PORTFOLIO SELECTS
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FLICKER OF HOPE
From EVERYTHING
TORN CURTAIN
From EVERYTHING
WINTER FRIENDS
From EVERYTHING
SAILING ON GOSSAMER WAVES OF LIGHT
From EVERYTHING
MIGRATION
From EVERYTHING
TANGLED UP AND BLUE
From EVERYTHING
NIGHT VISION
Fireflies, Summer Solstice.
firefliessummergrassnight photographyorbslightning bugs
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NORTHERN EXPOSURE
Sooo cold. Fingers, toes, and face, numb.
Where the Mississippi River runs through Monticello, Minnesota, the water stays open even during coldest weather from the upstream nuclear power plant. When trumpeter swans were reintroduced there in 1986, Sheila Lawrence who lived nearby started a daily feeding ritual. What began as a few swans has turned into thousands. And what was once a few buckets worth of corn has become nearly a ton a day.
“The Swan Lady” passed away in 2011 but her husband continues the tradition. The area has become a mini park; a small lot between a couple houses, high above the feeding bank, fenced off so as not to disturb the birds below.
I arrived at the park before dawn to be ready for sunrise. The sky was perfectly clear and the mix of extreme cold air and relatively warm water was creating massive billows of mist. Combined with the high winds, it looked like an armada of clouds was blowing down the Mississippi.
There’s nothing better than swans floating through the mist in beautiful morning light.
I shot until I ran out of memory and the golden hour light was gone, along with my last reserves of body heat.
Headed back to the hotel to download and thaw.trumpeter swanmistfogwaterwings
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STARRY NIGHT
From EVERYTHING
FRESH PAINT
Lucky us.
In June, on three separate occasions, we were fortunate to witness three painted turtles laying eggs along the bank of the pond. We marked the areas hoping to see them hatch. But even with three nests, it was a long shot that we’d spot the loonie-sized offspring emerge and work their way through the grass to the water.
But the odds were with us. Not only did Terrie notice the tiny ground breaking disturbances of the first and second nests hatching – both birthings happened on weekends when I was home with the camera to capture the moments.
Two out of three – not bad.painted turtlehatchingturtle nestfresh paintron pittspanoranimal
DAWN
The first time I witnessed the snow geese arriving I didn’t know where to begin to shoot. Thirty thousand birds landing en masse, squawking, flapping, and settling down on this huge pond in just a little over five minutes is a lot to take in. How do you pick a shot out from all that? How do you capture the frenzy as well as the calm with so much to choose from across such a wide expanse?
Fortunately, it was a routine that they repeated daily during their winter stay at Bosque del Apache in New Mexico. It gave me plenty of practice and by the end of my first week there I’d found the rhythm and figured out my approach.
DAWN was taken several minutes after the mass landing frenzy as the stragglers caught up with the rest of the flock. The cold temps combined with the warm bodies and the sun hitting the frigid water as it cleared the distant mountains, created a beautiful misty backdrop for their graceful winged poses.
The field of action was seventy meters distant so I swept across the pond with my 600mm and stitched the results into this panoranimal. Other than that, nothing was done to alter the image. The morning light, atmospheric distortion, and slow shutter speed, naturally combined to give it a painterly look.
FEEDING FRENZY
That spring I hauled several dead tree limbs on to the island so the birds could use them as perches. The results exceeded my expectations, because not only did we end up hosting a family of four kingfishers, but we also attracted a flock of cedar waxwings. Every morning and evening, about a dozen of them would gather on the branches and use them as a launch for their bug hunts around the island airways.
This is a composite of five images taken over a few minutes, one evening in July.cedar wax wingswax wingscompositepondbirdsnaturewildlifeanimals
EVENING PROMENADE
We have a big pond right outside the back of the house and every summer we’ve been fortunate to have at least one family of mallards make it their home. In fact, the last two seasons they’ve shown up on exactly the same day – June 10th.
I try to be ready to photograph and spend as much time with them as I can during their first few weeks when their cute factor is way off the charts. Sometimes I get in the water to move around and shoot them from eye level. Other times, like for this image, I shoot from the cover of a blind.
It’s impossible to tell them apart from their markings but it’s easy to see personality differences right from the start. Some are very timid and barely leave mom’s side. Others are more daring and venture farther away until she silently signals and they race back, virtually running atop the water.
And, there appears to be three parade modes. There’s the one where mom leads and they all trail behind single file. There is the cluster mode with mom in the middle of the group. And then there is this arrangement where the chicks take the lead and proudly parade themselves around the pond.
LAST LOOK
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SUPER MOONSTRUCK
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 the 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.Super moonsupermoonmoonrisetorontoontarioCN towerskylinenightimecity lights
RUSHHH
Semipalmated sandpipers in massive numbers fattening up in the Bay of Fundy, before their 3 day non stop migration to South America.
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ROLY POLY
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.
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.
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.trumpeter swanwinterspringsnowpond icewings
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COMET THE FROG
It was a dark and stormy night…
This is a tree frog clinging to a rain-dropped, sliding glass door, shot at night by room light from inside my studio.
I’d been editing photos all evening and enjoying the spring rainstorm. It was past midnight and I was ready for bed. Then I noticed shiny little blobs of underbellies slithering up the door - five tree frogs creeping up the wet glass.
I hesitated - I had to get up in six hours. But it was too good to pass up. It’s rare 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 house at night because the light from inside attracts bugs. Movement, rather than the light attracts the frogs. But nothing was flying in that downpour. My theory is the backlit raindrops sliding down the glass looked like prey and that’s what drew them in.
They hung around while I tweaked exposures and compositions, contorting on the floor to get a belly level view while avoiding my reflection, until one by one they flung themselves off into the night.
When I finally made it to bed I told Terrie it was still raining cats and dogs – and frogs.
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.From EVERYTHING
POLAR EXPRESS
Danger was all around. 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.
ABOVE THE CAULDRON
Snow geese and sandhill cranes in morning mist, Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge, New Mexico, United States.
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.sandhill cranessnow geesesnowgeesebosque del apachenew mexicomistfogpondwetlands
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.From EVERYTHING
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.foxsunsetwildlifenatureanimals
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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.”
POUNCIN' AROUND
Sometimes I learn the hard way.
I was positioned on a hillside, shooting elk in this meadow, when I decided to 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. A few camera clicks later he disappeared into the tree line.
I learned a valuable but what should have been an obvious lesson that morning;
Always take the camera.
SPIRITS RISING
Snow geese. Bosque del Apache, New Mexico, United States.
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.
DANCE AT DAWN
From EVERYTHING
STARDUST DELIGHTS
dragonfly darting about in the last rays of the sunlight, feeding on insects that look like bright sparks of light. 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-studded sky.
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FOX RUN
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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.
TRIUMVIRATE
In the evening, thousands of sandhill cranes gradually wing their way back from the farm fields where they’ve been feeding all day, to the big central pond of the Bosque del Apache Refuge to spend the night.
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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.From EVERYTHING
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.Atlnaticpuffinellistonnewfoundandbonavistabirdscliffsoceanwildlifenature
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 headFrom EVERYTHING
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.From EVERYTHING
FUZZ
FUZZ Ever since a pair of trumpeter swans first appeared on our pond in Tottenham and I learned that they were from the Wye Marsh in Midland, Ontario, I’d been meaning to go there and photograph the cygnets. Finally, some four summers later, when I heard a resident trumpeter pair had a clutch of four babies, I raced to the marsh to try and capture them at the crack of dawn.
I could’ve slept in. They were nowhere to be found until their mid-afternoon feeding time. Then the family would come cruising into the feeding area and chow down for about half an hour. They were comfortable with onlookers so there was no trouble moving around them to get close and down low for a better angle. The parents kept a watchful eye but it was more for trouble from below in the form of snapping turtles than from a photographer. When they left, I followed along as far as I could, snapping photos of them in procession until they swam away down one of the channels.
I headed home but returned two more days that week – still driving up in the dark, still hoping to find them in the morning golden hour of light. But each time I ended up hiking around the marsh – cygnet-less until midday.
This summer I’m sleeping in.cygnetsignetsygnetbaby swanwhitecuteadorablesweettrumpeterr
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A BLUSH OF CARDINALS
It’s sad when I have a good shot that’s missing a piece of the puzzle that would’ve made it a great shot- too good to toss - not good enough to do anything with. I have hundreds of them.
The “ …make lemonade” technique.
We had a major ice storm just before Christmas in 2013 that shut down parts of Ontario for several days. To pass the powerless time I shot around the feeder trying to capture high speed images of the birds in flight displaying their wings against a snowy background.
The chickadees were the most plentiful so I positioned myself close enough to get good detail yet wide enough to keep them in frame as I tracked with them speeding to and from the feeder. My technique yielded several good shots.
The cardinals were much fewer in number - slower and easier to track, but because of my proximity to the feeder the framing was tighter. As a result, in many shots the composition was poor or they were partially cut off.
That was the case in this sequence of shots where I caught the female rising up and about to land on an off-screen perch. Individually they each had a certain beauty but none were good enough to stand on their own.
It wasn’t until the following August while browsing through my good-not-greats that I happened across these again and solved the puzzle.cardinalsfemalewintersnowwingsflying
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MORNING GLORY
The highlight of most mornings in the Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge is when tens of thousands of snow geese blast off from the big pond.
Actually there are two blast events: The first is before sunrise from the pond where they spent the night. Thousands of geese take off at once silhouetted against the first streaks of orange and purple sky. The timing is such that you can take photos of this event and then make it to the next staging area where MORNING GLORY was captured.
The second-stage pond is where hundreds of sandhill cranes have spent the night. The geese from first pond join them and together they spend an hour or so milling about, resting, and preening.
Once the sun clears the distant mountains, the cranes begin leaving one at a time and in small groups. They’ll spread out their departure this way over a couple hours.
The geese on the other hand are unpredictable. You know they’re going to launch, en masse, but you never know when and no one knows what prompts them. It’s always after sunrise but it can happen right away or it can take a couple hours. So you have to keep alert. You might get advance warning and hear them begin to chatter in anticipation – gives you a chance to pick your area, like this cotton wood tree. But quite often you just hear the cacophony of thirty thousand wings beating as they explode off the water.
It’s great drama in the desert.From EVERYTHING
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.
