Never Give Up on Light

All day for two days the rain fell intermittingly and the sky rolled as a guilded, dark gray, overcast. Not so good for your spirits, perfect if you are a photographer. I love to photograph on misty gray days. Not only is the light subdued with an even coat of texture it becomes moody and filled with mystery. Even more exciting is when the thick overcast moves out and behind it follows a line of clear air. When that moment coincides with sundown, oh my goodness, what results borders on the indescribable.

I managed a late start that afternoon. Only about an hour or so of daylight was left and what remained of it generated a dark mood. As I revisited some familiar locations hoping to capture some of that mysterious mood, I noticed way off toward the horizon what appeared to be a thin line of clearing skies. 

My plans changed and I hurried over to a location that would offer a decent view of when the sun dropped below the cloud line. For fifteen or twenty minutes as the evening sundown progressed I waited and shot, changing lenses and altering my location slightly trying to find the best angle. The results were encouraging, but average I thought even though the sky was spectacular. As bright and dramatic as it was for those few minutes, the drama began to fade toward a flatter outcome so I loaded up and started home.

About a half mile or so from home I passed near a country church location I see all the time. Having made numerous attempts to photograph it in vain, I almost drove on past. The sky was still vaguely under lit by the remnants of the setting sun, but just barely. Visually it appeared dull and flat, with a fading hint of highlight catching the lower parts of the remaining overcast. Within a few minutes it would fade into darkness. Being Wednesday night the church was lit up inside and out waiting for patrons to show up. Although, what little illumination remaining was faint, I decided to give it a try and pulled off the road, setup my tripod and fired off a quick shot. The light was so low the shutter hung open for close to two seconds. What appeared on my viewer took my breath away. That two second exposure allowed the camera to accumulate the dim light reflecting from the clouds and turned it into a spectacular red glow. The shot I had wanted from this location for the past 12 years finally became a reality. 

What I learned; as a photographer one should never give up on the light because what might appear flat and dull to your eye, the camera can capture as bold and beautiful. The general rule about the magic hour holds true; the last 30 minutes before sundown or sunrise, and the next 30 minutes after sundown or sunrise offers the best potential for amazing light. The sun had long since set and what remained was simply the afterglow, the last spark of daylight. This is the time that most photographers call it a day and turn loose of the opportunity. I wanted to see what would happen by not giving up on the light. On this day the results far exceeded the visual clues. 

A Moment Just For Me

A rolling creek composes its own kind of music. Sometimes it sings like a flute, other times it chatters like a snare drum, and still other times it chimes in softly like a clarinet. Their moods are as many as there are memories discovered along their banks.

Small creeks and streams are some of natures most enduring photo opportunities. At first I find myself drawn to them for the aesthetic beauty they offer. I will often sit in the shade of a tall tree and simply listen, shutting out the distractions life in general throws at us. Before long I notice a movement, a reflection, how the light filters across the water, or how a leaf spins and sails on the surface. A Kingfisher chatters and dives to retrieve a tasty meal, a squirrel barks after scampering along a low hanging limb, the breeze sings its cheerful song as it catches the trees. A soft blanket of green mossy growth covers the larger boulders and spreads across the bulk of a downed tree trunk. These are but a few of the obvious mysteries to greet anyone who takes the time to look for them.

I raise the camera and search through the lense, moving closer and then back, seeking how the light plays off background clutter. Early in the day mist or fog will often drift across the channel and the morning light cuts numerous transluscent paths through the haze. I search, I look, I stop and simply listen.

Sometimes, most times really, the picture simply does not capture the experience. At the moment I realize I can never truly lock a camera image in place, I will set the camera down and simply create an image of the heart, one that can never get lost, nor forgotten. I say to myself, "For now I will just sit...just enjoy...for no other time will I have this particular experience, and this moment is just for me".