EVERYTHING
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SKIMMER
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SKIMMING BY
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THE PINNACLE
Humpback whale, Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia.
STREAMING SANDPIPERS
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ONE OF A KIND
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GRAND SLAM
Humpback whale, Bay of Fundy, Nova scotia.
TIPPING POINT
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IBIS
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SWEET DEAMS
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SNUGGLED UP
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POSERS
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SPRING HERON
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IN TRANSIT
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STREAMING
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SLIPSTREAM
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FLY BY
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BREAK THROUGH
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STORM SWELL
THE LOONG HAUL
CHEATERS COVE
ON THE PROWL
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.