Archives for June 2008

 “It’s rare that scenes last more than 2 or 3 minutes, so sound helps segue from one scene to another.”
(Stephen Hopkins)

 

While sitting outside here just before midday, hoping to get an interesting photo or two with the new lens, it was uncommonly quiet.  Perhaps too late past morning for both birds and furballs, perhaps the warm temperature and rising humidity creating too languid an atmosphere for even the wilds to be up to their usual activity.  Still, it is monstrous pleasant to sit on the back patio during these warmer months and so I simply sat.  Suddenly, there came a great commotion from behind the trees.  All leafed-out now, the beloved trees in our small City significantly narrow the already small view of the skies above this well-packed neighborhood so I stood alertly, looking up at our backyard’s brief bit of openness.

It wasn’t a minute before a flock of birds came racing at full-speed overhead.  Various species, at least two dozen, with great hue and cry, and obviously on a mission.  As I instantly narrowed my eye’s focus from the flock to the discerning of the individuals in it, their purpose was quickly identified:  a Peregrine falcon had been spotted hunting for the little songbirds who grace the backyard feeders and this small, deadly raptor was now being driven out of Dodge by the not-much-smaller adult blue jays and grackles.

They were gone in the space of five breaths; the Peregrine stretched out fully, at aerodynamic full-throttle with legs extended and held close to its underside, while the jays and grackles flew in messy, yet tormenting formation intended to surround and harrass.

There wasn’t time to snap a shot, had there even been time to lift the big bazooka lens that now graces the face of “Matilda”, the D2Xs.  Yet this time there was no twinge of regret for a missed photo op, simply an overriding sense of gratefulness for having just witnessed something truly remarkable.  For as I noted back in December, the peregrine falcon is a rare sight in these parts so it is reassuring to see that efforts to help it survive continue to succeed.

The blood-thirsty cries of the feathered mob grew faint as the chase quickly disappeared behind the trees surrounding the houses across the street from ours.  Then a few minutes later two, then three of the jays made their way back, screaming out the news of the marauder’s attempted invasion.  They were joined by a few of the grackles, who added to the feathered newsboys’ chorus with their own unique, squeaky imitations.

There would be no real activity for a while after something like this, and so with an unexpected and odd sense of accomplishment, we packed up and went back inside the house.

 

 

 

“Once you really commence to see things, then you really commence to feel things.”
(Edward Steichen)

 

Rather, she’s a BRUTE.

 Over the course of the past year I have been upgrading my camera equipment from “pro-sumer” to professional.  It has been an interesting, exciting, often confusing, and awfully expensive endeavor but one that I knew, even many years ago, would eventually happen.  I think back to the long days-into-evenings spent at Rialto Beach in northwest Washington; my wolf-hybrid, then a puppy, my constant companion as we explored the rocky shoreline, peering into tide pools and at last settling down at the edge of the water to watch the sun set over the ocean with a magnificence I have seen nowhere else.  My trusty little 110 instamatic camera was a constant companion then as well and, to the surprise of the few, experienced, older folks I’d met along the way who knew about such things, I was able to capture many worthy images with it.

It was late one afternoon on such an excursion that I found my Self inadvertently thrust on the path I find my Self today.  Ashley and I had been chasing the incoming waves, running out and back up the hard-packed sand, burning off his energetic puppy excitement after the long drive to get there.  Suddenly, the weight of my little camera was no longer in the pocket of my hooded sweat jacket and as I turned to see where it had fallen, I saw my beloved little 110 being gathered up by the topmost edge of the incoming wave and being swept away.  I ran towards it, and back then these long legs could do a sprint at Olympic-caliber speed, but it was to no avail.  The heavy, thrashing water was moving fast by an outgoing tide and pulled my little camera under before I could even reach for it.

It was one of the saddest sunsets I’ve ever witnessed.  I was utterly heartbroken over the loss of my camera; being young and a poor military wife at the time, I knew there would be no quick replacement and in all honesty, if felt like I’d just lost my best friend.  Ashley, that sweet and wise old soul, simply snuggled up quietly next to me; puppy games forgotten in his empathy.

It was, however, one of my first remembered lessons about there being a reason for everything.  It wasn’t long after that fateful day that I learned of someone selling their Canon AE-1; complete with camera body and two lenses, filters, and a camera bag.  Barely used and at a good price.  While I am no good with names, I will never forget his for bless Dave’s heart, he allowed me to pay in installments, releasing one piece at a time as the balance due decreased.  And so it was that I stepped into what was then the lofty ranks of real photographers. 

For the next 20 years that Canon AE-1 would be my sidekick, and it was that camera that recorded my first experiences with the wild furballs who would steal my heart.  It was the source of the photographs of my very first gallery showing and when I finally broke down and bought my first digital SLR, I was loathe to set it aside.  Indeed, my Nikon D70 sat in its box for months after I bought it; it felt like a toy in comparison to my Canon and I guess it’s true that old habits die hard.  I was completely at ease shooting film and the learning curve required for digital seemed too steep for the lack of time I had with all the wildlife rehabilitation and the requirements of my day job.

Eventually, of course, I yielded to the inevitable.  Photography is one of the key elements in my life and advancement could not be postponed forever.  I won’t say I liked making the switch because I didn’t.  What I thought I knew almost instinctively suddenly required what felt like learning from the beginning again but once I made up my mind … well, I’ll just say that when you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing, work is joy.

Last year, after due diligence in pursuit of capturing digital images, I found my Self struggling at the limits of the D70 so I walked out the door and found where the Big Dogs run.  First came a bigger, professional lens.  Next was the professional camera body.  And after almost a year of that continued due diligence to learning my craft, now it is even bigger glass.  Among the sweetest of all the sweet professional glass Nikon makes, the AF-S VR Zoom-NIKKOR 200-400mm f/4G IF-ED.  And while my budget cringes as its limits bulge with the strain of the expenses, with the very first shots taken with it, it is obvious that, as in all things, “when you buy good, you’ve got good”. 

I see the world through eyes that hold a fondness for the minutiae, for that which so often goes unnoticed.  As with my writing, so, too, does my photography reflect this vision.  And now, more than ever, I can better share it.

Not to mention what it will do for my upper body strength to cart around 10 pounds of camera and glass….

 A fledgling starling waiting patiently in the birdbath.  Hand-held, shot from the back patio.