The Gift of Small Pleasures

With the Christmas Season upon us, I like to share a story I wrote back in 2004.  It explains a lot of why I enjoy getting outdoors and why I love to photograph those moments.  It's about how small pleasures of fishing from a canoe often become wonderful gifts.

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It's when the cool air of morning hovers over the quiet hours is when I feel most at home, most in tune with where I am. Before the rays of daylight evaporate the darkness, while the last remnants of pre-dawn cling to life and the fatigue continues to invade my eyes is when I realize just how important are moments like this spent casting a line.  It is the last calm before the day, the last silence of morning that awakens me.  More often than they should, moments like these slip away unnoticed, and it is not until I look back and reflect on the experience is my heart warmed by the experience.  My thoughts often drift affectionately to what was there, to the emotion of the moment, as I was suspended on the glide of my canoe toward a rendezvous of time and place.  It is good for the soul to do such things, reflect on days afield, for it is during those time the small pleasures of life become a gift.

Maybe it is the sweet tone of the paddle keeping time with the swirls and eddies created as the wooden blade presses against the water I enjoy the most...and least...as muscles not recently used are again called into service.  That silent motion of the paddle as it is carefully raised at the end of each stroke and caressed into place for the next...the obedient turn of the bow as a gentle brace is applied to position that first cast are such things from which I seldom tire.  That first cast of the morning, during the stillness, when your heartbeat is heard as well as felt...when the only sound is the muffled twirl of the line rolling from your reel create the most enduring images.  That is when the anticipation is highest.  Each cast becomes a special memory harboring its own significance...its own connection to the gift.

Solitude and calmness of spirit is what I seek while fishing and few things offer a better blend of events to fulfill those ideals.  Long ago I learned an old axiom: There is more to fishing than catching a fish.  Over the years I've grown to appreciate that idea more.  The slow and simple method of wading a creek or fishing some secluded cove or drifting down a back country stream embraces the essence of those words.

Often, the trials of making a living create a delinquency from the pursuit of those desires, but in retrospect, those gaps generate even more small pleasures on the few occasions I do get out.

It matters little what season reflection on fishing occurs...for each season brings its own character into the realm of simple pleasures.  But, late in spring when the contrasts of weather are blending into the early days of summer, time for creating a reflection is prime.  When the hot days of summer are extinguished by the arrival of fall, and when the chill of winter invades the hemisphere, thoughts of fishing succumb to the inevitable.  Even so, during the depths of the coldest months...I often reflect on those moments spent casting a line under the spell of the mornings of summer.  There is comfort in revisiting those days, even if only in thought...for when the frost on the canoe glisten's in the half light of a winter's morning, I know life granted me another season, and once again soon, I shall suspend myself above the trials of living, and seek the gift of small pleasures.

Take a Closer Look

Not to long ago I was able to touch a part of the finer things in life one fall morning by participating in three of my five favorite things to do; float with my canoe down a backwoods stream; do a little fishing; and photograph nature.  It was a beautiful fall morning and in time I stowed the fishing rod and began to wade through the cool stream waters with tripod and camera in hand.

As light filtered through the canopy of trees my eye drifted away from the stream and into the woods.  It was there I discovered a dwelling of nature where time, place, and light converged.  On any other morning this area is just a group of trees, but on this morning, it became a woods enchanted with life and mystery.

There was an old tree trunk that long ago fell from its heights into the creek.  Now, years later, it was covered with lichen and moss, it became a wonderful backdrop for a nature photographer. A spider web was caught by a beam of sunlight and remnants of the morning haze was set aglow as the beams of light drifted through the trees.

Nature has a subtle way of demonstrating its unique qualities.  That old trunk now in its final stages of life exhibited a gracefulness and dignity only nature can command.  Maybe we could learn something from such things...that in all stages of life, there is beauty and wonder, grace and dignity, if only we could step away from our narrow world views and look at things from a different perspective.

Being a photographer is all about looking for light...but its more than that...it's also about looking for and finding unique opportunities from ordinary situations....about discovering wonder and simplicity in the midst of chaos.  It is during those transitional times when the light changes that the most magic light occurs.  Timing is the key...willingness to observe is the mechanism...being there to capture the moment is the reward.

The diversity of nature may surprise us if we stop and observe closely enough.  Photography presents us with opportunities to witness more closely subtle events that we more often than not simply overlook.  Things we take for granted take on a new life when viewed from the perspective of a photographers eye.  A thistle is just another field plant until the light catches it just right and one takes a closer look.  Often, all it takes is a simple perspective shift to reveal hidden beauty...even in a weed.

Too Close Encounter

About five or six years ago I started seriously photographing Oklahoma's Tallgrass Prairie preserve.  It's an amazing landscape full of not just scenic bounty, but a rich, diverse history as well.  It's 38,000 acres is the largest protected area of original tallgrass prairie that remains.

The best way to photograph this area is to observe it up close...to explore the hidden arroyo's and fields of wildflowers away from the gravel access road.  By hiking into the interior, a whole new world is opened.  It's during those times the song of the prairie becomes vivid and real.  I've taken thousands of photo's there...sat for hours under the shade of an isolated red cedar tree...simply listened to the wind and the sounds of the open range.  It's an amazing experience.

On one such excursion, I experienced something that was not only amazing...but a bit unnerving.  I had hiked a mile or so into an area where an arroyo  cuts through the rolling hills.  I spent most of the morning in there photographing this and that, but mostly just enjoying being out.  By late morning it started to warm up so I worked my way out of there.  I had to climb up the long face of a shallow hill and as I moved around to the south side I discovered that a herd of about 100 or so bison had wandered between me and my Jeep effectively blocking my way out.

It was not a good idea to attempt passing through the herd so I backtracked a ways and stepped down into a dry creek bed.  Using the creek bed I figured I would just circle around and come out a bit further north then cut over to the road.  After walking several hundred yards I stepped out of the creek bed.  My view was limited while down in there so I didn't see that the northern flank of the bison herd was still blocking my route...as were two rather large bison bulls.  They were about 50 maybe 60 yards away.

Well..I sort of spooked them...if there is such a thing as spooking twin 2000 pound bison bulls...and they took offense to me being there.  I may have spooked them, but I certainly didn't intimidate them as they began to snort and act all agitated.  Normally they are rather docile...but these two guys wanted to express their displeasure about my presence personally.

I tried to slowly back away and reenter the creek bed, but before I could do so the two bulls busted and they started running...accompanied by the rest of the assorted 100 or so others in their company...right at me.  All I had to hide behind was a rather flimsy camera tripod...which wasn't much comfort.  For a few seconds I simply stood there...well...actually there wasn't much else I could have done short of running...and I wsn't going to outrun those guys...but fortunately, the entire herd veered away after 25 or 30 yards and ran off in the opposite direction.

I moved on down the creek bed another hundred yards or so then worked my way back to the road and eventually to my Jeep.  Those two bulls never took their eyes off me...nor I them.  I must admit though...it was an exhilarating experience to be so close to such wild, powerful, and magnificent creatures.  I took not a single photograph of the entire event...I was a bit preoccupied trying to avoid becoming a permanent addition to the Tallgrass Prairie landscape.