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.”
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.
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.
