As the new year approaches, I’ve been keeping an eye on the hordes of wintering birds making their way south for the season. A regular winter visitor to the bay area is the surf scoter. While likely dismissed by non-birders and non-photographers as just a dark duck on the water, this is one of my favorite winter waterfowl. The most striking aspect of the male surf scoter is its large, beautifully colored bill.
Difficult to photograph due to the dark feathers, you have to wait for the best, direct light in order to maintain detail. I only have very few photos of this bird that I am happy with, which is disproportionate to the numbers in which they can be regularly found along the bay shore. These birds are divers, and diving ducks always present their own set of challenges photographically.
The most common scenario has me putting one in my sights, waiting for it to get just a little closer and give me the perfect head angle. Just as I’m ready to press the shutter release, it slips beneath the surface for 30 seconds and pops up hundreds of yards away. However, I can also be rewarded when one pops up close to me. In that case I not only get a front row seat to view an interesting bird, but I also get to inspect what morsel it has dredged up from the deep. It is always fascinating to see these guys swallow clams whole (shell and all).
After spending the winter here is won’t be long before they’re pairing up and heading back north in the spring.
On my recent trip to Wyoming, I spent quite a bit of time photographing stands of aspen. In one particular grove, there was a nice mix of fir with the aspen. One of the guys I was with found this line of leave-less trees in front of a dark backdrop of thick fir trees. As soon as I saw it, I starting thinking in black and white. I really liked the way trees seemed to flatten out in front of the firs. This was definitely not a fall color subject, but something almost morose or Gothic.
White aspen grow in the row in front of a forest of fir trees, Grand Teton National Park
I began by processing this photo in color, but realized that my first instincts were correct. This needed a black and white treatment! One of the wonders of digital conversion to black and white is the ability to set luminance settings per color. This flexibility allowed me to drop just the greens close to black, which created an even backdrop from which the white bark of the trees could pop. It’s like using a magic filter with black and white film. Instead of picking a filter color that would lighten one color and darken its opposite color (for example, a red filter would darken a blue sky), I get to pick and choose in post processing which colors I want light and which I want dark.
What do you think? Which do you like better and why?
A couple of years ago we planted a cherry tree in our front yard and set up a multi-tube feeding station for the local wild birds. Each year the spot becomes more established and the number and variety of wild birds increases. Here are a few recent portraits I took in the yard of two of our most common varieties – house finches and lesser goldfinches.
A lesser goldfinch perches on a narrow branch at the top of a cherry tree
Sometimes I find myself running around trying to photograph only rare species, so it is fun and relaxing to spend a little time trying to create portraits of birds I see every day.
When we pulled up to the stand of aspen that Jack had scouted earlier, I could tell he was hopefully optimistic about the coming sunset. I was participating in a 5 day photo workshop with landscape legend Jack Dykinga, and this was our first field excursion of the workshop. We were in Grand Teton National Park and the weather had been less than optimal, with thick smoke sitting on the floor of the valley, extirpating any hope of a clear view of the mountains. However, earlier in the day, there had been a shift in the wind, and the weather forecast called for a storm moving through in the next couple of days.
“You know, we might just get a killer sunset,” Jack said to the eager group. The location certainly was beautiful. A colorful grove of fall aspen stood before us with the grandeur of the Tetons rising behind. But the clouds were building in the west and there was still a haze in the sky above the mountains. I just didn’t see it. Uninspired, I set about working with tight shots of the trees.
As it got later, I decided to move up the road a bit and get into a position that removed my foreground, composing just the trees and mountain. Just in case we have a sunset, I thought. A few minutes later, Jack appeared to my left and a little ways behind me. Apparently he had found his spot and was getting ready for the sunset he was anticipating. I could tell he was getting more excited as it got later. I still didn’t see anything special in the light, so I asked him what he thought was going to happen.
“We have just a trace of smoke in the sky, with clouds building above, that when the sun sets behind that notch,” he pointed to the right of the mountains, “we might just get God beams blasting up from behind.” Not sharing his optimism, I adjusted my composition anyway, including the notch he pointed to. Just in case. Eventually, the sun set behind the notch, just as he predicted, but no great light. “Just wait,” he called out to the group. “And be ready!” Moments later it all came together.
Dramatic light bursts from behind the Tetons at sunset. Thick smoke and haze from nearby forest fires create God beams as the sun drops behind the horizon, Grand Teton National Park
As he captured his images, Jack whooped into the air with joy. And he let out more than one of his trademark “Woof!” shouts. As amazed as I was about Jack’s ability to predict exactly what the light was going to do, I realized that what was happening here was not pure luck or voodoo magic. Certainly this ability to anticipate the light came from his years of experience working with 4×5 cameras. Working with large format film requires a far slower pace than what is possible with the run-and-gun potential of 35mm format. One of the requirements of this slow pace is the ability to anticipate and then patiently wait for the light to happen in front of you. Since he was a successful large format photographer for so many years, logic dictates that he must also be an expert light forecaster. It is a skill I greatly admire and will strive to hone in the future.
A few days later, Jack was giving one of his amazing photographic lectures. When a student asked how he “lucked” across a particular cactus with a perfect bloom, Jack said that this image was taken on something like his tenth trip to this spot in as many days, waiting for the bloom to become optimal. And he had previously visited this site close to a hundred times. In other words, Jack knew these cacti very well. After all, the best photographers are experts on their subjects.
After the workshop, I got a chance to put this lesson to practice. My friend Jerry Dodrill (and the workshop’s co-leader), suggested that although we had been to the same stand of aspen several times already (our group had revisited the first night’s location later in the week), he felt the location still had more to offer. “I’d love to see both the mountains and those trees side lit in the early morning,” he told me. And although this would make three visits in four days to the same spot, we awoke long before dawn and made the journey out to this secluded forest service road. I had my doubts as we watched the clouds in the pre-dawn light, streaking to the east, but I trusted Jerry’s experience, and knew that this was an opportunity to try out Jack’s suggestion that we revisit locations well known to us.
As I set up my composition and waited for the light, I became aware that each time I came here, I did know the area a little better, giving me a better idea of how to approach the subject. In fact, as I lined up my shot that morning, I felt I was in the best spot of all my previous attempts at this shot. Moving left and right, forward and backward, zooming in and out gave me infinite possibilities to compose this type of shot. It helped to understand the some of the subtleties of my subject and have a clear vision in my mind of exactly what I wanted to achieve.
The sun just lights the top of the Tetons as it rises behind a grove of aspen in their fall colors, Grand Teton National Park
As the top of the mountain began its alpenglow transition to day, the scene in front of me was beautiful. But I heard Jack’s voice in my mind – “Wait for it!” All at once the morning sun brushed the aspen with luminous side light. I clicked the shutter, appreciative for these lessons from Jack.
