Jun 23, 2023 Macro Meditations Part 1 (Nevada)

This is not about Lake Tahoe or the Great Basin, although our home on wheels was parked not far from them. I did, however, photograph the largest alpine lake and second deepest in North America during our stay. But after one day of enduring miles of single-lane road construction and negotiating precious road space between a row of parked cars and pedestrians with cameras, we had enough of the crowded resort lake.

 

So, I retreated to our campground adjacent to a casino/hotel/convenience store/cafe/gas station. Despite all that, the campground lay next to undeveloped land that for quite a distance works its way toward the mountains. From our campsite, I walked a path up gentle but rocky slopes supporting a great number of plants including tall conifers. It is a lush scene of greens and golds in the foreground of shadow-patterned mountains topped by deep blue skies adorned with fluffy clouds. I was enchanted.

I walked among the granite rocks and bristly shrubs - a sloping mosaic of textures and natural colors with hints of brilliant red and yellows from the small wildflowers. I traversed over the hard ground carefully as it seemed like rattlesnake country, and I was warned of bigger life as well – as in black bear. But no surprise, I saw little wildlife and nothing bigger than a blue jay. But I was perfectly content with these rare moments in our travels when I can wander off from the RV with my camera and macro lens, not restrained by time or with any expectations. It becomes a meditation of small things that comprise the natural world.

For all I cared, Lake Tahoe could be a thousand miles away. It was the abundant number of large dandelion seedheads mingling with the wildflowers that caught my attention. These are the ‘blow balls’ of folklore – blow all the seeds of a dandelion with one breath and the person you love will love you back. For the next two days, I searched for seedhead subjects. In whatever way possible, I knelt down and contorted myself to capture an image of the dandelion’s fluffy ‘parachutes’. I strained to be as still as possible as I engaged the automatic focus. The heat of the day was mostly ignored as I tried out various angles relative to the sun.

Creating unique compositions from this single subject was my complete focus and I was loving my time in Nevada. That is the power of a macro lens. The word ‘Macro’ refers to the lens’s capability of making small things appear large. It can do this by allowing the photographer a very short working distance. Everything is magnified; therefore, framing is altered with the smallest of movements. A slight change in angle or distance will have a noticeable effect on focus area, background, light, and composition. For all these reasons, the common dandelion seedhead becomes an uncommon subject.

The seedhead’s intricate and three-dimensional design fills the frame in infinite ways as the surroundings melt away into a gentle blend of natural tones. Through the lens, the fragile parachutes have a solid presence by way of their rigid stalks that attach to the central receptacle of the seedhead, as if undeterred by wind or animal. Out-of-focus parachutes among those that are in focus become a celestial microcosm of soft textures and radial patterns.

Nature’s detailed functionality becomes art through the macro lens. And therein lies the challenge of composing and focusing. As with any kind of photography, you can take macro photography to a level far out of reach by most. At the very least, putting the camera and lens on a tripod provides reliable focus points and allows the photographer to use focus stacking from multiple images to present perfect detail throughout. But for my time, I care not to be burdened with equipment. Rather, I find joy in the unfettered playfulness of handholding the macro lens. I love discovering what comes through the lens - a ‘let’s see what happens’ approach to photography. And there is nothing wrong with that.

“Where to next?” she asked.

Aug 1, 2020 - Monument Rocks

Our home on wheels was parked at a campground in the middle of Kansas where a dog can run away and be seen for days. For several weeks up to now, we had traveled through South Dakota and Nebraska, two of the least populated states in the union. Exploring the Great Plains during the peak of the Covid epidemic was the perfect strategy to avoid crowds and it was only appropriate to continue in Kansas where cattle outnumber people 2 to 1.

Hot and mostly cloudless skies is how I remember our short time in Kansas. Those notorious Kansas storms were nowhere in the forecast – nothing but blue. Good when living in an RV, not so much for a photographer seeking out compelling Great Plains images. But there was a full moon rise scheduled near sunset that motivated me to drive seven miles down a desolate and primitive ranch road through the middle of nowhere to the ‘Chalk Pyramids’ one late evening. A full moon on a sunlit evening sky of pastel blues and pinks would be a sweet backdrop for the strange and abrupt geological landmarks.

Western Kansas is largely badlands, an extension of the eminent Badlands of South Dakota. Kansas’s badlands are characterized by flat land frequently disturbed by deep crevices or arroyos, that when viewed aerially appear like spindly tree branches gone awry. Interrupting this landscape from out of nowhere are great walls of rock, as if aliens landed and somehow froze in place.

The dramatic vertical rock formations in the middle of Kansas’s vast and flat ranch land are survivors of nature’s forces – wind and water. These are sedimentary formations of Niobrara chalk created by the erosion of a seabed formed millions of years ago. What remains standing are testaments to the durability of hard rock as the surrounding softer rock erodes away over time.

The rocks left behind are solid and robust enough to continue as an earthly monument – at least in our lifetimes. Why photograph these rocky anomalies? We gravitate to them because they are extraordinary and strange. Anything that stands out is a point of focus – it compliments or contradicts its surroundings – standing alone in perfect solitude. That is Kansas’s Monument Rocks National Landmark.

I came prepared with a wide angle and telephoto lens. The telephoto would become useful when capturing the moon rise. An hour and a half before sunset, I walked around the rocks with several other people looking for compositions and making use of the sunlight through the openings. By the time the moon began to rise, most people had left. I positioned myself and tripod on some flat rocks facing the direction of the moon so that it appeared between two very tall outcroppings. This would do quite nicely, but by then, I had little time left as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Monument Rocks are on private land with a sundown curfew, and I had no intentions of breaking a landowner’s rules.

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Kansas touts Monument Rocks National Landmark as its first National Natural Monument and one of its eight Wonders of Kansas. But it is located on private land where no services are available, and the road can be impassable in inclement weather. Technically, it is open sunup to sundown but depending on your internet search results, it may be open 24 hours a day. All that is left for you to do is simply get off the interstate and discover Kansas’s badlands.

“Where to next?” she asked.

Sep 1, 2019 Iowa Farm Country One Morning

Many days were spent exploring and photographing Iowa’s driftless region - trout streams, trickling waterfalls, lookout points over the Mississippi River, and the Effigy Mounds. But as I checked off all these locations on my list, it was the bucolic farm country landscape that remained unchecked. It was everywhere, but it eluded me photographically. I wished to capture it only under certain conditions - early morning fog over the hilly landscape or a dramatic afternoon storm rolling across the uninterrupted sky.

Our home in Iowa farm country

I located a roadside lookout that provided a panoramic view of farm country without a road interrupting it. But the atmospheric conditions that bring out the best of the landscape never materialized, until our final day in Iowa. I woke up before sunrise and sat drinking my coffee when I rolled up the window blinds to peer outside into the pitch dark. Despite the darkness, the heavy fog was obvious. This is it! I quickly gathered up my gear and drove to the lookout point only 3 miles away.

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I set up the tripod and had the 70-400mm lens attached to the camera. At first, I faced the east where the sun’s predawn light began to appear. It was a glorious site unfolding, miles of undulating hills covered with flowing veils of fog. The sky awakened in colors and the fluid fog created an ever-changing view. Facing the sun, I worked the scene only to turn around and see an equally beautiful one. For well over an hour, I ran back and forth between two designated points of view.

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An abstraction of celestial light, the fog covers the earth in soft transitions over the ghostly silhouettes of trees, granting a blend of ethereal impressions. The sun’s light through the aerosol offers variations in tones and hues - red, blue, orange, yellow. All this became a playful game of continuously changing light and color. Better yet, fog removes clutter by covering it with an intangible blanket of light that varies in thickness. These scenes are fitting to a photographer that favors abstraction or minimalism.

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The long zoom lens gives an infinite number of compositions to choose from. It compresses the hills together which gives the composition a repeating pattern of fog and land, bright and dark. Because of this effect and lack of distortion that is seen through a wide-angle lens, the angle of the long lens can be changed to capture multiple images horizontally that later can be stitched into one image. From the high vantage point, I studied the landscape and discovered ‘pieces’ to capture by zooming in to 100mm or greater. The closest foreground was at least a few hundred feet away. Starting there, I could zoom out to include much of the sky or zoom in to tighten the scene. I could position the lens horizontally or vertically. And I could pan across for multiple shots.

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Traveling presents its own challenges when attempting to photograph on location, especially when limited in time. The best conditions will mostly elude you, so it comes down to luck or simply making the best of what you have. In the case of Iowa’s driftless farm country, I got lucky.

“Where to next?” she asked.

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Jul 29, 2018 The Camera’s Journey Begins in Old Florida

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It was a perfect end to the day, a typical Florida summer evening when the humidity in the stifling air clings to every inch of your being. My wife and I stood on a rickety dock, each with a wet glass of chilled wine in hand, enjoying the end of daylight as it sweetly kissed the cypress forest. The waning sun over the smooth water had fallen behind the distant storm clouds that earlier in the day moved violently across the sky.

The wooden dock creaked under our weight as we toasted the sky, water, and trees, and then gave thanks for our safe arrival to our temporary home on Lake Rousseau. This soon-to-be ritual of clinking our glasses together at the end of a travel day marked the beginning of our road adventure. After several hours sitting in a full ton truck that pulls our 12,000-lb home, and white-knuckling the steering wheel, I recorded the mileage in our travel ledger, the first entry of hundreds. Without mercy, constant torrential rain and a break-a-way switch mishap introduced us to the challenges of RV traveling. So it was with great relief that our first campsite greeted us as the skies cleared and the steam rose from the saturated ground.

After settling in, I barely had enough time to pour a glass of celebratory wine and watch the final minutes of glistening light on the water as the cypress trees came to life from dusk’s gentle illumination. To me, the scene unfolding was a touch of Old Florida revealing itself through a cluttered history of ambitious commercial development. Could there possibly be a photo opportunity here?

Lake Rousseau is a man-made one, created by the damming of the Withlacootchee River over a hundred years ago. Later, a lock was built to accommodate boat traffic through what was to become the Cross Florida Barge Canal. For various reasons the canal never reached completion. Much of the land and water were eventually turned over to the state and Lake Rousseau became a popular fishing destination.

A narrow inlet with small privately-owned docks separated me from the wall of lovely cypress trees. The reflections of the old docks and trees with draping Spanish moss were fully realized in the flat water. Normally, anything man made is avoided in my images, but one of the docks near the opening of the inlet caught my eye. The watery forest with its dark and mysterious inner sanctum surrounded the dock, reminding me of an “Authentic Florida” scene from a Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings novel.

The skull and cross bone flag hanging on the edge of the dock was a perfect focal point for this scene. The blue and white flag contrasted against the natural green tones, and the red ring buoy added a nice touch of color. A vertical composition worked well to emphasize the height of the trees and to avoid other man -made objects. The rule of thirds was followed for the prominent focal point, while the cypress tree branches above the dock were emphasized to add depth.

In a setting like this one, isolation is key to a good composition, and this is where a long lens is most useful. A 225mm focal length isolated the dock giving the scene a timelessness. For all we know, it is a dark, mysterious place deep within a Florida swamp, a perfect hideaway for a pirate. Who would know it is on a popular man-made lake?

With a touch of Old Florida and only 250 miles under our RV-travel belt, my first photograph on the road was taken.

“Where to next?” she asked.