For my New Year’s post this year, I added an image of a black-necked stilt chick and its mother. I have finally processed additional photos from that day of the same chick and its siblings (there were three altogether).
A black-necked stilt chick wades through shallow water looking for food
I found this family at a popular birding spot near my home. While I had heard reports that nesting activity had occurred here in the past, I had never seen stilt chicks here myself. It was a joy to watch these little guys stumble around on shaky legs until they got tired, and had to take a break by sitting down on the shoreline.
A black-necked stilt chick takes a rest on the shoreline next to a still pond
Soon enough, they would recover and bounce back into action. One of the three was more adventurous than then others, venturing away from the shelter of the brush in search of food.
A black-necked stilt chick is reflected in still water as it looks for food along a narrow island
It was fun to watch them interact with each other. I could imagine talking to each other in their own little language, telling each other where the best food could be found.
Two black-necked stilt siblings stand close together in shallow water
When one chick would wander off too far, the mother would swoop in and corral it back to the others. Hopefully this family had good luck and all of these chicks made it through the nesting season. I look forward to scoping out this spot in the future for more nesting activity and a close up view of parents bringing these little ones into the world.
A few weeks ago, I attended a landscape workshop with Jack Dykinga, co-lead by my friend Jerry Dodrill. I was able to arrive early, and spent several days before the landscape work began to check out the local wildlife.
It was a good time to shoot wildlife, because there was quite a bit of smoke in the valley from nearby forest fires, and the famous views of the mountains were more or less obscured. I was happy to quickly find many of my target species, including bison, moose, elk, and even antelope toward the end of my trip. I’m still processing many landscapes from the trip, so they’ll be coming soon. For now, enjoy some of the local fauna that I encountered during my six days in the park.
Bison
Bison graze in the grasslands of Grand Teton National Park
Several herds of bison could be found fairly easily. I had two extended photo sessions with two different herds, and by the end of my trip, I was driving past bison along the road without a second glance. However commonplace these animals can become over just a few days, up close and personal they are amazing beasts.
A bison shows his appreciation for the nutritious grass available for grazing in Grand Teton National Park
Their antics were framed by the beautiful fall colors that adorned their world. As I was watching one herd, one by one bison would drop to the ground and start to roll in the dirt, kicking up huge clouds of dust.
Bison kick up dust as they roll in the dirt, while others graze in the open grassland of Grand Teton National Park
The sun finally peaked through the smoke and haze, and lit up the field in which they were grazing. I had to make sure to keep one eye on the viewfinder and one on the herd. I knew how fast they could charge if they so desired, so I stayed close to the truck at all times!
The setting sun illuminates a bison grazing in a Grand Teton grassland
Elk were seen only in the early morning hours, when it was still very dark out for wildlife photography. In most cases, I just left my camera beside me and enjoyed the company of these graceful animals. One morning I found a buck out late, and was able to get a photo. He was swimming across a small river, and by the time I got out of the truck, we was out of the water and sauntering across a field.
A male elk struts through a field in early morning, with a fall color backdrop, Grand Teton National Park
There were quite a few birds around that I don’t typically get to photograph, but to be honest, I was keeping myself very busy with landscapes and the larger mammals, so I didn’t spend any time focusing on avian photography.
While photographing oxbow bend late in the morning (sunrise saw that area completely shrouded in fog), I saw several Canada geese swimming along the shore under a beautiful grove of aspen, all in their autumn finery. I knew if I could get at the right angle close enough to one of the birds, I might get a shot of it swimming through a sea of abstracted fall color reflection.
I dropped off my landscape gear and went for my big lens. After about 20 minutes of waiting, one of them finally swam through the best color on the river, and I was ready.
A canada goose swims through glassy water, reflecting it and the fall colors of Grand Teton National Park
One of my most anticipated target species was moose. I had only ever seen one from a distance, and had never photographed one before. I was not disappointed by this trip! I was able to photograph moose on three occasions, some at very close range.
A young bull moose stands at attention as me makes his way through an open field
On one such occasion, I saw a bull walking across a field parallel to a small side road. I pulled over and set up my tripod. Then the moose turned in my direction, and walked directly toward me, ultimately crossing the road I was on about twenty yards away. As he was crossing the road, he stopped and posed for me, giving me the photo below:
A young bull moose walks through tall grass, pausing to check his surroundings
I was ready to pay him a modeling fee, but he continued on before I could get my checkbook.
Another time I spent some time with a cow and her calf, this time with about 30 other photographers. The calf quickly disappeared behind some trees, but the mother stayed out in the open.
A moose cow eat greens from the bottom of a shallow pond, while surrounded by the fall colors of Grand Teton National Park
It was also rutting season, and I saw a young bull performing an interesting display. He stopped eating the branches in front of him, extended his neck and bared his teeth. I’m not sure if this display was meant for courtship (there was a female nearby), but I snapped away all the same.
A young bull moose lifts his head to make his presence known to females
A pronghorn mother watches over her fawn. Fawns are very vulnerable when they are young, and spend most of their time bedding down and staying out of sight.
Lastly, I finally found a herd of pronghorn on my last morning in the park. Amongst the small herd was a doe with a fawn, sticking very close to each other. At one point, the fawn bedded down next to its mother, hiding itself in the grass. A few minutes later however, it popped up when some inconsiderate tourists started traipsing across the field, ignoring the many signs posted throughout the park that told them not to approach any wildlife.
A pronghorn mother stands with her fawn, Grand Tetons National Park
Further down the road was a solitary buck foraging along a small rise. He was kind enough to pose just long enough at the ridge line to allow the photograph below.
A pronghorn buck stands at attention on a small rise. The pronghorn horn sheath is shed annually and made of compressed hair around a bone core.
I have always thought of myself as a patient person. Even before I earned the “Patience” award in kindergarten, I knew that I was good at waiting quietly, while others around me clamored for something to grab their attention. It was not until years later, after photography fully took its hold on me, that I realized how important this natural trait would become.
Whether it be sitting for hours overlooking a grand vista waiting for the perfect light or weather event, or hunkered down behind a large lens waiting for that animal to show the perfect expression, patience is a vital part of photographing the natural world. It is even more important for bird photography, where nine times out of ten, that bird that flushes is never to be seen again.
A killdeer stands in the sun on the broken shells that give name to Shell Beach in Foster City, CA
I started thinking about patience recently, as I was carefully stalking a killdeer along the shoreline of San Francisco Bay. Killdeers are very fast runners, occasionally taking to flight when spooked. I was following one while crouched behind my lens, the tripod legs all the way down and splayed out. Our dance went like this: the bird would run 20 – 30 yards, I would pick up my rig from a squatting position, shuffle forward slowly in increments of 5 yards or so, with both of us carefully eying each other the whole time. We repeated the sequence several times, each time the bird running a shorter distance.
A killdeer stands in the sun on the broken shells that give name to Shell Beach in Foster City, CA
Finally, the killdeer seemed to stop paying so much attention to me, and he focused on poking around the shells at its feet for food instead. I used this opportunity to get a little closer, but now only inches at a time. With the killdeer finally used to my presence, and with me working at a comfortable distance, I settled in to watch and photograph. I ended up spending over half an hour with this bird, getting to know it just a little bit. Sometimes I photograph with more of a “run and gun” style, but this was definitely one of those situations that called for a little patience.
A few days ago, my friend Jerry Dodrill and I headed out to the Sonoma coast for a little sunset photography. We had mixed targets – we had our landscape gear with us, hopeful for a stunning sunset, but also had our wildlife gear in case that opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, the weather conditions never materialized for a good sunset – it was clear skies all the way across the Pacific to the western horizon.
However, Jerry knew of a spot that might give us some nesting cormorants along a sea cliff. With that potential in mind, we headed out.
We reached a spot where sheer cliffs dropped into the choppy ocean below. A few cormorants were nesting low on a cliff, and brown pelicans skimmed low and silent over the water in fighter jet formation. As we moved further along the cliff edge, a large flapping of wings caught my attention. “Raptor,” I called out pointing with one hand while the other started preparing my camera and lens for flight photography. As I tracked the object through my lens, I could see a large, flat white face peering at the ground. Barn owl. Soon, more objects took to the sky, and we counted at least five barn owls hunting in the late evening light.
The sun spotlights a barn owl as it hunts in the last few minutes of daylight
With the sun setting behind us, it acted as a sort of spot light, turning the owls bright orange against a darker field, now fully in the sun’s shadow. This was indeed magical light, and it only lasted a few moments. Soon the sun set behind the western horizon, and while the owls became more active, it was becoming difficult to track them in the waning light.
A barn owl flies low over a field, hunting for rodents just after sunset
We continued to shoot until it got too dark to produce any kind of salvageable results. As it was, I was impressed at the performance of the higher ISOs that I normally never use. With a little noise reduction in post processing, the images still retained quite a bit of detail.
As we packed up, I was once again reminded of one of the most important lessons of outdoor photography – get outside! Only if you don’t go out at all will you be guaranteed zero results.
