. It was peak fall colour time and Algonquin’s beloved favourite beasts were on the move throughout the park. This particular location was off the beaten path, picturesque, and generally a good bet.
Sure enough, a family appeared a little up the road at sunset and grazed leisurely along the edge. We all raced into position and shuttered away until they disappeared into the woods heading west. It was getting dark and with no sign of them breaking out into the open again, everyone left.
I was in no hurry to call it a day so I stuck around to enjoy the quiet.
Then way off in the distance I spotted the telltale dark shapes moving slowly across the clearing. It was uneven ground so they dipped in and out of sight behind the tall meadow grass but I could tell it was the same cow, calf, and bull from earlier.
I added the extender to my flash setup then steadied my rig as best as possible. Shooting a moving target in low light at 75 yards was a hail-mary shot at best. And the chance of it ending up being a “keeper” was a long shot – literally.
But I lucked out: The distance and the lighting that made it such a challenge were also the elements that made it a success.
ABOVE THE CAULDRON
It suddenly dawned on me after a half hour of shooting, that the beautiful mist enveloping the birds on the pond had not been there before they arrived. It was so cold and there were so many thousands of warm-bodied, heavy breathing snow geese and sandhill cranes, they were generating their own fog.
This was what I called the second staging pond; after the geese left the two larger ponds in the middle of the Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge, they would all congregate on this, outlying, relatively smaller pond and leave just after sunrise for the feeding fields. When they left they would blast off en masse, sounding like the roar of a jet, and creating a disturbance in the air that you could feel as they passed directly over.
SPRING LAUNCH
Red winged blackbird taking off from an exploded cattail in the spring.
cattailred wing black birdwinged blackbirdspringswampwetlandanimalsnaturewildlife
MR. RIPPLES
It’s hard to take a picture of a duckling that doesn’t have some degree of cuteness.
Every spring we’ve been fortunate to have a family of mallards on our backyard pond. And every year I spend as much time as possible during their first couple weeks photographing them. That’s when the ducklings are at their absolute cutest.
They can be a little challenging to shoot because mom is hyper-protective at this stage: it’s easy to spook her right off the pond for several hours – simply by walking in the yard. So I try to get out early and into the hunting blind before they arrive, wear camo on any exposed flesh, and always move in slow motion.
So, 5 years x 2 weeks x 3 hours per day x 500 pics per day = an embarrassing amount of duck photos.
Only a handful however, approaches the cute-factor-level of Mr. Ripples.
GAZE
Algonquin fox
ZAZU
THE HANGING GARDENS OF BALTIMORE
HEAD OVER HEELS
chickadee in winter storm
chickadeesmall birdsflyingwingsfeatherssnowwinter birdshigh speed photography
SPRING GREENS
FEEDING FRENZY
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.
SLIP SLIDING
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.
GREAT GREY
CARDINALS RULE
FOX RUN
DESERT BLAZE
Red winged blackbirds flocking to feed in the grain fields of Bosque del Apache, New Mexico
desertbirdsred wing black birdsbosque del apachenew mexicoanimalswildlifeflocksblur photographyin camera effects
RED
Red fox, Algonquin Park, Ontario, Canada.