FEET FIRST

I was surprised when I arrived at the site. I had been seeing full frame photos of puffins from this area, yet because of the lay of the land, there was no way that I could hope to get that close – even using my powerful, 600mm, super-telephoto lens.

Elliston, located on the Bonavista Peninsula of Newfoundland, is a popular destination for tourists seeking puffins because of its easy access to view the birds. The trail to the colony leads right to the edge of a steep cliff. Just beyond there is a series of sea stacks – pinnacles of sheer rock, plateaued on top and peppered with the burrows of thousands of puffins. But the chasm that separates visitors and the nearest nest is at least seventy-five feet. How did people get close-ups?

I asked around but none of the other photographers that were there could figure it out either.

I assumed there must be another location and decided to shoot where I was, then scout around for the better site. I settled onto the edge and began looking for interesting compositions of the birds congregating around their burrows. I noticed an area where they were launching and landing and tried to catch them at various stages of action. There was continuous wind from the sea that channeled up along the face of the cliffs. The puffins had an easy time taking off but the shifting updrafts made their landings a little tricky.

The situation was actually to my benefit; the stiff air currents pushed up at the birds as they tried to touch down slowing the action and allowing me to capture long sequences of the birds coming in for landing. It was one such sequence that became FEET FIRST.

I felt I’d exhausted the possibilities from my location, said goodbye to my fellow photogs, and hiked back to my vehicle. As I was starting to drive off I spotted a couple locals and inquired about getting better access. They said if people stayed back from the edge and gave the birds some space, eventually they would come over to the viewing ledge. Before they could finish speaking I parked, geared up, and was trotting back to spread the gospel.

PORTRAIT OF A PUFFIN

DUCKTAILS

Mid-summer, I started putting together a floating rig for a “low rider water cam.” I wanted to get as low to the water as I possibly could for a “duck’s eye view”.

I started with a one-person inflatable boat and cut the floor chamber out of it so I could surround myself with it like an inner tube. I strapped a wood platform across the bow, bolted the tripod head to it, and covered the whole setup with camouflage netting. I mounted the camera, lifted the rig over my head, and carefully eased myself into the pond. Our pond is artesian fed and extremely cold so I wore a wet suit. My arms rested on the side of the raft and I could walk on the bottom or kick myself around the pond. I was low and mobile.

I started going out with the camera in July on some of the hottest days of the summer but didn’t have much luck with wildlife showing up. I’d stay out for 2-3 hours, waiting, and took a book to while away the time. Then I hit the jackpot. One sunny morning, I had three hours with a group of baby ducks, a heron hunting along the shore, a mother wood duck and her young, cedar waxwings, a king bird, a kingfisher, and these four young mallards, bottom dipping for food.

I probably have a hundred shots of ducks tilting to reach the bottom but none so perfectly balanced, lit, and timed, or from such a low angle as DUCKTAILS. It was a lucky morning and the perfect christening of “the low rider water cam.”

PHANTOM IN THE MIST

Little Itch

Little Scout

NEON HAZE

One of the wonderful things about water is the reflection. Not only does it mirror the subject matter, it also introduces colours from the background that would otherwise get cropped out. In this image, it reflects the unbelievable vibrant greens of the spring grasses of the distant pond bank that contrast with the ducklings swimming in the near shadows.

EVENING PROMENADE

SUSPLENDID

There are thousands of sandhill cranes who winter at the Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge in southern New Mexico. They spend their nights sleeping on the big ponds of the flooded fields and during the day, they feed in the fields that have been cultivated to provide food. They're relatively shy birds and keep their distance from all the park visitors, but their daily routines are fairly predictable. So photographers can stake out along the edges of the ponds and the fields during the "golden hour" of light in the morning and evenings and capture them in all their grace and beauty as they travel past.

Bush Family

FURious

MISSION IMPOSSIBLE

Sometimes the littlest things can yield the biggest excitement.

In October, I was on a road trip in the Canadian Rockies. I had come to Banff hoping to get photographs of moose, bear, and elk, and although I did enjoy some moderate success, I didn’t really see as much as I was hoping for.

Still, the scenery was absolutely jaw dropping incredible. I’d drive around all day shooting the inspiring mountainscapes while being on the lookout for wildlife.

On this particular drive alongside the river in the Columbia Valley, I stopped to take some panoramic shots of a magnificent distant view of the mountains rising up against a deep blue sky, with fall coloured trees and bushes blazing in the foreground, all perfectly reflected in the quiet waters of an immense wetland pond. The scale was unbelievable.

I’d been working the shot for quite a while when I began to notice, a small rustling going on in a nearby bush. Investigating, I spotted this chipmunk scampering around the branches feeding on berries.

I forgot about the vista and spent the next hour trying to capture a clear shot of this little guy. The bush was dense and he was fast so it was a challenge to track him and then there was always some leaf or branch blocking the view. Finally he dropped down in the clear stretching for his prize just long enough for me to get a shot off.

Well you’d think I’d come across Bigfoot himself, I was so excited. It was the first wildlife I’d seen all day. And when I think about how far I’d traveled to get out west, all the planning and grand expectations, and the grandeur of the locations, it was pretty silly to be so excited by a chipmunk.

Still, I was.

EMERALD CASCADES

SERENITY

DUCK ATTACK

This has to be one of the most photographed ducks in all of Canada.

I shot this mallard family every chance I got - from Spring to Fall - under all kinds of conditions. I camped on the island to be on the pond before they arrived. I shot them in the rain from under tarps. I hid under the bridge in leaky waders to get an eye level perspective from the dam. And I sat in a blind for hours, recording their development from their first trips around the pond to their departure in the fall.

You’d think after all that time being around them, after all the fish chow they stole from our trout and bird food that they’d waddle up on shore to feed on, after the many times I protected them from the dogs and chased away the mink, you’d think they’d accept me. But to the very end of their time on our pond, they never once let down their guard and made me work for every pixel.

It’s a thankless job.

STARDUST DELIGHTS

I had spent the better part of the late afternoon taking pictures of a sandpiper from the cover of my floating camera rig. He was feeding; flying back and forth between mud flats. I wanted to get a shot of him just as he was launching that showed off his beautiful wings. I kept trying but had little success, until he launched one last time and flew away and left me on the quiet end of the pond, all alone.

Rather than call it a day and exit the pond, I chose to wade over to the far shore where the young mallard family was feeding. It took fifteen minutes to slowly creep my way near them only to be spotted by the mom who immediately shepherded them out of the pond, up the bank, and northward up the creek.

Apparently out of subjects I was ready to give up and head in when I noticed flashes of light above the tall grass of the center island. It was dragonflies darting about in the last rays of the sunlight. And when I observed them through the long lens, I could see tiny sparks of light from the insects they were feeding on. With the backlight, the dark shadows, and the arc of the lens flare, the dragonflies appeared to be floating in space above a ringed planet against a star-filled sky.

I shot until I lost the light, then just floated around and enjoyed the rest of the sunset.