We all have favorite things. A favorite color. Perhaps a favorite flower. Or maybe a favorite bird.
The flip side of that is that we also have things we hate. Or at least strongly dislike. One of the things I have been working through is whether the things that have made it on my dislike list really deserve to be there.
This is a fogbow, informally known as a white rainbow. I got to spend about an hour working with it last week, which was phenomenal. When I’ve worked with fogbows before, I’ve had to work much faster.
When I’m working in the field, even when I have a very good idea of how exactly I want my picture to turn out, I may go through a dozen or so takes to ensure the image I captured expresses exactly what I’m after. If I’ve become captivated by something unexpected, I may go through a hundred or more.
The image that I’m calling Ruby Portal, shown above, was the product of the latter approach. I was on the Pacific coast in the Olympic Wilderness of Washington state where wildfire haze was giving the setting sun a striking color. I wasn’t sure how everything would turn out.
For a while, it appeared the sun might quickly sink behind a layer of clouds, so as I took each photo, I thought there was a chance it might be my last of the day. The final image is the product of about an hour of exploration and revision. I thought it might be of interest to share that process with you.
When I wrote last month about learning to appreciate nature in my own backyard, I expected it to be timely only in the context of such an image making it into an art exhibit. But over the past month, there have been new debates over how much access the public should have to popular wilderness areas. As access becomes more restricted, we may all have to start appreciating backyards more.
The subject of this image isn’t a specific thing. This image is actually about an experience.
Today is Nature Photography Day. There are those who say that the camera gets in the way. It’s a device that gets between you and the world around you. There’s some truth in that.
I didn’t plan to spend an evening hanging out with a herd of harbor seals, but many of my favorite experiences in nature of late involve some serendipity. Venturing out without a plan or any pressure to produce something is incredibly relaxing. And I find that almost every time it results in photos.
There is a trend to append the word “super” to various natural phenomena. For instance, a few times a year, it’s not just a full moon, but a “super moon.” About the same time the moon at perigee got special branding, desert wildflowers also occasionally started to receive elite status. They just don’t get it anywhere near as often.
Because of an unusually wet winter, parts of California were elevated to “superbloom” status this spring. Since the fall, the Carrizo Plain, located about 100 miles north of Los Angeles, received just under 4 inches of rain — 2½ times what it gets over the course of a normal winter.
Think of winter weather and icicles and freshly fallen snow may be the first things that come to mind. But for me, it also means fog.
Cold, clear nights can often be followed by spectacular foggy sunrises. At first light, fog can rise off the surface of a lake. And it can vanish within minutes of the sun clearing the horizon.
It’s World Water Day, a day to reflect on the importance of water and think about how we can help address challenges.
Even when we are on the scenic route, I suspect that most of the time we still remain fixated on our destination. The view outside the window is prettier, but it’s still just time filler. If it were food, it’s definitely not the main course. And I don’t often think we even treat it as an appetizer.
Better appreciating the journey is something that I have been working on for years. And I remain a work in progress.
Where I’m from — the greater Seattle area — a snowbird is a person, a person who travels far south to spend the winter in the sunny warmth. But to a short-eared owl, a different type of snow bird, where I’m from is the south.
For a few months a year — the coldest months — you can often spot a short-eared owl or two flying back and forth over an empty field, hunting for voles. Some fields can attract a half-dozen of these owls.
