Category Archives: Reflections

Photographic Reflection : The Chickadees of Magalloway River, Maine

What does it mean to have a “long day” of fly fishing? The old adage says : a bad day of fishing is better than a good day in the office. Agreed. However, by the end of our sunny, late April day at the Magalloway River of northern Maine, my friend Kevin Shea and I were doubting that any of the trophy 22″ brook trout we were seeking could ever be caught in a river renowned for them. The brookies were not intrigued by our fly fishing techniques of finessing nymphs or stripping streamers, and drift after drift our lines stayed slack. After hours of the torturous work of standing in the water to fish (sensing the irony?), I turned my eyes to a soft spot on the bank and took a seat. The sun shown overhead, and in my memory not a cloud could be seen in the sky. At least that explained the poor fishing – they never bite on the nice days! The Magalloway River flowed in front of me, and several fisherman were down the bank from me about 25 yards still dredging the rocky bottom with their #18 beadheads.

It was the movement that caught my eye. A bird had flown near my left shoulder and disappeared. Turning my full attention to the area I watched a black-capped chickadee emerge from the end of a rotten alder log and fly off with a face full of sawdust. As it flew off, another of the gregarious birds quickly flew in to take the first’s place in the hollowed log, and seconds later reappeared with a mouthful of sawdust. The bird flew to the nearest branch and pulled apart the sawdust, apparently looking for some type insect or larvae. In its place a train of birds flew into the hollow log and then back out creating a constant stream of entertainment for a curious human.

The fearlessness of chickadees makes them a favorite bird of children and adults alike and is part of the reason chickadees are one of the best-known birds of North American feeders. [As a side note, these tiny birds are able to survive brutal winter (e.g. -40 F in Fairbanks, AK) temperatures by dropping their body temperature as much as 12-15 degrees below their average body temp every night, conserving as much as 25% or their body energy!] However, even though I had seen their antics many times at a bird feeder, this was the first time I had seen them so voraciously ripping apart wild fodder. It was addicting to watch the organized flow of black-caps eagerly looking towards their next meal!

Their consistent pattern of entering the log, and emerging a few seconds later gave me enough time to snag my camera and take some shots. The shots I captured sealed the moment in time and memory of these great birds for me, which is what I offer you today!

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This successful black-capped chickadee is headed to shred some sawdust in hopes of a quick meal.
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A black-capped chickadee shows off an impressive mouthful of sawdust and food! (?)
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A black-capped chickadee waits it turn as a fellow member of the species root for some grub in the hollow alder log.
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Full spread! A black-capped chickadee takes flight after digging out some pay-dirt from the log.

So, the old adage is right. However, arguably based on my day, a bad day of fishing is worse than a good bout of bird watching! The images, antics, and thoughts of these birds have stuck with me for the last 18 months. There’s always something to watch in nature, even if the fishing isn’t good!

Kevin works on slinging a cast to the far bank of a pool. A beautiful day to catch no fish!
Kevin works on slinging a cast to the far bank of a pool. A beautiful day to catch no fish!
Posing for a picture Circa April 28, 2013 while fishing the Magalloway
Posing for a picture Circa April 28, 2013 while fishing the Magalloway

For those of you who haven’t read through one of my ‘photographic reflections’ before they are entries from pictures I took before the blog started, but have a story. This one took place in 2013, I hope you enjoyed! I will leave you with this short clip of the Chickadees using the alder-log bonanza

Photographic Reflections: A Presidential Range Blue Moon

This posting is my second piece in my ‘reflection’ posts. These posts are meant to bring past adventure to life. I hope it does.

It may be inevitable that solo-hiking 20 miles over the Presidential Range and camping between coffin-shaped rocks at 5000 feet under a blue moon is memorable.On August 30, 2012 I started over the Presidential Range (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/94/NHpresidentials.JPG). I began at Mount Madison and headed up the Airline trail. The last time I had been on Madison was in the dead of winter. A friend and I were attempting the traverse on January 16th. Conditions held us back and I lost a toe-nail to frostbite. So, there was certainly some meaning and caution for me as I ascended Madison on that warm, August day.  On this day, the views never stopped. Large puffy clouds drifted overhead, and occasional hikers which either passed me or passed by me were of the same cheerful outlook : it was  a good day.

Landscape scenery shot with a Tukamar screw mount lens. Has a cool yellow-cast 'old timey' feel.
Landscape scenery shot with a Tukamar screw mount lens. Has a cool yellow-cast ‘old timey’ feel.

After clambering up Madison and over Adams I reached the approximate half-way of the trip in in a saddle between Adams and Jefferson. At the time I was at about 5,000 feet. I scouted around for a place to camp for the night. My plan was to simply lay out in an low-impact area on top of the mountain. I found my ideal spot between two larger boulders. As I reasoned there was no plant vegetation to trample and and the boulders would provide considerable shelter from the winds which can arise at any time in the White Mountains. Until 2010 Mount Washington held the records for the highest, directly measured wind gust on earth. 231 mph! The bounder crevasse tapered out to fit my shoulders and down to fit my feet. It was just over 6 feet long and had a flat rocks between it. Certainly, it didn’t slip my mind that I was crawling into a boulder coffin. At least it wasn’t premonition.

Setting up camp on the Saddle of Mount Jefferson at about 5000 feet. Those lenes flares are real! I was shooting a old screwmount Tukamar lens for this shot.
Setting up camp on the Saddle of Mount Jefferson at about 5000 feet. Those lenes flares are real! I was shooting a old screwmount Tukamar lens for this shot.

Supper on the summit was perfect. A hot meal of pesto tortellini and tea. I got to enjoy a magnificent sunset. As the final pieces of fire left the sky the lights of Conway and the city life were far below me. The big dipper was overhead. It was a relief that I was only able to watch the city life, no noise from the city made it up as far as my mountain saddle perch.

The final dregs of sunsetThe final dregs of sunset

Conway, New Hampshire with the dipper overhead.Conway, New Hampshire with the dipper overhead.

No sooner had the sunset disappeared, and the moon came up. I’ve seen a lot of moon rises in my life, but never one quite like this. Low hanging clouds on the horizon caused a nuclear reaction. The big blue moon lit up the landscape in a beautiful mushroom cloud of whites and yellows. Aided by the elevation you certainly could have read a book by its light. About 5 miles away as the crow flies the Mount Washington Observatory was lit like Zeus had just come home to Olympus. The stars still shone brightly overhead and all of the major constellations that I know could be seen. I sat and watched the moon and stars for a couple hours before finally crawling into my rocky coffin for the night.

The mount washing observatory lit up by the light of a big full moon on 09/01/12
The mount washing observatory lit up by the light of a big full moon on 09/01/12
A nuclear blue moon melting through the clouds
A nuclear blue moon melting through the clouds
Moon rise over the White Mountains of New Hampshire
Moon rise over the White Mountains of New Hampshire

When I awoke the next morning I was greeted by a distant fiery sunrise. However, the fog that mostly obscured the eastern sun was a living being. It shifted and blew through the canyons and valleys all around me quickly. It shifted like a flock of starlings and disappeared quickly before forming a new flock of water droplets. I got to enjoy this new mountain cover and think about the moon rise the previous night. It was such a change!

My morning after the blue moon in the Presidential Range. A cloudy and rainy day greated me. A fiery sunrise burned in the east.
My morning after the blue moon in the Presidential Range. A cloudy and rainy day greated me with a flock of fog. A fiery sunrise burned in the east.

The rest of my hike was defined by wind and rain. Gone were the vistas, but the fun was now in the challenge of finishing the traverse in these less-than-ideal conditions. I summitted Washington, and headed down from there, abandoning a summit of Eisenhower due to the conditions.

This hike certainly stands out as the hike to beat for me. The chain of sun, sunset, stars, moon, and sunrise were incredible and dynamic.  But, these legs of mine have a lot of adventure left in them so maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance.

 

Photographic Reflection : The Morning After Hurricane Sandy

Hello Readers!

I am incorporating a bit different aspect to my blog and will be periodically be taking some of the photos from the ‘past’ (before the creation of this blog) and writing about them; you will know if it’s one of these photos because I will start each entry with “Photographic Reflection”.  These photos are not just unstructured, random selections, but are moments in time which hold tremendous significance for me. There are stories behind the photos which cannot be portrayed just from 1000 words worth of pixels (using the old adage) and I’m hoping to take them into a third dimension. If I’ve done my job these entries will serve as an insight into my senses and perception of the moment the image was captured, and will securely place these moments in my oral/narrative past.

October 30, 2013 marked the 1 year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy, which was the second hurricane I experienced during my three years of living in Maine. It differed a lot from Hurricane Irene which rolled through in 2010. Hurricane Sandy brought sustained 50 mile-per-hour winds to the Northeast coast and winds gusting to 64 miles-per-hours pushed up towering waves which broke upon the granite coast of Maine. During my visits to Dire Point, Pine Point and Cape Elizabeth leading up to the storm the waves continued to grow larger and the evening grew darker. By the time night had fallen the weather buoys outside of the Portland Harbor were reading wave heights of 18 feet or more. It was interesting staying in the house that night. As the winds howled outside the house felt close but comfortable. Each buffet on the window brought a sense of security – false or not – because every time a tree resisted the urge to let Sandy tip it over the more confident you felt it would continue to prevail in the next onslaught. I went to sleep that night knowing the next morning would not be like one I had ever seen.

When I woke up an hour before sunrise I cracked open the shades and took a short evaluation of the trees outside my window. Aside from the smaller limbs down and a covering of leaves on the ground our yard trees seemed to be in pretty good shape. I got out of bed and grabbed my camera; it was my intention to head out and document the wanton destruction of Mother Nature’s daughter, Sandy. As I drove along Black Point Road towards Two Lights State Park I could not really perceive anything wrong with the world. Power lines were not tangled, there were few injured trees, flood surge was not present and all houses were intact. To emphasize this feeling of assurance that we had gone through the worst of it mostly unscathed, overhead the sky broke and turned yellow, lit by a low-lying sun just cresting the horizon. Somehow out of the suppression of the clouds there was a sunrise. I almost stopped the truck there, but quickly realized the sooner I made it to Two Lights the better. So onward I went, not seeing a single person on the streets and still seeing no damage.

When I reached the coast an ocean breeze was still pushing at about 15 miles per hour. The tide was going out at the time and the rolling waves from last nights chaos were crashing in long periods on the coast, still towering from 6 to 9 feet. Although the waves were incredible to behold, it was the sunrise, spread in front of me, which was the most powerful. On both sides of the sun the dark clouds of Sandy were still present, however, right then I was experiencing the true calm after the storm. The waves broke on the rocks in millions of diamonds illuminated by the warm, yellow light of the sun. The spray produced was pushed by the wind into your face and it smelled of new ocean. I truly attest that the water smelled different than any other day and the tremendous mixing of the waters the night before had somehow changed the waters and how they reacted with the nose.

Sunrise after Hurricane Sandy
Sunrise after Hurricane Sandy

I sat and watched the sunrise for a long time. The speed that Sandy still moved created a dynamically shifting set of lighting and angles in which to watch the landscape. I moved closer and closer to the water edge until every wave that crashed in front of me sent a soaking spray over me and my camera; I realized quickly how important it was to cover my camera. As I crouched in the rocks the frothy waters would boil over my feet and recede again before being renewed by each new wave. After a short period I moved away from my post at the waters edge and perched 15 feet above the water. In another 10 minutes Sandy had regained control of her domain and again the sky was gray and flat. The waves still crashed, but as they broke in the flat light you would never they had been diamonds just moments before.

Sunrise after Hurricane Sandy 2
Sunrise after Hurricane Sandy 2

The sunrise after Hurricane Sandy may stand out as the most incredible sunrise I will ever experience. This moment I feel was reserved for me alone. I was alone when the sunrise started and was unperturbed by any human as the sun wrestled with the Storm. I only saw one other person on the coast that day, and as far as I know the pictures you see here are the only proof of the beauty of that morning.

Below is a short video of several sequences of timelapse from the morning. I couldn’t dedicate my camera to taking more than short bursts of images because the spray was constantly getting on the lens. Not to mention I needed to aim it in other directions to capture as much as possible! So, if you watch the video below keep that in mind. It’s very short and the waves never look as big actually were.

Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed the look into the past as much as I enjoyed writing about this. I hope to continue these reflection pieces from time to time.