Calm Photos

Am I using the right lens? What about my white balance setting? Should I break-out my split neutral density filter? Oh no, the light is going, going . . . gone. #%$^!

I had one these moments just this last Sunday morning out in Hocking Hills State Park, Ohio. I was there to serve as a judge in the “Shoot the Hills” photo competition, sponsored and organized by the Friends of Hocking Hills organization. There were over 100 photographers who paticipated in the event. The images they captured during the 24-hour shoot time were very impressive. It was fun viewing unique photo discoveries from photographers with a wide range of experience and ability. One of the junior participants delivered an image of a rather large timber rattlesnake. I think I’m going to be a bit more careful hiking in Hocking Hills!

On the Saturday of the competition I presented a PowerPoint presentation, titled “Let the Light Find You” where my advice included the usual “slow down and take your time” approach to photography. And then the very next morning I find myself jumping all around a scene, firing off frame after frame. Just goes to show that it can be hard following your own advice.

A line of thunderstorms flowed through Hocking Hills late Saturday evening and early Sunday morning. Before sunrise the sky cleared. I awoke early to capture what I expected to be some good waterfall images based on the good soaking that took place overnight. It is also in early morning when I capture the best of my nature and landscape photographs. That is when the light is best, followed by the light of late afternoon and early evening.

I was on my way to Cedar Falls when suddenly I decided to take a look down one of the nearby picturesque rural routes that criss-cross the rolling hills of this part of Ohio. It was Iselboro Road. I had photographed some autumn scenes with horses along this route a year or two ago, and I knew there was a nice valley that tended to be a good gathering spot for mist and fog.

It was a good guess. Right before me was a perfect rural setting with a light that can only be described as ethereal. The S-curve of the road provided a natural composition, leading the viewer’s eye to a destination of streaming sunlight through fog-shrouded trees. The wetness on the road combined with the rising sun so as to highlight this path. The scene provided a message of journey, from darkness to light.

The scene spoke to something deep within me and served as a sudden reminder of why I pursue my passion of paintng with light.

But I also knew the scene would not last long. The sun doesn’t stop for anyone. In fact, it seems to double the speed of its’ journey across the sky whenever a hapless nature photographer comes along and tries to solidfy for eternity the fluidity of its’ light.

I was confronted with the challenge of how to best frame this light using both the natural and man-made elements that were around me. I worked the scene from several angles, mostly using one lens, a 70-200mm zoom. I tend to prefer short telephoto lenses for landscapes. These lenses help me isolate and highlight the most important elements of a scene from a distance.

There was also a small river flowing just across the field from where I was shooting, so I quickly soaked my boots in dew-covered grass in my trek to the water’s edge. Here too was a scene worthy of capture, with a morning mist still coming through the trees and the field beyond the river glowing in a soft light.

Then it was back to the road where the sun had now moved to the other side, presenting some great shadows and an entirely different look to the road. And before it was over I had some time to break-out my medium format film camera - a Mamiya RZ67II - and capture the scene on good old Velvia film.

After about 45 minutes of composing, positioning and shooting, the unique light of that scene was finished. The sun was higher in the sky and the fog had burned away. But I did manage - I think - to capture on digital card and film what it was that caught my eye when I turned left and drove down Iselboro Road that morning.

I fact, I wasn’t even ready to give up and pack it in, so I drove about two minutes to the top of Cedar Falls. Sure enough, down in the gorge there was still plenty of mist rising to provide beams of sunlight through the Hemlocks. And here again, I went into a slight light anxiety mode. This scene was more challenging due to all the hot and dark spots casted by the sun and shadows, but I was able capture something unique that will never take place again.

That’s why nature and landscape photography is so rewarding. The photographer knows that what he or she is photographing can never be fully duplicated. Each day of every season presents an entirely unique light. What’s important is that we are there for at least of few of these moments so that we can do what we do best - make images that stir an emotional response from the viewer.

What also helped me is the fact that I knew this area fairly well based on previous visits. Sometimes when I visit a particular location that I know would make a good photograph, but the conditions aren’t quite right, I will lock into my memory to re-visit at a time when the light and season will be more favorable.

We are anxious to discover and capture those once-in-a-lifetime photographs. Each of us has only so much time to make a difference with our art. It’s a challenge not to get so caught-up in the pursuit that we neglect to stop once in a while a allow the scene to come to us. Then again, sometimes God and nature have their own schedules.