Female canines you have been put on notice. This little guy’s just about as cute as can be, and he’s got the smooth disposition to match. I mean just look at that furrowed brow and those eyes. This is one awesome dog.
While I regret to inform you Mack is not my own, he is, however, the latest fur-child welcomed into the loving home of my cousin and his most wonderful bride. Mack joins his two big brothers—Rottweiler and Pit Bull—and is never one to back down; rolling his fur up, getting down and dirty wrestling with the big boys. Between naps and play fights, Mack enjoys cuddles, snuggles, head butts and red Angry Birds squeak toys. I also hear he likes chess, but I’ll have to get back to you on that one.
He’s melted all of our hearts, and now he can melt yours.
Taken a the top of the 10 o’clock hour, I tucked in low and close along the concrete seawall that runs all the way out into the inlet. With the wind at my back and cover to my right flank, I was able to affix camera to tripod and rifle off a few shots before the combination of intense snowfall and wind compromised the clarity of my lens. Wanting to capture snow flakes and the lighthouse beams in the shot I had to dial my aperture wide open and crank the ISO to 5000. This afforded me a 1⁄30 exposure—fast enough to freeze the scene.
Distracted by storm and snowfall I arrived home and ignored the contents of my memory card. It’s only today, Wednesday, that I’ve gotten to really see this shot for all its worth. Black and white processing was the obvious choice from the get go, with the white of the lighthouse lending strong contrast against the backdrop of a roaring night sky. The Lighthouse itself bears the brunt, revealing an icy spine running vertically down the whole of the structure just to the right of center—its unwavering position a testament to the steady, yet unrelenting direction of the fierce wind howling out of the north-northeast.
When you’re out there exposed to the elements as nothing more than a vulnerable sack of human, you really appreciate both the intensity of weather and the fortitude of man. Here stands a singular column, standing sentry, strong as ever.
Great Expectations — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
I am a snow lover.
It is a tough day for snow lovers.
When words like HECS start getting tossed around, and all area mets—up to and including the National Weather Service—go all in on what seems to be a sure fire Miller B transfer event, snow fiends like myself start going into overdrive. Visions of 2–3 inch an hour snow rates, powdery drifts and canyon banks lining neighborhood streets dance in our head. If you love weather—intense weather—few things get the blood pumping quite like Mother Nature standing at the doorstep.
And yet weather is going to weather. As inevitable as this storm once seemed, a late capture by an upper level low allowed this beast of a coastal to slip just far enough east to spare New Jersey from real substantial impact. In its wake? A running spectrum of emotion across the residents of New Jersey, and many disappointed forecasters taking a beating in the court of public opinion. Predicting the weather is hard—very hard, and these folks are doing the best they can trying to predetermine outcomes in absence of a full dataset and in the presence of variability. By its very nature it is a thankless task, and I hope they just keep doing what they’re doing and continue to roll in favor of calling the next sure thing—even if it might not be.
In the meantime, I’m going to keep waiting patiently for my first chance to finally photograph a big snow storm. Oh, and how about that sunset tonight? Check out how just how deep the color was in this straight out of camera, cellphone shot I uploaded to Instagram sans filter.
Today some snow happened — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 800 | EXP 1/30
Up until about 4 hours it was hardly the season for snow lovers. Not for those of us living in New Jersey, anyway. But with today’s Clipper and the threat of this weekend’s Nor’easter, times they are a changing. Being a photographer and a snow lover, stopping to take pictures on my way to dinner seemed the only sensible thing to do.
I went toward my usual Dock Road jaunt but turned off onto Mayetta Landing Road just before things open up onto the marsh. There lie one single pair of tire tracks perfectly marking the road ahead. I quickly parked in the shoulder, threw on the hazards, and jogged off into position. With ISO set to auto and snow messing up my lens, I fired off a single handheld exposure and produced what would become the picture above.
Here’s to more (and better!) snow photos coming in the days and weeks ahead.
A cold trade for warm sunshine — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Hey, look! I took a photograph that isn’t a sunset. Whew. Before I locked in on yesterday’s blue hour special, I set down the tripod atop a small ridge overlooking the front lake of Stafford Forge Wildlife Management Area in an attempt at capturing the potent golden light that was pouring into the Pinelands. The pine needles dominating the ground cover were charged with such a glow the look of the whole scene defied the crisp feel of the 27ºF air. This has the look of June, not January. But hey, it’s warm enough when you’re looking at the picture from your living room.
I love the Pinelands. I’m right on their doorstep and hope to photograph this underrated New Jersey gem more often in the future. If and when I get myself an all-wheel drive vehicle it’ll open up my photo access greatly. For now I am left hitching rides in the trucks of my buddies.
Update: Shameless self-promotion alert—this here website is 1 year old today. Hooray for anniversaries.
Tonight’s sky did it again. This marks the third time I’ve watched the sky dim, sunset seemingly fading away, only to have the sky illuminate once more with booming pastel colors somehow reborn reborn. While there’s no doubt sound physics behind the phenomenon—it seems to defy logic that the final light of day could seemingly die off only to fire back up for a final few moments of luminous glory. If you ask me it’s simply one hell of a way to make an exit.
Picturing making aside, it was good times enough to be out at the Forge tonight watching this sublime sunset into blue hour transition. A process that elapsed over 25 minutes or so. And better yet I was accompanied by friends. Selfishly I’ve been waiting for a really great shot from all my time photographing Stafford Forge. For my money, tonight easily marks my best result to date. It’s all coming up spades this cold Saturday in January.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I am off to grab some dinner.
A quiet place of reflection — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
For tonight’s sunset I ventured down to Ben Wurst’s stomping grounds in New Gretna, New Jersey. I haven’t been to this spot since 2012—back when I really had no clue what I was doing—and wanted to get back to take advantage of the deep Winter sun’s still southward position. Come Summer said sun will be well out of my frame to the west (right) of its current location.
As for the spot itself, it sits tucked away just off Exit 50 on the northbound side of the Garden State Parkway overlooking Bass River. As you can see there’s a raised metal walkway—aluminum I’m guessing—that extends roughly 80 yards over the marsh and into the river itself. It’s one of those little known spots that hides in plain sight; and when it’s not serving as a spot for sunset revelers or those seeking quiet reflection, it represents one hell of a destination to watch lightning march across the marsh. Though don’t try this at home as I am told lightning and metal don’t mix. Hopefully my not-yet-charred remains won’t someday represent something of a cautionary tale…
As for my thoughts on the photograph itself? This is one of my favorite day-glow sunsets yet. Sure there wasn’t great cloud action tonight, but I was really impressed with the rich pastels coming to life in the glow of atmospheric ice crystals. Sometimes Winter, you’re pretty all right.
A quick run to Google told me these here cables operate under the more official moniker of guy-wires. Prior to this revelatory moment these were always just the cables used to make the Star Wars blaster sound first made famous when Han shot first. Not to mentions serving as common decor for the New Jersey Turnpike—functional as they may be.
By tonight it all came full-circle with these guy-wires making it into my photograph. I struggled this evening composing a shot that didn’t bore me. Moving from one spot to the next I took a bunch of test shots to go with some purposefully framed exposures from varying spots down on the Cedar Run Dock Road boat ramp. Everything was just kind of meh and I didn’t want to resort to a fall back scene. On most days I am pretty lucky and can settle into a frame almost instantly. But you know what? It’s good to struggle.
And so I went with the wires and the seawall. I wanted some elements of the human imprint in this not-so-pure landscape. Pulling together the connectedness of our human work—for better or for worse—with nature’s work. We would do well to continuously challenge ourselves to find ever-improving ways to iterate ourselves to a more harmonious future. OK, we can stop holding hands now.
A frozen bay belies the weather — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
We’re wrapping up what’s easily been the coldest stretch of weather we’ve felt over the 2014–2015 Winter—and the New Jersey Intracoastal Waterway has the frozen bays to prove it. Knowing the temperatures would be moderating as soon as tomorrow (can you believe it’s going to rain after this bitter cold week!?), I wanted to get over to Harvey Cedars Sunset Park to capture the not-so-common sight of an ice entombed Barnegat Bay. While the sunset color didn’t explode this afternoon, the sights I was treated to out on the point made enduring an hour of uninterrupted cold completely worth it. My mood soared immediately upon arrival; my body and mind both were in need of this photographic ice world therapy session.
For much of my time at this ephemeral Fortress of Solitude I was transfixed by the undulating, serpentine patterns of ice locked motionless from the freeze. I’m amazed at the transformation ice can bring to a summertime haven of warmth and water that I know so well. It’s nature’s way of teaching the duality of life—as well as its impermanence. And yet all I can think of is Yogi Berra opining, “you can observe a lot by watching.”
