EVERYTHING
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MARK. SET. GO.
It’s fun to photograph Chickadees. The other, bigger birds are always very wary around the feeders but not the little chickadees. They don’t care who’s around. They just want to eat and, if you’re in the way, they’ll just use you as an interim perch.
They’re so small and fast, you never get to see the beauty of their wing forms as you can in the larger birds like herons or swans.
So I baited a branch, set up the camera a few feet away, and focused on the food. They’d pop into frame and snatch some seed. Then I’d start shooting, as I panned ahead in the direction I “guessed” they might exit.
Tricky timing. At first I ended up with a lot of empty backgrounds and just bits of bird in view. But gradually I got good enough at reading chickadee body language to snag a few keepers, including these shots that I combined to show three stages of lift off.
Goose Down
There were thousands to choose from.
Just before sunset in the Bosque del Apache Refuge, the snow geese begin to work their way from the planted, feeding fields at the outskirts of the refuge back to the central several acre pond where they’ll sped the night. They’ll do it with a couple predictable stops in between so photographers like myself setup to try and snag some sunset lighting of them landing and launching.
This was my second year visit to the refuge and I knew I wanted to do some composites. The challenge was to capture as many sequences of incoming with the hope that one of them would be the right combination of lighting, focus, action, and full frame birds with nothing clipped off. You’d think with tens of thousands of snow geese I’d have a plethora (love that word) of images to choose from. But they come in fast, they’re overlapping each other, there’s not a lot of light, it’s difficult to lock focus and hold it all the way down. I’m shooting through a lens that’s like a telescope so the slightest miscalculation in tracking throws them completely out of frame, and throw in the fact that I’m not exactly an expert at it … Well, you get the picture
So did I – but only one.
Morning Breath
The herons and the geese were arriving earlier every morning. So to avoid having to wake up in the dark to get into position in the island hunting blind and sit for an hour before they showed up, I decided to sleep overnight in the blind.
The bad news.
It was cold. Despite several layers and a good sleeping bag, it was a restless night. Twice I got up to put on more layers. Then a heron landed next to the tent and let out a huge croak. Finally, a big tail slap from a nearby beaver woke me, no doubt upset by the roar of my snoring.
The good news.
It got colder. When morning sunlight hit the chilled water it created a mist. And when
the geese landed in this fog, breathing hard from flying, I was able to capture their warm, puffs of
breath, backlit by the sunrise in the frigid morning air.
Cool.
Strike
SUPER MOONSTRUCK
It’s not what you may think…
It’s not the sun.
It’s not just the moon; it’s the supermoon. Okay, technically it was the night after the super-full-moon.
It’s not the traditional island-view of Toronto we’re used to seeing. It was shot from 60K north of downtown in Caledon, using 840mm worth of lens.
It’s not a cheat. The moon appears huge because: Obviously, the farther away, the smaller the city appears. But as I used a super-telephoto lens, downtown appears large in frame. And since the moon stays relatively the same size no matter where you are, and because during that “super” cycle it was roughly 13% larger, it appeared huuuge compared to the buildings.
It’s not a comp. I didn’t move anything. This was the moon’s actual trajectory. That strange howl you might’ve heard that night, downtown? That was me whooping when I saw it passing perfectly behind the CN Tower. Photoshop was used only to stitch the sequence together.
It wasn’t (just) luck. I used an “app” (LightTrac) to determine when and where to position myself.
It was lucky:
- That I had access to the perfect viewing location.
- That the horizon was free of cloud-cover yet cloudy enough overhead to add interest as the moon peeked in and out of view. (The night of the supermoon it was completely clouded at the horizon and only clear well above the skyline.)
And, it was lucky that everything came together perfectly.
Spin Dry
COMET THE FROG
It was a dark and stormy night…
This is a tree frog at night clinging to a rain-dropped, sliding glass door, shot at night from inside my studio by room light.
I’d been editing photos all evening and enjoying the spring rainstorm. It was midnight and I was ready for bed. Then I noticed shiny little blobs of underbellies slithering up the glass doors - five tree frogs creeping their way up the wet glass.
I hesitated - I had to get up in five hours. But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. It’s not often that a photo-op you can shoot from the comfort of your home and pajamas literally comes knocking at your door. Sleep could wait.
Frogs hang around the doors at night because the light from the room attracts insects. It’s movement that attracts frogs not light. But nothing was flying in that downpour. My theory is the backlit raindrops sliding down the glass looked like a potential meal and that is what drew them in.
They hung around while I played with exposures, compositions, and avoiding my reflection, then one by one they flung themselves off, away into the night. We entertained one another for half an hour, and then it was lights out.
When I finally made it to bed I told Terrie it was still raining cats and dogs – and frogs.
SMALL WONDER
It wasn’t what I was used to.
Normally, if the mother mallard suspects that I might be in my island blind, she keeps her distance. She will feed her chicks around the perimeter and swim past freely but she would never land anywhere near the blind.
But this season, I think mom was a repeat customer. They all look the same but when I checked previous year’s photos it looked like she had similar markings. And I believe she knew she’d be safer near us in case of predators.
Indeed, we’d rushed out several times in past seasons to scare away minks and others while she squawked and stood her ground against them. And we’d already had several such interventions this year.
So here they were, landing right next to me and actually snuggling in together for a short siesta less than 20 feet away. And as they were jockeying for position around mom, this little one came wondering over to have a closer look at the big eye of the lens that was peering down at it. Almost felt like we were going to be friends.
I could get used to that.
POLAR PEEPS
It seemed easy enough…
I read about the new polar bear cub at the zoo and immediately decided to go while he was still in the “cute” stage. Didn’t know what to expect but figured it’d be relatively simple to get a few “aw” pictures. The only special game plan was to wait for a snow day.
Perfect.
A snowstorm arrived in a few days and as I worked my way through morning rush hour, clichés of “shooting fish in a barrel…” rang in my ears.
Slightly mistaken.
There were two viewing areas. One from behind a barrier and chain link fence – not gonna work. The second was a half-enclosed shelter with glass - but only five meters wide for an overflowing crowd of families.
The challenge.
- The glass was covered with condensation on both sides from all the warm bodies making it difficult to focus.
- There were dozens of kids plastered against it scrambling for a view and parents with strollers packed in behind them. I didn’t want to hit anyone swinging around 20 pounds of camera nor get in the way of them enjoying the cub.
- The storm brought a cold snap and I’m a wimp when it comes to numb fingers, metal objects, little buttons, and fingerless gloves.
Eventually.
I contorted myself into a corner and with the sounds of kids laughing and cheering at the baby bear’s antics, settled in for one of the more enjoyable shoots I’ve done.
… Not as easy as planned but more fun than I expected.
Sugar Bear
Bubbs
BUBBS
Polar Cub
TUSH
More than just a cute butt …
The underwater viewing room at the zoo is a great place to see the polar bears. Usually, just before feeding time, they enter the pool to cool down and play. The children have a great time watching and gather around the windows to get as close as possible, screaming in delight, laughing, and slapping trying to get their attention. Where else could you go nose to nose with a polar bear?
Often, you’ll hear comments about the paws. The bears love to charge the windows and push themselves back off from the glass. When they press their feet flat up against the windows you get a beautiful view of the undersides. The paws are giant sized and to me there’s a certain cartoon quality about them. I think it’s the roundish shape of the pads and black dots of the claws, set off against the thick white fur, that makes them seem cute and friendly.
That and knowing there’s a nine-centimeter thick safety panel keeping them at bay.
FLickers
MARTEN
TRIP THE LIGHT FANTASTIC
It began as a study of isolation.
Amongst the tens of thousands of snow geese there stood, one, lone sandhill crane. There were hundreds of other cranes on the pond but most were grouped together along the edge of the sea of geese.
Somehow this gal got stranded in the middle. The sandhills were already on the pond when the geese flew in. And when the geese come they arrive all at once and blanket the pond in a matter of seconds. So it’s likely that this crane was just caught off guard and when the feathers settled she found herself surrounded.
It was an interesting juxtaposition. I shot a single frame with the crane centered and then recorded a few frames on either side imagining I would combine them into a panorama.
Then she slowly began to move, picking her way through and high stepping over the congestion of geese. Gradually she broke into a trot, which became a run, and turned into a take-off as I merrily tracked along with her.
It became a study in motion.
SPEEDO
First:
This is of course, a composite – what I call a Panoranimal. However, unlike most of my digitally stitched works that are sequential frames of action, this composite was made from three separate dives. Same bird. Same location. Different dives.
Second:
We’re lucky in that we have kingfishers that fish on our pond. So, four summers ago I placed two tall dead branches over a narrow, shallow channel. The location was the perfect distance from my shooting blind for me to capture full frame images of the birds when they perched.
Coincidentally it turned out to be a good fishing spot and I witnessed lots of activity. At first I was happy just to get shots of them sitting on the branches eyeballing their prey below or preening after they returned from a dive. I also got nice shots of them with their catch, repeatedly slapping them against the wood to finish the kill (or soften the bones?). Even got a picture of one flipping it into his mouth with the fish suspended mid air directly above his throat.
But the kings were always too fast for me to capture a complete series of them diving. Consider what is involved: I had to anticipate their start, then follow them darting straight down twelve feet in a second, hitting a different target location every time, while keeping them in focus and in frame – a frame BTW that was barely big enough to accommodate them with their wings fully extended.
I made numerous attempts every summer. I slowly got better. The cameras eventually got faster. Until one weekend while a persistent kingfisher was making repeated unsuccessful dives I captured enough sequences to complete the shot.
At last.
The Frog
THE FROG
SNOW FLURRY
Almost missed the flight.
In the mornings the sandhill cranes and snow geese take off from the ponds and head out to the fields to feed for the day. The sandhills leave individually or in groups of two or three but the snow geese for the most part, leave en masse. So you’ve got multiple opportunities to catch a good shot of the cranes but only one crack at the geese. And the geese give little warning so you have to stay alert.
This was my last day at the refuge. I had an early afternoon flight to catch but I’d allowed enough time for one last morning of take offs. The sandhills began taking off early so I was able to get shots of all of them. The geese however, weren’t cooperating. They seemed content to sit on the pond ice and wait for it to warm up a bit more.
I had to leave. It always takes a few minutes to pack all my gear away to so I keep my camera setup until everything else is packed up and put away.
Still no movement.
I hung out ten more minutes. Then ten more. Finally I had to pack it in. As I reached the truck they began making their tell-tale-take-off noises. I think I broke the record for getting that camera set back up. Captured them just as they took off.
Caught their flight and mine. Was a great trip home.
DIAPHANOUS DESCENT
It was a moment of weakness.
I was never a big fan of intentionally, blurred shots. I had tried a few early on when I began shooting but I didn’t really push the technique and was never all that satisfied with the resulting images.
However, midway through my third trip to Bosque del Apache in New Mexico, I’d just about exhausted every angle, composition, and idea for shooting the cranes and geese. I wanted something different. I was ready for the blur.
If you can pan with the birds and match their flight speed you’ve got a fair chance of getting the head in relatively good focus even when using a slow shutter. At the same time, panning with a slow exposure blurs and streaks the background. In addition, it allows the wings to blur. The resulting images can run the full gamut of totally abstract to hauntingly surreal and all of them convey the sense of motion better than birds frozen in mid-air.
With so many variables it’s a bit of a crapshoot. Some images were way too abstract and I had many fails because I couldn’t get the heads sharp enough. But some like Diaphanous Descent blew me away.
Now, I’m a believer.
AUTUMN WOOD
WINGLIGHT
Dragonflies; probably one of the most beloved of insects. They are beautiful, good sized, friendly enough to land on us, accomplished flyers, do not bite, and they eat mosquitoes. They are approachable, not camera shy, and though there’s no predicting when they’ll land or take off, they do tend to return quite often to the same perch so you can continue shooting.
The technical term for the soft focus effect caused by a lens set to a narrow depth of field (focus) is “bokeh.” The better the lens, the nicer the bokeh. Bokeh is perfect for portraits because it separates the subject from the background and provides a flattering backdrop of blended colors and shapes. For this shot, it created spots from the bubbles on the pond surface and the “winglight” from the reflection of the sun.
LAST STAND
It pays to look around.
I heard there were elk. Then I ran into a ranger and she told me where I might find them. Ran into her later and she actually pointed them out. But they were so far off they were hardly visible.
So like a Pavlov dog every time I drove by that area I always stopped and scouted. Didn’t see a thing all week.
On my last night I headed to my favourite hotspot for sunset-sandhill-crane-fly-ins. I had just set up when something told me to look behind.
Just across the road at the edge of the clearing were my elk. Looked like they were enjoying the sunset as well.
Snow Flurry (long version)
DAWN
STEELY EYED
This fall I opted to do Algonquin park over several weekends rather than an extended stay. I’d leave home on Saturday at 4:00 in the morning to get up in time for first light, spend the night and return home Sunday evening.
I had god luck seeing moose every trip. But by late fall the moose move deeper into the park and after one trip of seeing nothing I called an end to moose hunting season.
… Until it snowed. Then I raced back up hoping to catch one last glimpse of one last moose in first snow.
It started out perfect. The park was covered in a foot of freshly fallen snow and I practically had the whole place to myself. As I drove into the park a bull charged onto the road. Though he disappeared as soon as he saw me stop, it was looking good.
But it wasn’t. I never saw so much as a rabbit track. I tried all my favorite spots, staked out a few places hiding in the snow under camo. Practiced my moose calling. Nothing. I was totally skunked.
Nonetheless it was beautiful and quiet, and I milked the day for every drop of solitude and sunlight.
I headed home in the dark and I was midway through the park when I saw a car up ahead pulled off to the side of the road. Always a good sign, though I wished it had come with some daylight. As I approached I could see the bull behind the tree line – even less light back there.
The other car gave up and left me alone with him. I could see he was a young bull and didn’t mind company. He ambled about feeding, occasionally glancing toward me, but I could barley pull focus and didn’t really have a good shot.
Then he popped his head through the brush, appeared to glare at me, then disappeared into the dark. But not before I was able to focus in on the snow dusting his head
FALL GLANCE
PURPLE HAZE
Driving home from work on a rainy spring evening, I came across this scene at a favourite marsh. The rain had drizzled to a stop and the setting sun squeaked through the cloud cover to light up the steamy nesting site of the redwings.
Spring Light
Over, Under, Through.
